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diff --git a/78247-0.txt b/78247-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..763f44f --- /dev/null +++ b/78247-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8843 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78247 *** + + + + +PLAYS + +BY + +LEONID ANDREYEFF + + + + +[Illustration: Leonid Andreyeff] + + + + + PLAYS + + BY + LEONID ANDREYEFF + + THE BLACK MASKERS + THE LIFE OF MAN + THE SABINE WOMEN + + TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY + CLARENCE L. MEADER AND FRED NEWTON SCOTT + + WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY + V. V. BRUSYANIN + + _AUTHORISED EDITION_ + + NEW YORK + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + 1923 + + COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + Printed in the United States of America + + Published February, 1915 + + [Illustration] + + + + +PREFACE + + +The present versions of “The Life of Man” and “The Black Maskers” are +based respectively on the texts printed in the seventh and tenth volumes +of the “Collected Works” of Andreyeff, published by the Prosveshchenie +Company, of Petrograd; the version of “The Sabine Women” is based on the +Russian text published by J. Ladyschnikow, in Berlin. + +The spelling _Andreyeff_ employed in this volume is adopted to secure +conformity with the spelling _Tchekoff_ adopted in the companion volume +“Plays by Tchekoff.” A more scientific transliteration would be _Andreev_. + +The translators desire to express their appreciation of the courtesy of +the author in extending to them permission to translate the three plays +included in this volume, as well as other dramas, and also to acknowledge +with gratitude the aid received from Mr. Leonid Borisovich Moiseyeff, of +Tomsk, Siberia. + + THE TRANSLATORS. + +ANN ARBOR, MICH., October, 1914. + + + + +BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + + +The life of Leonid Nikolaivich Andreyeff has been uneventful. He was +born on August 9, 1871, in the city of Orel, which is situated about two +hundred miles south of Moscow, in the country of the Great Russians. +The father, whose income was always small, died while Andreyeff was a +student in the city high school. From that time until his graduation +from the law department of Moscow University, at the age of twenty-six, +Andreyeff suffered greatly from lack of means, and three times he was +led by discouragement to attempt suicide. In childhood and youth he +manifested some aptitude for drawing and painting. Indeed, he supported +himself in part during his university career in Petrograd and Moscow +by painting portraits, but, owing to lack of proper instruction, such +endowments as he possessed in this line remained undeveloped. From +childhood he was an insatiable reader, and at an early age he had read +all the Russian classics and such foreign authors as had been translated +into his native tongue. In 1897 he attempted the practice of law, but, +meeting with no success and apparently possessing no aptitude for the +profession, he turned to newspaper reporting and later to feuilleton +writing for the _Moscow Courier_. A number of these early sketches are +republished in collected editions of his works. Since 1898 he has devoted +himself exclusively to literature, residing first in Moscow and later +in Petrograd. In 1906, finding the distractions of a large city too +serious an impediment to his literary work, he built a country home on a +picturesque site at Terioki, a much-frequented summer resort in Finland. +As Terioki is only thirty miles by rail from Petrograd, Andreyeff here +enjoys to a large extent the advantages of both country and city. +Andreyeff has steadily refused to take an active part in the political +life of his day and has never allied himself with any party, believing +that party creeds and dogmas are incompatible with the freedom of art. + +Very near the beginning of Andreyeff’s literary career one of his stories +attracted the attention of Gorki, who was at that time at the height of +his fame, and who lent Andreyeff much encouragement and assistance. In +1901 Andreyeff suddenly became famous through the publication of a small +volume of stories which dealt with certain vital problems of Russian +society. Since that time his writings have been exceedingly popular. +His plays have been enthusiastically received and have had long runs in +the theatres, while the printed editions of his works have been rapidly +exhausted. An edition of eighteen thousand copies of “King Hunger,” +for example, was sold out in a single day. Notwithstanding the intense +interest with which his writings have been received, it has been his +lot to awaken some resentment and even indignation, and to call forth +storms of adverse criticism in some quarters. In this respect his fate +has been the fate of Tolstoi and most other great Russian writers, and +the opposition to him is accounted for in the same manner. As a critic +of society Andreyeff is interested not in the outer events of life, but +in character. Consequently his writings are devoted exclusively to the +revelation of certain qualities of men’s minds and hearts. His pictures +of the evils of Russian society are so vivid and the implied censures +on society so severe that, although his merits have been fully and +cheerfully acknowledged by the reading public as a whole, a certain +portion of the public, blinded by passion or prejudice, refuse even to +admit the existence of the perverted mental states which Andreyeff, as +a great artist and prophet, has seen and described. Such impassioned +attacks, however, will be regarded by the sober-minded as an indication +of the clearness of his vision, and as a tribute to his marvellous +descriptive powers. + + + + +THE SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF + +“THE LIFE OF MAN,” “THE BLACK MASKERS,” “THE SABINE WOMEN”[1] + + +Leonid Andreyeff, as a dramatist, is the most interesting product of +contemporary Russian literature. Abandoning the older traditions that +prevailed from Ostrovski[2] to Tolstoi, and passing by the school +of Tchekoff,[3] he brought to the theatre a unique form of art, the +rich possibilities of which he is still developing. In 1913 Andreyeff +published in the theatrical journal _Maski_ a “Letter on the Theatre.”[4] +This is a “confession of faith,” and describes in detail its author’s +conception not only of the theatre of the past but also of the theatre of +the future, to the latter of which he gives the new name “panpsyche.”[5] +Let us see what this theatre panpsyche is, and how Andreyeff applies his +theory to his dramatic productions. + +With that spirit of independence which has characterised all great +Russian writers, Andreyeff, disregarding long-accepted traditions even +now generally regarded as essential, asks point-blank the heretical +question: “_Is action, in the accepted sense of movements and visible +achievements on the stage, necessary to the theatre?_” In his opinion +it is not necessary, inasmuch as modern life itself in its most tragic +aspects tends to withdraw farther and farther from external activities +and deeper and deeper into the recesses of the soul, into the silence +and outward calm that characterises mental life. From this answer to +his question one may see how far the theatre panpsyche will depart +from the older theatre of Shakespeare, Sardou, Dumas, and other +foreign dramatists, and even from the Russian schools that developed +out of Ostrovski’s art.[6] In this respect Andreyeff is closely akin +to Maeterlinck, in whose plays dramatic collisions are not marked by +external action, but the problems that characterise the life of the soul, +with its premonitions, its yearnings, and searchings, are brought in +concrete form before the footlights. + +To illustrate his views, Andreyeff draws an interesting contrast between +the lives of two men of widely different ages and widely divergent +ethical views, Benvenuto Cellini and Friedrich Nietzsche. In reading +the memoirs of Cellini, Andreyeff was struck by the large number of +events in the life of the mediæval artist and adventurer. “How many +escapes, murders, surprises, losses and unexpected discoveries, loves and +enmities!” exclaims Andreyeff. “Cellini encounters more events in a short +walk from his home to the outskirts of the city than the average modern +man does in his entire life. Cellini’s life was a counterpart of the life +of his day, with its brigands, monks, dukes, swords, and mandolins. In +those days interest attached only to a life that was full of events, +continually active and achieving, whereas a life of inactivity was like a +clod lying by the roadside, of which there is nothing notable to be said. +Cellini’s life is a personification of the older theatre. Read any of the +older dramatists, observe any contemporary actor of the older school, and +you will realise how much there is of Cellini in them.” + +In contrast with this, Andreyeff conceives the new theatre as the place +for the bodying forth of such intensely dramatic experiences as those +of Nietzsche. “Where in Nietzsche’s life,” asks Andreyeff, “are there +events, activities, physical achievements? In his early manhood, while +he was a Prussian soldier, and was still to a certain extent a man of +action, he was in the least degree a dramatist. The real drama of his +life begins just at the time when his life withdraws into the silence +and inactivity of the study. It is there that we find the painful +re-evaluation of all values, the tragical struggle, the break with +Wagner, and the charming Zarathustra!” + +The contemporary drama, says Andreyeff, has shown itself powerless to +represent the drama of Nietzsche. In the presence of the spiritual +and intellectual conflict it is speechless. “Humbly bowing before +the immutable law of action, the contemporary drama declines to +represent—indeed, cannot represent for us—a Nietzsche, who is so near, +so important, so essential to our lives, but continues to offer us +in profusion empty, antiquated, and unnecessary Cellinis, with their +paraphernalia of tin swords, etc.” Andreyeff explains the crisis of the +obsolete theatre of to-day by the fact that life itself has withdrawn +into the inner recesses of the soul, whereas the theatre has paused at +the threshold of these new and profound psychological experiences and +intellectual strivings—the struggle of man’s thoughts with man—and has +never thrown open the door that leads to them. + +In anticipation of the objections of his critics, Andreyeff asserts +that he does not in the least mean that events have ceased to occur, +that people have ceased to act, or that history has ceased its forward +movement. The chronicle of current events is still sufficiently +replete with suicides, strife, and war, but all these events in their +outward aspects have fallen in dramatic value. Life has become more +psychological. In the place of the older passions and the traditional +heroes of the drama, love and hunger, there has arisen a new protagonist, +the intellect. Not love, nor hunger, nor ambition, but thought in its +sufferings, joys, and struggles, is the true hero of the life of to-day. +To it therefore is due the first place in the drama. Indeed, Andreyeff +has gone so far as to entitle his last drama “Thought”; and if we examine +into the plays which he wrote at the beginning of his dramatic career, +“The Life of Man,” and “The Black Maskers,” we shall find in them the +same content. + +_Man_, who is the hero of “The Life of Man,” and _Lorenzo_, the principal +character in “The Black Maskers,” are both victims of the tragedy of +their intellect, of their obstinate questionings in the realm of thought, +and their disenchantments in the sphere of the emotions—the love of life, +the love of people, the love of themselves. In “The Life of Man” some +fate, embodied in the _Being in Grey_, held in his hands the candle, +the emblem of life, and directed the thoughts of _Man_ from behind his +mysterious veil. Herein lies the whole tragedy of _Man_ and _Lorenzo_. +From poverty and sorrow _Man_ rises to wealth and happiness, and it would +appear that with such powerful spiritual weapons as the intellect and +the soul he might easily fortify his position. However, the _Being in +Grey_ turns out to be stronger than _Man_, with his intellect and soul, +with his thoughts and his conduct of life. Herein lies the drama of +_Man_, whose life has become an “inner” life, while the outward events +become non-essential, mere unavoidable details. _Duke Lorenzo_ was also +strong as far as the external factors of wealth and power were concerned. +Yet his restless thoughts, and in particular the one persistently +recurring thought that he was not _Duke Lorenzo_, but only the son of his +mother and a stable-man, gave rise to an inner, spiritual drama, which +overwhelmed the man _Lorenzo_ who is hidden behind the duke _Lorenzo_. +_Lorenzo_ thus slew his double, but he did not come out victorious over +the _Being in Grey_. Nothing in his life was changed for the better. In +his mind people took on the appearance of maskers, of being other than +they really were; all objects in the world were masked and false; even +his own thoughts became disguised in masks. The whole world was merely +the delusion of _Duke Lorenzo_, who moved about the earth in an eternal +mask. Both _Man_ and _Lorenzo_ are the victims not of outward conditions, +but of their own inner experiences. + +It is only on the basis of this general theory of the modern theatre that +we can understand either “The Life of Man” or “The Black Maskers.” But +once having accepted this theory we see how baseless are the contentions +of Andreyeff’s critics. They condemn the external form of such plays as +“The Life of Man,” which Russian society had universally understood, +appreciated, and approved. In framing a play with a new kind of content, +Andreyeff instinctively selected new outer forms to correspond. These +forms, though intelligible to the public, were incomprehensible to the +critics, reared, as they have been for decades, on the dramatic forms of +Ostrovski’s school. + +Consistent with the alterations that have taken place in the drama, +Andreyeff calls the old theatre the theatre of “make-believe,” as +distinguished from the theatre panpsyche, which he calls the theatre +of the _truth_. He goes even farther and affirms that the motto of +all future art will be “truth in art.” When the modern “psychological” +novelist or dramatist brings his heroes on the stage, are they the +product of the “_play_ of his fancy”? asks Andreyeff. “No,” he replies, +“he experiences them, lives them, creates them, fashions them, any word +you choose; only do not use the word ‘play.’” For play is something +entirely different and distinct from the artistic process of creating +new beings, which is the basis of the dramatist-psychologist’s art. Play +is pretence; and the more refined, cunning, and beautiful, the better it +is as play: but psychological creating is truth; and the plainer, the +more sincere, the more severe it is, and the farther it is removed from +pretence, so much greater will be its artistic value. + +“The Life of Man,”[7] when staged, was condemned by the critics on the +ground of excessive symbolism and allegory.[8] The author, paying as he +did scant heed to the details of daily life that surround the hero of +the play and his wife, concentrated all his attention on the conception +of _Man_ and the life of _Man_. The symbolism employed is very old and +familiar—patent, in fact—and is a minor element in the drama. As a matter +of fact, this method of picturing human life has long been current among +the masses of the Russian people. They picture life either as a candle +which blazes up through some mysterious power and finally goes out, or +in the form of steps, represented in a crudely drawn picture, in which +man is depicted from birth till death. In the first half of life—till +middle age—he mounts to the summit, then begins to descend the stairs, +and finally he reaches old age and his predestined end—death. It is +this crude popular conception that Andreyeff takes as the basis of his +symbolism; and this selection of a basal motive from the life of the +common people is that very truth in art of which Andreyeff speaks, for +behind this picture lies the deeply rooted faith of the people in life, +and in Fate as the guide of life. + +The _Man_ whom Andreyeff depicts is an extreme individualist whose whole +life is centred upon himself and his own interests, who judges all other +persons and all things from the point of view of his own personality. +He has made himself the centre of the universe. Nor in this case is +fate a mere subjective principle holding sway over man. It is something +entirely different. Professor Reisner, in his work entitled “Andreyeff +and His Philosophy of Life,” says on this point: “Once man has become +the foundation of social life, all connecting boundaries and points of +contact heretofore existing between him and nature disappear. He is not +merely left in isolation, but about him is formed a desert—a vast, social +chasm, and the great principle called the law of life now has no means of +coming into contact with the naked individual. When this stage has been +reached, principles of law and order can find justification only from the +point of view of the individual. As soon as the individual has become +the unit of society, and the centre of all interests, the aims of this +unit must be accepted by it as the aims of the universe, its reason must +be accepted as the world reason, and with it the fate of the universe is +born and perishes. But if the individual cannot thus establish a direct +bond between his personal existence and the law of nature, there results +the great tragedy: _Personality renounces the world._” + +_Man_, the hero of “The Life of Man,” failed from the very first to +establish this bond. In his earlier years of poverty he found the meaning +of life in the struggle for existence, in dreams of wealth, distinction, +and fame. He dreamed even of becoming recognised as a genius. But his +dreams all ended in selfish visions of a wonderful villa on the Norwegian +coast, where on stormy winter nights he and his wife might find rest and +repose in the cheery warmth of the huge fireplace “that burned whole +logs.” In the ball of Man the hero reaches the summit of life. Observe +the feeling of dignified self-importance with which _Man_ enters the +presence of his guests, his wife leaning upon his arm. He is rich and +famous. His guests are filled with admiration for the wealth and luxury +of his life, and for his wide-spread fame. But listen! The strains of +the polka, hollow and empty, the insipid, soulless dance of the guests +and their petty remarks reveal all the tragedy of the petty and empty +life of this richest and most famous of men—the profound tragedy that +lies in the solitude of _Man_ and in the solitude of each and every one +of his guests. The egoistic laws of life followed by the _Friends_ and +the _Enemies_ of _Man_ hang like a pall over the empty but ominous ball. +Like evil forebodings on the eve of death, they reveal all the vanity +of human life. In the ball of _Man_, which sums up the entire life of +both _Man_ and his guests, one does not feel the presence of the great +cosmic bond between man and the laws of the universe; but the laws that +guide the base _Friends_ and _Enemies_ of _Man_ have brought together +here the doomed, and among them the chief of the doomed, _Man_ himself, +proud, noted, and wealthy; while in the background, seeming to be a part +even of the grey wall, is the _Being in Grey_ (whether God, Fate, or the +Devil, _Man_ himself knows not), invisible and frightful in his coldness +and indifference, following persistently every step of _Man’s_ life—the +_Being in Grey_, in whose hand is burning—burning out—the candle +that symbolises the meaning of the life of this man who has failed to +establish a bond between his personal existence and the laws of nature. +The beginning and the end of his life are concealed in darkness. “Dragged +on irresistibly by time, he will tread inevitably all the steps of human +life, upward toward its summit and downward to its end.”[9] Still more +definitely the _Being in Grey_ speaks of the meaning of the life of +_Man_: “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 apprehensions, harassed by hopes and fears, he +will complete submissively the iron round of destiny.” + +The “iron round of destiny” is the tragedy of _Man_, conditioned by +the strife between the intellect and the emotions, with its attendant +sufferings and joys in the case of a man whose strivings toward harmony +and order are doomed to clash with the primeval chaos.[10] + +The tragedy of _Lorenzo_ in “The Black Maskers” is of the same sort. +“My soul is an enchanted castle. When the sun shines into the lofty +windows, with its golden rays it weaves golden dreams. When the sad moon +looks into the misty windows, in its silvery beams are silvery dreams,” +says _Lorenzo_ of his own inner experiences. Yet in the midst of his +dreams _Lorenzo_ continually asks the question: “Who laughs? Who laughs +so gently at the sorrowful life of Lorenzo?” Such were also the dreams +of _Man_ and his wife, when their distress was soothed for a moment +by prayer, and when for a time they had faith in the _Being in Grey_. +“_Man_, flattered by his hopes, has fallen into a deep and grateful +sleep.... He dreams that he is riding with his son in a white boat over a +beautiful smooth river.... He hears the reeds rustle as they part before +the boat. He is filled with joy and he fancies that he is blessed. All +_Man’s_ emotions are deceiving him. But suddenly he becomes restless. The +terrible truth, penetrating the dense veil of his dreams, has seared his +thought: ‘Why is your golden hair cut so short, my boy; why is it?’ ‘My +head ached, father, and that is why my hair was cut so short.’ And, again +deceived, man is happy, and he sees the blue sky and hears the reeds +rustling as they part.”[11] At the very moment when in sleep his thoughts +joyously take wing, misfortune draws close to him; while he sleeps and in +his visions finds rest and respite from the iron round of destiny, his +son is already dead; so awaking from his dreams he has no course left +but to curse the _Being in Grey_. Of this _Being Man_ begs not for mercy +or for pity, but “only for justice.” To this same being _Lorenzo_ turns +with the prayer: “Who laughs? Who laughs so frightfully at the insane +Lorenzo? Have pity on me, O Monarch! My soul is filled with terror! O +Monarch, O Lord of the World!—Satan!” _Man_ asks no longer for mercy, +but only for justice; _Lorenzo_ still believes in mercy, and asks for +pity. Why the difference? Is not the tragedy of their lives the same? The +author himself answers the question by the entire subject-matter of these +similar yet different plays. The soul of _Man_, though tortured, still +remains intact in the presence of the _Being in Grey_, and he perishes +cursing the blind power of Fate; but the soul of _Lorenzo_ is rent in +twain and his tragedy is the more intense, because Fate, Destiny, God, or +the devil is transformed from a vague primordial being into the double of +the duke _Lorenzo_. In “The Life of Man” fate appears in the form of an +objective principle, a power outside of man; in “The Black Maskers” this +same fate has entered, as it were, into the flesh and blood of _Lorenzo_, +has become a part of his essence, that is, it has become subjective in +the fullest sense of the word. _Lorenzo_ considered his life good and +beautiful, but having invited his masked guests to his ball he discovered +the falseness of his life. In the place of one wife he saw three; in +the place of one _Duke Lorenzo_ he suddenly encountered at the ball his +double. Then appeared also the black maskers, the personification of +the darkness of life and the mysterious dark instincts of man. At this +point began a new life for _Lorenzo_, and he himself became new, that +is, demented. With his doubt as to his parentage—whether he was the son +of his father or of a filthy stable-man, his mother’s paramour—began +the dark, insane life of _Lorenzo_, and he perished in darkness and was +burned in his castle, which was set on fire by the jester. + +In the midst of the storm of adverse criticism—including such +characterisation as “unheard-of horrors,” “disregard of real life,” +“excessive symbolism”—that greeted the first appearance of “The Black +Maskers” at the theatre of Komisarzhevskaia, in 1908, very few critics +succeeded in making any close approach to a true interpretation of the +drama, either in its subject-matter or its form. Yet all were intensely +interested, and throngs of “interviewers” made their way to Andreyeff, +at his country home in Finland, to learn what he intended in this drama +to represent. The author, of course, found it impossible to explain +his own creation, but eagerly discussed the symbolic form of this and +other plays. “Critics are a strange people,” said Andreyeff to one of +his interviewers. “They wonder why I write certain things in a peculiar +style. The explanation is very simple: every work should be written in +the style which it demands. ‘King Hunger’ could not be written without +symbolism; ‘The Seven who were Hanged’ could be written only in realistic +tones. Tchekoff—the dear, delightful, sensitive Tchekoff, who was always +so cautious and considerate in his utterances—finding himself once in +a circle of intimate friends and hearing the name of Ibsen mentioned, +blurted out: ‘Ibsen’s a fool!’ If Tchekoff did not understand Ibsen’s +symbolism, could not grasp it, shall I be offended when the critics +assail my writings? Eleven years have past since I published my first +story. For ten years I have written as I felt. I am not the slave of +either symbolism or realism, but they are my servants—now the one, now +the other, according to my theme. In the future also I must continue +to write as I am able.” Not confining himself to the elucidation of +the outer forms of his dramas, Andreyeff gives a direct key to the +understanding of his “Black Maskers” in “My Diary,” published in 1908, +two or three months before the writing of “The Black Maskers.” The +hero of that sketch, an old man who has been immured in a prison since +early manhood, writes in his diary: “Every man, as I afterward came to +see and understand, was like that rich and distinguished gentleman who +arranged a gorgeous masquerade in his castle and illuminated his castle +with lights; and thither came from far and wide strange masks, whom he +welcomed with courteous greetings, though ever with the vain inquiry: +‘Who are you?’ And new masks arrived ever stranger and more horrible.” +To this description the prisoner adds, as a foot-note to his diary: “The +castle is the soul; the lord of the castle is man, the master of the +soul; the strange, black maskers are the powers whose field of action is +the soul of man, and whose mysterious nature he can never fathom.” These +beings bring into the soul darkness and death, extinguishing the light +of life. The “simple” maskers, the guests of _Lorenzo_, are ordinary +people; yet even these are transformed and lose their real semblances +and, like the black maskers, they become mysterious, incomprehensible, +and terrifying to _Lorenzo_, who fails to understand them as he fails to +understand his own soul. _Lorenzo’s_ mind becomes clouded, his own soul +becomes repulsive to him, he seems strange to himself. Though he longs +to accept his own soul as his own, yet the ugliness, the repulsiveness, +of that which he sees within it checks his resolve to do so, and his +soul becomes two souls—_Lorenzo_ becomes two _Lorenzos_. Before him he +sees his double—his horrible, disgusting, false double—and incensed with +anger he draws his sword and slays it. Recall the uncanny scene in which +the servants, friends, and wife of _Lorenzo_ come to bid farewell to the +remains of the dead duke, while the duke himself—his other half—stands in +the shadow at the head of the bier and observes how they greet the cold +corpse of himself. The duality of soul, the duality of personality, has +led to the final tragedy of the duke—insanity. + +But at this point the author willed that a new transformation of +_Lorenzo_ should occur. When the castle, fired by _Ecco_, the jester, is +in flames, _Lorenzo_, falling upon his knees, calls upon all present to +pay homage to the being who is now revealed to his soul, darkened though +it be by insanity. “Uncover, gentlemen; it is the Lord God, the Ruler of +heaven and earth. On your knees, knights and ladies!” But one conclusion +can logically be drawn. _Lorenzo_, passing through this duality of +personality and slaying his double, _i. e._, renouncing the dark and evil +elements of his soul, has attained to the knowledge of God and perishes +at the moment of attainment. + +And the general inference to be drawn from the two plays? Man in +Andreyeff’s view is in the hands of fate; whether it appears as the +effect upon him of his environment, or manifests itself in the joys, +sorrows, temptations, doubts, and struggles of man with his rejoicing, +sorrowing, aspiring, doubting, struggling soul. Man is, as it were, +condemned to inevitable suffering, and only through suffering can he +hope to attain to perfection. Such was the case of _Duke Lorenzo_, whose +death brought him a vision of God. In this sense Andreyeff resembles +Tolstoi and Dostoevski. The former called upon man to achieve perfection +through suffering; the latter admonished man to reject the problems +of personality for the sake of perfection. But Andreyeff differs from +both Tolstoi and Dostoevski. Recall how the hero of “The Life of Man,” +despairing of his personal welfare, curses the invisible Being who +directs the life of man: “I know not who you are, God, the devil, Fate, +or Life, but I curse you! I curse all that you have given me! I curse +the day on which I was born! I curse the day on which I shall die! I +curse my whole life, my joys and my grief! I curse myself! I curse my +eyes, my ears, my tongue! I curse my heart, my head! And I hurl all back +into your cruel face, senseless Fate! Be accursed, be accursed forever! +Through my curse I rise victorious above you. What more can you do with +me? Hurl me upon the ground; yes, hurl me down! I shall only laugh and +cry out: ‘Be accursed!’ ... Over the head of the woman you have offended, +over the body of the boy whom you have killed, I hurl upon you the curse +of Man.” _Duke Lorenzo_, whose timid soul is rent in twain, calls upon +us to worship God; _Man_, whose soul is still intact and unreconciled, +curses him who directs both birth and death. Such are the fundamental +differences between the two plays. + +The third play included in the present volume differs markedly from the +other two in its form, its content, and its purpose as conceived by +Andreyeff. It transports the author from the field of the universal +problems of life to the particular conditions of contemporary political +life in Russia. It is a satire on the Constitutional-Democratic party. +This party is not “legalised” in Russia, and is considered an opposition +party both in the Duma and in the country at large. Notwithstanding +their repute, however, the “Kadets,” as they are called for short, being +composed of individuals representing both progressive and conservative +elements of society, have a mixed character, which serves to distinguish +them from both the socialistic and the populistic parties. Naturally this +dual character is clearly reflected in their political activities. + +Assuming that in general the subject-matter of the play will be clear +to the reader, we will limit ourselves to a few explanations that will +enable the reader to appreciate the keenness of Andreyeff’s satire. +The crude Romans, the abductors of the fair Sabine women, represent +the Russian administration of the period of the reaction. The Sabine +women are the constitutional “promises” wrung from the government by +the revolution of 1905 and 1906. The Sabine husbands represent the +Constitutional-Democratic party, who strive by strictly legal methods +to preserve these promised constitutional guarantees. The political +programme of the Kadets is especially satirised in the second act, at +the point when the injured husbands are preparing to march on Rome to +liberate their wives. _Ancus Martius_ instructs them to march by taking +two steps forward and one step backward. The two forward steps are +designed to indicate “the unquenchable fire of our stormy souls, the firm +will, the irresistible advance. The step backward symbolises the step of +reason, the step of experience and the mature mind.... In taking it we +maintain a close bond with tradition, with our ancestors, with our great +past.” This is the “progressive-conservative” programme of the Kadets. +They failed to gain a victory over their political opponents; or, if they +did win a victory, it was just such a victory as that won by the Sabines +over the Romans. + +In concluding, let us remind the reader that our interpretation of these +three plays has been very brief, as has been also our exposition of +Andreyeff’s views on the theatre. We have set forth but a small fraction +of Andreyeff’s rich contributions to Russian social thought. Above all, +the reader should understand that Andreyeff paints Russian life in true +colours, and to know his works is to know contemporary Russia. + + V. V. BRUSYANIN. + +PETROGRAD, October, 1914. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Since Mr. Brusyanin, the author of this introductory essay, is a +literary critic of note, and at the same time a personal friend of +Andreyeff, the essay has the unique value of being an authoritative +statement of Andreyeff’s own views. + +[2] Ostrovski is regarded as the founder of the modern realistic drama in +Russia. His literary career extended from 1850 to 1886. + +[3] It is interesting to note that the plays of Andreyeff were staged by +the same Moscow theatre which introduced Tchekoff to the public. + +[4] Republished in 1914 in the _Almenakh Shipovnik_ along with another +letter on the same subject. + +[5] Literally, “all soul,” or “all thought.” + +[6] All the plays of Ostrovski are marked by conspicuous external action, +which is often prejudicial to dramatic truth and inconsistent with the +principle of realism. + +[7] “The Life of Man,” published in 1906, was the first symbolic drama +written in Russia. Later followed Andreyeff’s symbolic dramas, “King +Hunger” (the representation of which was forbidden by the censor), “The +Black Maskers,” “Anatema” (which was taken from the stage on petition +of the Moscow clergy), and “The Ocean,” which, owing to technical +difficulties of inscenation, was never staged. + +[8] To appreciate the force of the above criticism the reader must recall +that for about a century the Russian public has been accustomed to read +only the most realistic form of literature. + +[9] See Prologue. + +[10] This definition of life is given by Andreyeff in the study published +variously under the titles “My Diary” and “Our Prison.” + +[11] “The Life of Man,” Act IV. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE vii + + THE SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF, AN ESSAY + BY V. V. BRUSYANIN xi + + THE BLACK MASKERS 1 + + THE LIFE OF MAN 65 + + THE SABINE WOMEN 157 + + BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 197 + + + + +THE BLACK MASKERS + + + + +CAST OF CHARACTERS + + + LORENZO, _Duke of Spadaro_ + ECCO, _a jester_ + DONNA FRANCESCA, _wife of Lorenzo_ + SIGNOR CRISTOFORO, _steward of the wine-cellar_ + SIGNOR PETRUCCIO, _overseer_ + GENTLEMEN and LADIES _of the ducal suite_ + MASKERS, _invited by the Duke_ + BLACK MASKERS, _uninvited_ + ROMUALDO, _a singer_ + MUSICIANS + SERVANTS + PEASANTS + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I + + _A luxurious, newly decorated hall in an ancient feudal + castle. The walls are adorned with frescoes and hung with + paintings blackened with age. Here and there are weapons and + statues. The whole room, though brilliant with gold and with + bright-coloured mosaics, is delicately tinted by light falling + through coloured glass. At the left and in the rear are three + semi-Gothic windows half concealed by heavy, gold-embroidered + curtains. The rear wall, turning back at a right angle at the + centre of the stage, recedes to a row of paired columns which + support the upper part of the building. Behind these columns is + a spacious, brightly illuminated entrance-hall. Massive double + entrance-doors are seen at the right. Directly in front of the + spectator, at the point where the rear wall begins to recede, + a broad marble staircase with a massive sculptured balustrade + ascends to the height of the columns, then, turning to the + right, leads to other apartments. The wall above the columns + is pierced by several small windows of coloured glass through + which comes a peculiar and brilliant light._ + + _The final, hasty preparations are going on for a masquerade + ball. The room is flooded with light from many chandeliers and + from strikingly beautiful candelabra and sconces. Several + servants in rich but uniform livery hurry from place to place, + lighting fresh candles or moving back the heavy armchairs to + give room for the dancers. Every now and then certain of them, + as if recalling something left undone, rush up-stairs or to the + entry doors, the firm, business-like voice of the overseer, + SIGNOR PETRUCCIO, redoubling their haste and their emulation. + Both the overseer and the servants are in high spirits, and the + latter, as they come and go, exchange lively jests and quick, + fleeting smiles. The gayest of all, however, is young LORENZO, + the reigning Duke of Spadaro. Well formed, refined of feature, + a little languid in manner, but courteous and kindly toward + every one, he lightly moves about the hall, all aglow with the + joy of anticipation, giving orders, jesting, and urging on the + servants, now with cheering words and now with gestures of + feigned anger. As he goes he casts happy smiles upon his young + wife, the beautiful DONNA FRANCESCA, who responds with tender + and loving glances. Several ladies and gentlemen, forming + the suite of the Duke and Duchess, are also busily engaged, + some, like the young Duke, joyfully and eagerly preparing for + the reception of the expected guests, others, under cover of + the happy confusion, exchanging fond glances, slyly pressing + one another’s hands, and whispering boldly and quickly into + blushing ears. In an upper room somewhere musicians are making + ready for the ball, and fragments of musical airs are heard. + Suddenly some one begins to sing in a rich baritone, but the + song quickly passes over into laughter. Apparently, it is jolly + there, too._ + + _On a rug before a blazing fire the Duke’s dog, a huge Saint + Bernard, dozes in an attitude of luxurious abandon. Seated near + the foot of the stairway, ECCO, the Duke’s jester, imitates + the Duke’s voice and by his orders causes laughable confusion._ + +PETRUCCIO. Keep up that speed a little longer, Mario, and you’ll be your +own grandfather. Hurry, man, hurry! + +MARIO. Why, Signor Petruccio, the Duke’s best horse doesn’t get over the +ground as fast as I do. + +A SERVANT. When the flies sting. + +ANOTHER SERVANT. Or the whip flicks. + +PETRUCCIO. Come! lively, there, lively! + +LORENZO. This way! More candles here! Don’t you see how dark this corner +is? No darkness, Signor Petruccio, no darkness! + +A GENTLEMAN. [_To a lady_] There! They have driven us out of our last +refuge. But I shall kiss you yet. + +THE LADY. In the dark it will be hard to find me. + +THE GENTLEMAN. In the dark I shall spread my arms wide and embrace the +whole night. + +ANOTHER GENTLEMAN. You will make a rich haul, Signor Silvio. + +ECCO. [_Calling out_] Mario! Carlo! Pietro! Quick! Hold a candle under +this gentleman’s nose. The darkness frightens him out of his wits. + +FRANCESCA. [_To the Duke, affectionately_] My dear! my love! my divinity! +How charming your new costume is! You are like a shaft of sunlight flung +through the lofty window of our cathedral. Your divine beauty fills me +with adoration. + +LORENZO. You are a delicate blossom, Francesca. You are a delicate +blossom, and the sun, when it kisses you, is overbold. [_He kisses her +hand with profound respect and tenderness, but suddenly, in mock terror, +calls to the overseer_] But the tower, Petruccio, the tower! If you +have forgotten to illuminate the tower I will have you impaled like an +unbaptised Turk. + +PETRUCCIO. The tower is illuminated, sir. + +LORENZO. Illuminated? How dare you say so? It should blaze, it should +sparkle, it should rise toward the dark heavens like a huge tongue of +fire. + +ECCO. Tut! Tut! Lorenzo. Don’t show your tongue to heaven or heaven will +answer you with a fig. + +LORENZO. My dear little fellow, you mustn’t annoy me with your jokes. I +am looking forward to a feast of light, and your barbed shafts wound me +to the soul. No darkness, Ecco, no darkness! + +ECCO. Then you must light up your wife’s tresses. They are too dark, +Lorenzo, too dark. And put a torch in each of her eyes. They are too +dark, Lorenzo, too dark. + +FRANCESCA. Wretch! Here are so many beautiful ladies—can’t one of you win +the affections of this miserable jester? + +FIRST LADY. He’s a hunchback. + +SECOND LADY. If he should try to kiss me, his nose would prick me like a +sword. + +GENTLEMAN. Your heart, madam, would turn the edge of any sword. + + _Enter a gentleman, tall and thin as a pole, the image of Don + Quixote. His moustaches droop and seem to be continually wet. + He turns gloomily to the Duke._ + +CRISTOFORO. I have a shocking piece of news to impart to you, Signor. + +LORENZO. What is it? You alarm me, Signor Cristoforo. + +CRISTOFORO. I have reason to believe, sir, that we shall run short +of both Cyprian and Falernian. These gentlemen [_pointing with his +forefinger to the Duke’s attendants_] drink wine as camels in the desert +drink water. + +ONE OF THE SUITE. Signor Cristoforo, why are your moustaches always wet? + +CRISTOFORO. [_With dignity_] It is my duty, sir, to test all the wines. + +LORENZO. [_Cheerfully_] My good friend, you exaggerate the danger. Our +cellars are inexhaustible. + +CRISTOFORO. [_Insistently_] They drink wine like camels. Your happy mood +pleases me, Signor, but you take things too light-heartedly. When your +sainted father and I set out to deliver the Holy Sepulchre—— + +LORENZO. [_Gently reproaching him_] My dear old friend, you surely are +not going to spoil, with your mumbling and grumbling, this delightful +evening. + +CRISTOFORO. [_Good-naturedly_] Well, well, my boy, don’t be angry. +[_Threateningly_] Ho, there! Manucci! Filippo! After me! + + [_Exit._ + +LORENZO. But the roadway, Signor Petruccio! Heaven punish you! The +roadway! You have forgotten to illuminate the roadway, and our friends +will not be able to find us. + +PETRUCCIO. The roadway is illuminated, Signor. + +LORENZO. Illuminated? Your tongue is like a jaded nag. When the spurs +prick its flanks it can only switch its tail. The whole road must +sparkle. It must blaze with lights like the road to paradise. Understand +me, Sir Overseer. The shades of the cypresses should flee in terror to +the mountains where sleep the dragons. Do you lack torches and helpers? +Do you lack kegs of pitch? + +ECCO. If pitch is lacking, Petruccio, you had better go borrow it in +hell. Satan will lend it to you on your personal security. + +ONE OF THE SERVANTS. He would have fetched some thence before this but +that he feared there would not be enough left to keep him warm. + +SECOND SERVANT. Signor Petruccio is so chilly. + +PETRUCCIO. Lively, there, lively! + +FRANCESCA. [_To the Duke_] You forget me, Lorenzo. Though you light up +everything, yet I, unless you smile upon me, am left in darkness. Do the +masks interest you so much? + +LORENZO. So much, my dear, that I am dying with impatience. There will +be flowers and serpents, Francesca. There will be flowers, and serpents +among the flowers. There will be a dragon, Francesca. A dragon will come +crawling to us, Francesca, and you will see real fire issuing from his +jaws. It will be great fun. But don’t be afraid. It’s all in jest. It’s +all just our friends, and we shall have a glorious laugh over it. Why +don’t they come? + +A SERVANT. [_Hurrying in_] I was watching from the tower, and I saw +something moving along the road, Signor. It looks like a black serpent +crawling among the cypresses. + +LORENZO. [_Joyfully_] They’re coming. They’re coming. + +ANOTHER SERVANT. [_Running in_] I was watching from the tower, and I saw +a dragon crawling toward us. I saw red fire gleaming from its eyes, and I +was frightened, Signor. + +LORENZO. [_Joyfully_] They’re coming. They’re coming. Do you hear, +Petruccio? + +PETRUCCIO. Everything is ready, Signor. + +THIRD SERVANT. [_Running in_] There is shouting and commotion at the +drawbridge, Signor. They are demanding admittance. I heard the clash of +weapons, sir. + +LORENZO. [_Angrily_] What! The drawbridge not down? Is that the way to +receive my guests, Petruccio? To-morrow I discharge you, if you—— + +PETRUCCIO. Pardon me, sir. I will run. [_Runs out._ + +LORENZO. They have come! Smile, Francesca! They have come! + +ECCO. [_Laughs very loudly_] Yes, let’s laugh, Lorenzo. We must limber up +our jaws. [_Yawns._ + +LORENZO. But the musicians! Good Heavens! Where are the musicians? Has +that dunce forgotten all my directions? + +FRANCESCA. Don’t be angry, my dear. The musicians are in readiness. + +LORENZO. But why are they not here? + +FRANCESCA. See, now, my love, you compel me to let out the secret. They +intended to surprise you. The musicians also are to appear in masks. + +LORENZO. And I shall not recognise them? Oh, that is charming! And +who planned this surprise? Ah, it was you, it was you, Signora. I can +read it in your sly, smiling eyes. But the music! Surely they have not +forgotten to learn the piece I composed for them. Oh, this fat rascal of +a Petruccio! I shall certainly have to impale him. + +ECCO. How indiscreet of you, Lorenzo! Petruccio will steal the stake and +run away with it. + +LORENZO. Oh! Now I think of it, Ecco, just a word with you before they +come. My dear fellow, you may mock me as much as you please; I understand +your humour and I like it. But don’t, I beg of you, offend my guests. +You must not be malicious, Ecco, even in sport. You have a tender heart, +my little hunchback, and you are not ill-natured. Why, then, do you +sting people with your jests? Laugh. Entertain my guests. Make yourself +agreeable to the ladies—and here you may go far—but do not irritate any +one. To-day is my day, Ecco. + +A SERVANT. [_Flinging open the doors_] They are at the door, Signor. + +LORENZO. I’m coming. I’m coming. Call the musicians! + + _Commotion in the hall. Several MASKERS appear. The costumes + are such as are common at masquerades—harlequins, pierrots, + Saracens, Turkish men and women, and animals and flowers. But + all the faces are concealed under heavy, closely fitting masks. + The MASKERS enter in profound silence and respond to the Duke’s + courteous greetings with silent bows._ + +LORENZO. [_Bowing low and courteously_] I thank you, ladies and +gentlemen. I am happy to greet you in my castle. Pardon the carelessness +of my overseer in failing to lower the drawbridge and thus causing you +some delay. I am greatly mortified, ladies and gentlemen. + +A MASKER. [_In a muffled voice_] We arrived just the same. We got in, did +we not, gentlemen? + +SECOND MASKER. We got in. + +THIRD MASKER. We got in. + + _Strange, muffled laughter from behind the heavy masks._ + +LORENZO. I am delighted to find you in such good spirits, ladies and +gentlemen. From this moment my castle is yours. + +A MASKER. Yes, it is ours. It is ours. + + _The same strange, muffled laughter._ + +LORENZO. [_Looking about gaily_] But I do not recognise any one. It is +amazing, gentlemen, but I do not recognise a single soul. Is this you, +Signor Basilio? It seems to me that I recognise your voice. + +A VOICE. Signor Basilio is not here. + +ANOTHER VOICE. Signor Basilio is not here. Signor Basilio is dead. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] That’s a good joke. Signor Basilio dead? Why, he is +as much alive as I am. + +A MASKER. Are you, then, alive? + +LORENZO. [_Impatiently, but with great courtesy_] Let us leave Death in +peace, gentlemen. + +A VOICE. Ask Death to leave you in peace. What need of peace has he? + +LORENZO. Who said that? Was it you, Signor Sandro? [_Laughing_] I +recognise you, sir, by your melancholy. But cheer up, my gloomy friend. +See how many lights there are, how many beautiful, living lights. + +A MASKER. Signor Sandro is not here. Signor Sandro is dead. + + _The same strange, muffled laughter. Other MASKERS arrive._ + +LORENZO. Yes, yes. Now I understand. [_Laughing_] All of us are dead. +Signor Basilio is dead; Signor Sandro is dead; I am dead. Excellent! I +congratulate you, gentlemen, on your extremely interesting jest. Still, +I should like to know who you are— Ah, here come others! Greetings, my +dear guests— What a strange costume! Why are you all in red, and what is +the meaning of this hideous black snake that is twined about you? I trust +it is not alive, Signora. If it were I should pity your poor heart into +which it has so ruthlessly struck its fangs. + +THE RED MASKER. [_With a muffled laugh_] Do you not recognise me, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. [_Joyously_] Is it you, Signora Emilia? But no, Signora Emilia +is not so tall as you, and her voice is fuller and softer. + +THE RED MASKER. I am your heart, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. Exquisite! I am sincerely delighted, my friends, that I invited +you for this evening. You are so witty. However, you mistake, madam. This +is not my heart. There is no serpent in my heart. + +ANOTHER MASKER. Is not this your heart, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. [_Starting back, but controlling himself_] You frighten me, +sir, coming so unexpectedly from behind. What? This hairy black spider; +this repulsive monster on thin, wavering legs; those dull, greedy, cruel +eyes—this my heart? No, Signor, my heart is full of love and welcome. +Within my heart all is as radiant as is this castle, which greets you so +joyously, my strange guests. + +THE SPIDER. Lorenzo, Lorenzo, let us go and catch flies. In a spider-web +in the tower yonder something has long been entangled and awaits you. Let +us go, Lorenzo. Would you not like some fresh blood? + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] In my castle there is no spider-web. In my tower +there is none of that darkness which is necessary to such loathsome +creatures as you, my strange guest. But who are you? + +THE RED MASKER. Lorenzo, the serpent is restless. It is trying to sting +me, Lorenzo. Oh, the pain, the terror of it! Stroke its head, Lorenzo. It +has such a beautiful, smooth head, and you see it is not alive. Soothe +it, Lorenzo. + + _Muffled laughter._ + +LORENZO. [_Falling in with the jest and cautiously stroking the serpent_] +When the devil tempts he takes the form of a serpent. But you, of course, +are not the devil. You are only a mock serpent, only a mock serpent. +[_Hastily_] But, gentlemen, is it not time to dance? The musicians, I +presume, have long been waiting impatiently. Petruccio! + +A MASKER. [_Approaching him_] What does your Grace command? + +LORENZO. Pardon me, sir. I did not call to you. I was summoning my +overseer. Petruccio! + +THE MASKER. I am Petruccio. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Oh, so it is you, you fat old rascal. You, too, +have taken a notion to join the sport. And I didn’t recognise you. Well, +that is very neat. Come, now, tell me— But where are you? Petruccio! +Petruccio! Really, I shall have to impale this fat rascal. Hello, there, +somebody! Manucci! Pietro! + +FIRST MASKER. Did you call me, sir? + +SECOND MASKER. Did you call me, sir? + +LORENZO. [_Perplexed_] No, I did not call you. [_Grasping the situation +and laughing_] Ah, yes, I see. My good fellows, how dare you mingle with +the guests? + +FIRST MASKER. They told us to. + +SECOND MASKER. They told us to. + +LORENZO. [_Good-humouredly clapping one of the MASKERS on the shoulder_] +Quite right. I was only fooling. Let us all be merry on this glorious +night—But isn’t it odd that I do not recognise any one—positively not a +soul—? Why, I’ve lost my servants again. Mario! Pietro—! Now, really, +Signor, isn’t that strange? I have lost all my servants. + +A MASKER. [_Turning to the others_] Gentlemen, Lorenzo has mislaid his +servants. + + _Loud laughter, the MASKERS bowing with mock courtesy._ + +A VOICE. But where is your suite, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. [_Looking about and smiling_] I see nothing but masks. Here’s an +interesting situation, gentlemen. Mine being the only real face, I am the +only person about whom there can be no mistake. + + _Renewed laughter._ + +A VOICE. We are now your suite, Lorenzo. + +SECOND VOICE. We are now your suite, Duke. What are your instructions? + + _Laughter._ + +LORENZO. [_Very affably, but with dignity_] It is delightful, gentlemen, +to find you in such merry vein. I am overjoyed at your charming jest. +But I should be deeply offended if you really took my servants’ place— +Mario! + + _Other MASKERS come up. On most of them the tight-fitting + masks are replaced by painted faces. The women, however, as + before, wear masks of coloured silk. The painted faces of the + newcomers are hideous and revolting. Among them are corpses, + cripples, and deformed persons. A grey, helpless creature with + long legs moves about, frequently coughing and groaning. Seven + humpbacked, wrinkled old women run in, in Indian file, capering + joyfully and beating castanets._ + +LORENZO. [_Bowing courteously_] I have pleasure, my dear guests, in +welcoming you to my castle. From this moment it is entirely at your +service. Ah, what a charming procession! Tell me, my beauties, where is +your bridegroom, the devil? + +FIRST OLD WOMAN. [_Running up to LORENZO_] He is at our heels. + +SECOND OLD WOMAN. [_Running up to LORENZO_] He is at our heels. + +THE TALL GREY CREATURE. [_Bending down to the Duke and coughing_] Why did +you call me from my bed, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. [_Lightly_] And where is your bed, Signor? + +THE TALL GREY CREATURE. In your heart, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Cheerfully_] How they do slander my poor heart! I am pleased +to— [_Staggering back_] What an amazing disguise, Signor! I actually took +you for a corpse. Pray tell me the name of the talented artist who so +skilfully altered your features. + +THE MASKER. Death. + +LORENZO. Capital! But if you will permit me to say so, my dear guest, I +am sure I recognise in your make-up the beloved features of my friend, +Signor Sandro di Grada. Heavens, but you frightened me, my dear fellow! +These masks, these curious masks! Do you know, I can’t make out at all +who they are. Perhaps you can help me, Signor. + +THE MASKER. It is dark, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. But I ordered an abundance of lights. We will have more of them. +Petruccio! Petruccio! + +THE MASKER. It is cold, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. Cold? Why, to me it seems as hot here as hell itself. However, +if you are cold, my dear Sandro, pray come to the fire. Have a goblet of +wine. Ho, there, Petruccio! Lazybones! + + _Several MASKERS, alike in appearance, run up at the same time + and answer almost in one voice._ + +THE MASKERS. At your service, Signor. + +LORENZO. [_Not understanding_] Petruccio! + +THE MASKERS. [_Together_] At your service, Signor. At your service. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Ah, I see! A moment ago I lost my servants, and now +I have lost my overseer. [_In comic terror_] But here is Signor Sandro +come shivering from his grave. Who will give him wine? Pardon me, Signor— +Why, he is already gone! Poor fellow! He wants to warm himself. How tired +I am! I should like a drop of wine myself. Signor Cristoforo! Has no one +seen Signor Cristoforo? + + _A tall, thin MASKER approaches._ + +THE MASKER. Your orders, sir? + +LORENZO. Is that you, my honest friend? I recognise you by your stature. +Bring me some wine. This receiving of my guests has wearied me. + +THE MASKER. Something is wrong with our wine, Lorenzo. It has turned +as red as Satan’s blood, and it crazes the brain like the poison of a +serpent. Do not drink it, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] What could happen to our fine old wine? You have +tasted too much of it and your head is muddled. + +THE MASKER. [_Insistently_] I have already seen several drunken guests, +Lorenzo. If it is honest wine, why should they be drunk? + +LORENZO. Wine, you babbler, wine! [_Drinks the wine, but at the first +draught throws away the goblet_] What is this you have given me? It seems +as if the fires of hell were licking my throat and burning their way to +my very heart. Cristoforo—! Where is he? Pardon me, gentlemen, but really +something incomprehensible has happened to our wine— Ah, more maskers! I +am glad to greet you in my castle, my dear guests. + + _While LORENZO, weariedly bowing ever lower, greets the strange + MASKERS that are coming in, a subdued hum of conversation fills + the hall._ + +FIRST MASKER. Whence do you come, Signor? + +SECOND MASKER. From the night. And you, Signor, if you please? + +FIRST MASKER. I also am from the night. + + _They laugh. Two other MASKERS converse._ + +FIRST MASKER. He has drunk all my blood. There is not one healthy, living +spot left on my body. It is covered with blood and wounds. + +SECOND MASKER. He kills those whom he loves. + +FIRST MASKER. You know, of course, what is to happen to-day. + + _They move away. Other MASKERS converse._ + +VARIOUS MASKERS: + +—It was idle for Lorenzo to light up his castle so brilliantly. Did you +notice as we rode along that something was moving in the shadows of the +cypresses? + +—I saw nothing but darkness. + +—But are you not afraid of darkness? + +—Why, I do not think there is anything in it for us to be afraid of. What +can the darkness do to us? But are you not sorry for this insane Lorenzo? + +—I don’t know. Something, I assure you, was moving there. + +—See how happy Lorenzo is. Isn’t it delightful to have such a cheerful +and nimble servant? + + _They laugh. The masked musicians take their places in the + balcony. ECCO moves about among the legs of the dancers, + trying to peer under their masks and arousing laughter by his + unsuccessful attempts._ + +ECCO. Are you not from the swamps, Signor? It seems to me you are very +like the ague which for two months shook me as a dog shakes a rabbit. + + _The TALL GREY CREATURE strikes a careless blow and ECCO falls._ + +ECCO. That’s a strange sort of joke! Here am I, the jester, on the verge +of tears, while you, at whom I should laugh, are smiling. Oh! who pinched +me? Was it you, Signora? + +A BEAUTIFUL MASKER. Yes, it was I, Ecco. + +ECCO. I observe, Signora, that a hump on the breast deforms a character +no less than a hump on the back. + + _The BEAUTIFUL MASKER swiftly and silently strikes the jester + a blow with her dagger. The glittering edge glides across his + neck and the jester runs whimpering up the staircase and thence + clambers out onto one of the marble projections. Laughter._ + + _The musicians begin a wild melody in which are heard malicious + laughter, cries of agony and despair, and some one’s low, sad + plaining. The dance of the MASKERS is also strange and wild._ + +LORENZO. I am glad that you are merry, my friends. Though for my part I +am a little weary— But what sort of music is this? Heavens! how wild it +is and how it pierces one’s ears. Luigi, are you drunk or crazy? What are +you playing there with your band of disguised brigands. Pardon me, my +dear guests, this donkey Petruccio has spoiled everything. + +A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. We are playing what you gave us, sir. + +LORENZO. [_Nettled_] You lie, Luigi. Lorenzo could not compose such +a hellish discord. I hear in it the wails of martyrs under merciless +torture. I hear in it the laughter of Satan. + +THE OLD WOMEN. [_Running up with castanets_] The bridegroom is coming. +The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. + +LORENZO. Pardon me, my charming jesters, but I must first admonish this +bold-faced rascal, Luigi. + +A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. Luigi is not here, Signor. + +LORENZO. Then who is speaking? Is that you, Stampa? + +THE MASKER. No, it is another. We are playing only what you gave us, +Signor. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Ah, I see. The tones are masked. Capital! Do you +hear, ladies and gentlemen? To-day the very tones are masked. Really, +I was not aware that tones could put on such repulsive masks. Isn’t it +droll? + +A VOICE. And you had never learned that, Lorenzo? How little you know. + +ANOTHER VOICE. It’s certainly your own music, Duke. + +A THIRD VOICE. But where are you yourself, Lorenzo? + + _Laughter. The music continues. The old women with the + castanets run forward._ + +THE OLD WOMEN. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom. The bridegroom +is coming. + +LORENZO. [_Bowing low_] I crave your pardon, my dear sir, for not +greeting you as I should, but there are so many persons here and I +recognise no one of them—positively not one. Just conceive of it—I do not +even recognise my own music. It’s extremely amusing, isn’t it? + +A MASKER. But do you recognise yourself, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. Myself? [_Laughing_] To be sure. You see that I wear no mask— +But what is this? + + _A strange procession moves slowly past the Duke. A young, + proud, and beautiful queen is led in by a half-drunken groom, + who embraces her. Before them walks a peasant nurse carrying in + her arms a misshapen infant, half animal, half man._ + +LORENZO. [_In great agitation_] What is the meaning of this, Signors? +Even under the disguise of masks such a union seems to me unseemly and +repulsive. And what is this that is borne before them? What a disgusting +mask! + +A MASKER. The groom had intercourse with the queen and this is their +charming son. Make way for the queen’s son! + +THE GROOM. [_Drunkenly_] Hey there! Knights! Crusaders! Out of the way! +Drive them off, my queen, or they will harm our precious son. + + _Laughter._ + +VOICES. Way for the queen’s son! + +LORENZO. [_Turning away much agitated_] I am not at all pleased with this +jest, Signors— Hello, Ecco, you rascally jester, why have you climbed up +there? Why are you not entertaining the company with your pleasantries? + +ECCO. [_Weeping_] I am afraid of your guests, Lorenzo. They have hurt me. +Send them away, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_With rising anger_] Who has dared to affront you? It cannot +be. My honoured guests are too kind and courteous to injure any one. +It is more likely that you, you rascal, having given offence by your +malicious wit, are now shielding yourself from punishment. + +ECCO. [_Weeping_] Your guests are fine people, Lorenzo. My hump is +swimming in blood. It is like a hilly island in the sea. Haven’t you a +little costume for me, Lorenzo? I, too, wish to put on a mask. + +LORENZO. Come here. + + _The jester, glancing about timorously, comes down to LORENZO._ + +ECCO. What do you wish? Speak quickly or I will run away. I am all in a +tremble. + +LORENZO. I also am somewhat fearful, my dear Ecco. I don’t quite +understand what is going on. Who are these persons? I don’t recognise +one of them, and I think there are more than I invited. It’s strange. +Can’t you recognise anybody, Ecco? Their faces, to be sure, are covered, +but you are so good at recalling their bearing, voice, and figure. You, +perhaps, have recognised some one. + +ECCO. Not a soul. Let me go, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Sadly_] Do you, then, desert me, my dear Ecco? + +ECCO. I am going to put on a mask. + +LORENZO. Very well, my little hunchback. Go, if you are frightened. But +send Donna Francesca to me. Do you know where she is? + +ECCO. She is up-stairs. Send them away, Lorenzo. I will run to summon +her. [_He goes up-stairs._ + +LORENZO. [_Addressing a newly arrived and very beautiful MASKER_] +Greetings, Signora. You are as entrancing as a vision. You are as +delicate as a silvery moonbeam, and I reverently bend my knee before you. +[_He sinks on one knee and respectfully kisses her hand, then rises_] I +see only the graceful outline of your figure and your little foot, but +permit me, my divinity, to be so bold as to look into your eyes. How they +shine! Even through the meshes of this black and hateful mask I see how +beautiful they are. Who are you, Signora? I do not know you. + +THE MASKER. I am your falsehoods, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Can a lie, then, be as beautiful as you are, +Signora? But you mistake. There are no lies in me. I hate a lie, my lady. +If you knew Lorenzo’s thoughts, his clear, pure thoughts—if you knew his +soul, which sings in the heavens as the lark sings in spring above the +flooding Arno— [_Frightened_] Ah, what’s this? + + _Something formless and shapeless, with many arms and legs, + creeps up. It speaks with many voices._ + +THE THING. We are your thoughts, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. A bold jest! Still, you are my guests. I invited you—— + +THE THING. We are your overlords, Lorenzo. This castle is ours. + +LORENZO. [_Clasping his head_] Oh, this horrible music! It is enough to +drive one mad. Luigi, or somebody there—I do not recognise any one—I beg +of you, I command you—play what I gave you. Unmask the tones. Don’t you +remember how beautiful the melody was that I composed? A little sad it +was, gentlemen, I confess. In truth, I often yield myself to a tender +and languorous melancholy. But it was so full of harmony, so pure, so +pellucid. If, perchance, you have forgotten it, Luigi, listen—I will +recall it to you. [_He begins singing a lovely melody. After the first +two measures, however, he takes up the air that the musicians are playing +and breaks off in alarm_] How absurd! You put me out, gentlemen. My +head is somewhat dizzy. Really, something was wrong with the wine. How +absurd, gentlemen! My brain seems to have turned to melted lead. + + _Loud laughter._ + +A VOICE. Why did you break off, Lorenzo? + +SECOND VOICE. Lorenzo is drunk. Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, is drunk. + + _Laughter._ + +SECOND VOICE. We were ready to hear you, Lorenzo; we know what a great +artist you are. + +THIRD VOICE. Sing, Lorenzo; we insist. + +LORENZO. [_With dignity_] My friends— [_Frightened_] Ah, who are you? Who +touches me on the shoulder? Madam, the guests are all assembled, and you +are an intruder. I do not know you. + +A BEAUTIFUL MASKER. It is I, my love. + +LORENZO. Pardon me, madam, but only my wife, Donna Francesca, may address +me thus. + +THE MASKER. [_Laughing softly_] Do you not know me, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. Something about you, my charming masker, reminds me of my wife. +But this black mask— Permit me to look into your eyes. Out of a million +women I should know my beloved by her eyes. [_He gazes into her eyes, +then laughs joyfully_] Francesca, my love, how you frightened me! Why +are you masked? You know— [_He leads her to one side and, pressing her +tightly to him, speaks almost in a whisper_] My dear, I am so weary, and +my heart pains me as if a serpent were stinging it. My thoughts are in +confusion. You have seen that frightful monster—look! Over yonder! It’s +in the corner now. It says it is my thoughts. But, Francesca, my dear, my +beloved, that is not true, is it? + +THE MASKER. It is only a mask, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Doubtfully_] Do you really think so, Signora? And will they +go, and shall we be left alone? + +THE MASKER. Yes, we shall be left alone. [_Passionately_] And I shall +hold you so tightly, Lorenzo, that you will think I have never embraced +you before. + +LORENZO. [_Absently_] Yes? I am very happy, my lady— But these masks—this +horrible Signor Sandro is painted so like a corpse as to deceive any +grave-digger. It seemed to me that I saw worms. I would not put on so +frightful, so revolting a mask even in jest. + +THE MASKER. [_Frightened_] Signor Sandro? Why, Signor Sandro is really +dead. My dear, you have made a mistake. + +LORENZO. [_Slowly_] Why do you mock at me, Francesca? If he were dead I +should have had notice of his death. + +THE MASKER. And so you did, Lorenzo. You have forgotten, and you are +weary. Your hands are cold. I must kiss your hand, my love, even though +they are watching us. + + _She kisses his hand. Another beautiful MASKER approaches from + behind and speaks in a loud voice._ + +THE SECOND MASKER. Lorenzo, did you send for me? + +LORENZO. [_Horrified_] Francesca’s voice! + +THE SECOND MASKER. Ecco said that you wished to see me. + +LORENZO. Ecco? [_Slowly pushing away the MASKER whom he had embraced and +looking at her in horror_] But who are you, Signora? And how dared you +deceive me? I have done you honour—I have embraced you. [_He pushes her +away gently_] Leave me. + +THE FIRST MASKER. [_Wringing her hands_] Lorenzo! Lorenzo! Would you +drive me away? What ails you, Lorenzo? + +THE SECOND MASKER. [_Impatiently_] Did you send for me, Lorenzo? Who is +this lady who presumes to speak to you so affectionately? + +LORENZO. Francesca! Francesca! [_In perplexity he looks now at one and +now at the other. Approaching the SECOND MASKER and knitting his brows in +an expression of horrified inquiry, he gazes into her eyes_] Your eyes, +your eyes—show me your eyes. Yes, it is you, Francesca. It is your soft +and tender gaze. It is your beautiful soul. Give me your hand. [_To the +FIRST MASKER, with contempt_] And you, madam, leave me. + +THE SECOND MASKER. [_Pressing close to the Duke_] Lorenzo, your maskers +frighten me. Our castle is overrun with monsters. I saw Signor Sandro. He +is horrible. + +LORENZO. [_Clasping his head_] Signor Sandro? Why, he is dead. You told +me so yourself. + + _A third equally beautiful MASKER approaches from behind and + speaks in a loud voice._ + +THE THIRD MASKER. Lorenzo, my dear, did you send for me? Ecco said that +you wished to see me. Who is this lady with you? And what is the meaning +of this unseemly familiarity, Lorenzo? + +LORENZO. [_Stepping back with a laugh in which is heard a note of +insanity_] What a capital joke, madam, what a delicious farce! Now it is +my wife who is lost. Laugh, my dear guests. I had a wife. They called her +Donna Francesca, and I have lost her. What a strange jest! + +THE THREE MASKERS. [_Together_] Lorenzo, my beloved! + +LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Do you hear, gentlemen? + + _General unrestrained laughter._ + +VOICES. Lorenzo has lost his wife. Weep, gentlemen. Lorenzo has lost his +wife. Give Lorenzo another wife. + + _On all sides are heard plaintive female voices_: “Here I + am, Lorenzo. Here I am, Lorenzo. Take your Francesca.” _From + somewhere comes a single terrified voice_: “Save me, Lorenzo, I + am here.” _Loud laughter. The seven old women, with the air of + coy and embarrassed brides, seem about to throw themselves on + LORENZO’S neck._ + +VOICE. We will give Lorenzo a wife. Gentlemen, Duke Lorenzo is now +contracting a new marriage. The wedding march, musicians! + + _The MUSICIANS play wild strains remotely resembling wedding + music, but the music is that which is played in hell at the + masquerade wedding of Satan. The RED MASKER with the serpent + approaches LORENZO._ + +THE RED MASKER. Do you recognise your heart now, Lorenzo? [_Plaintively_] +Caress the poor serpent, caress the poor serpent. It has drunk all my +blood. + +THE SPIDER. Now do you recognise your heart, Lorenzo? Let us go up into +the tower, my friend. Something is entangled in the spider-web there and +waits for you. But is your sword sharp, Lorenzo? Is your sword sharp? + +LORENZO. Hence, hence! Brood of darkness, I know you not. [_Running a +few steps up the staircase, and raised thus alone above the throng of +MASKERS, he tries to cry out, but suddenly presses his hand to his heart, +and, smiling sadly, comes down again, the same winning, candid, noble, +and handsome figure as before_] Pardon me, my dear friends, for my touch +of ill-humour. These choice jests, these adroit tricks of yours have just +a little dashed my spirits— And I have lost my wife— Her name was Donna +Francesca. Permit me now—since the hour of departure draws nigh—permit me +to call your attention to some real music—not the hideous discords with +which this disguised brigand of a Luigi has, in his desire to contribute +to the general gaiety, so tortured our ears, but some music of my own. I +am a very poor composer, gentlemen. It is rare that these earthly ears +of mine are ravished by celestial melodies. But you will not criticise +me too harshly. In the virgin purity of the tones you will find a +restful calmness and the reflection of some one’s heavenly vision— And +I have lost my wife, gentlemen, I have lost my wife. Her name was Donna +Francesca. + +THE MASKERS. We are waiting for your music, Lorenzo. All the world knows +the enchanting music of Duke Lorenzo. But the hour of departure is still +remote. + +LORENZO. I am at your service, my dear guests. [_He confers with the +MUSICIANS._ + + _A little before this the first of the BLACK MASKERS has + appeared in the hall—a strange, deformed creature like a living + fragment of darkness. Glancing about timidly and suspiciously, + wondering at everything new, strange, and unfamiliar, the BLACK + MASKER steals guiltily along the wall and awkwardly conceals + itself behind the other MASKERS. Every one whom it approaches + starts back perplexed and alarmed._ + +A VOICE. Who is this? This is not a masker. + +SECOND VOICE. I don’t know. Who invited you, sir? + + _The BLACK MASKER makes no answer, but, shrinking into itself, + quietly hides behind the others. Two MASKERS converse._ + +FIRST MASKER. [_To the other in a low voice_] How many of us were there? + +SECOND MASKER. A hundred. + +FIRST MASKER. But now there are more. Who is this? Don’t you know? + +SECOND MASKER. Not I. But I am afraid to speak of it. It seems that they +fly toward the light. + +FIRST MASKER. Crazy Lorenzo! He lighted up his castle too brilliantly. + +SECOND MASKER. Lights are dangerous in the night. + +FIRST MASKER. To those who are abroad? + +SECOND MASKER. No, to him who lights them. + +LORENZO. My friends, I beg your attention. You see this masked gentleman. +His name is Romualdo and he is an admirable singer. He will now render +for you a little ballad which I made bold to compose. Have you your +notes, Romualdo? + +THE MASKED SINGER. I have, sir. + +LORENZO. And the words? Consult your notes frequently. In one place, my +friend, you often go wrong. + +THE MASKED SINGER. I have the words also, sir. + +LORENZO. Luigi, you villain, if you make a mistake in a single note I +will have you hanged from the castle wall to-morrow. + +A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. You will have no occasion to waste rope on me, +sir. + +LORENZO. Attention, ladies and gentlemen, attention. [_Much excited_] +Now, Romualdo, do your best, my friend. Do not disgrace me, and to-morrow +I will give you a costly belt. + + _The accompaniment begins with a beautiful, soft, and tender + harmony, pure and clear as a cloudless sky or as the eyes of a + child; but with each successive measure which the masked artist + sings the music becomes more fragmentary and more restless and + soon passes over into wild cries and laughter, expressive of + tragical but incoherent emotion. It closes with a solemn and + melancholy hymn._ + +THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “My soul is an enchanted castle. When the +sun shines into the lofty windows, with its golden rays it weaves golden +dreams. When the sad moon looks into the misty windows, in its silvery +beams are silvery dreams. Who laughs? Who laughs so tenderly at the +mournful dirge?” + +LORENZO. Right, right, Romualdo. + +THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “And I lighted up my castle with lights. +What has happened to my soul? The black shadows fled to the hills and +returned yet blacker. Who sobs? Who groans so heavily in the black +shadows of the cypresses? Who came at my call?” + +LORENZO. [_In perplexity_] That is not there, Romualdo. What kind of +music is that? + +THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “And terror entered my shining castle. +What has happened to my soul? The lights go out at the breath of the +darkness. Who laughs? Who laughs so horribly at insane Lorenzo? Have pity +on me, O Monarch. My soul is filled with terror. O Monarch—O Lord of the +World—O Satan!” + +THE MASKERS. [_Laughing_] Have pity on him, Satan. + +LORENZO. That is false, singer. I, Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, Knight of +the Holy Ghost, could never have called Satan the monarch of the world. +Give me the notes. My sword shall teach you how to read. [_Snatches the +notes and reads with growing horror_] “And my soul is filled with terror, +O Lord of the World—O Satan.” That is false. Some one has imitated my +handwriting, gentlemen. I never wrote this. I swear by almighty heaven, +sirs, I swear by the sacred memory of my mother, I swear by my word of +honour as a knight. There is some base deceit here. The words have been +altered, gentlemen. + +THE MASKERS. We have no need of your oaths, Lorenzo. Go to the church if +you want to repent. We are the masters here. Continue, singer. + +LORENZO. [_Smiling feebly_] Pardon me, gentlemen, I had for the moment +forgotten that for me everything is changed—faces, tones, even words. +But who would have thought, my dear guests, that words could assume such +revolting masks. Go on with your jest, singer. + +THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “In the black depths of my heart I shall +erect a throne to you, O Satan. In the black depths of my thought I shall +erect a throne to you, O Satan. Divine, immortal, almighty, from now on +and for ever hold sway over the soul of Lorenzo, happy, insane Lorenzo.” + + _Applause. Laughter._ + +VOICES: + +—Bravo, Lorenzo! Bravo, bravo! + +—Lorenzo is the vassal of Satan. + +—We kneel to you, Lorenzo. + +—Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, is a vassal of Satan. + +—Bravo! Bravo! + +LORENZO. [_Crying out_] In God’s name, gentlemen, we are all deceived. +This is not my singer. This is not Romualdo but some impostor. Satan has +sent him here. Something frightful has happened, gentlemen. + +A VOICE. He sang your own song, Lorenzo. + +SECOND VOICE. Out of your own mouth he confessed to Satan. + +LORENZO. [_Pressing his hand to his heart_] This is a horrible falsehood, +gentlemen. Just imagine, my dear guests—how could I, Duke Lorenzo, Knight +of the Holy Ghost, son of a crusader—— + +A VOICE. But did your mother tell you whose son you are, Duke Lorenzo? + + _Laughter. LORENZO, extending his arms, tries to say something, + but his words are inaudible. Pressing his hands to his head, + he runs swiftly up the staircase. Cries_: “Way for the queen’s + son!” _Two BLACK MASKERS appear, one after the other._ + +A VOICE. Who is this? Our numbers increase. + +A FRIGHTENED VOICE. Uninvited guests are coming. Uninvited guests are +coming. + +THIRD VOICE. They fly to the light. Off with your mask, sir. [_He tries +to pull the black mask from the face of the stranger and springs back in +terror, crying_] They are not masked, gentlemen. + + _General confusion. Everything is enveloped in darkness. The + wild music, however, continues, gradually receding._ + +_Curtain._ + + +SCENE II + + _From somewhere in the distance come sounds of music, which, + mingling with the howling and whistling of the wind that rages + about the castle, fill the air with a wild, tremulous melody._ + + _An ancient library in the castle tower. A low, massive oak + door, partly open, through which steps are seen leading down + and a little beyond other steps leading upward. The heavy + ceiling is vaulted and there are small windows in deep stone + recesses. Here and there on the walls and hanging from the + ceiling are spider-webs. Everywhere are large old books—on the + floor, in heavy, iron-bound chests, and on small wooden stands. + A portion of the wall, hollowed out in niches, is also used to + hold books. Some of the niches are draped with heavy curtains._ + + _Beside one of the open chests, which is full of papers + yellowed with age, LORENZO is seated on a low stool. Near him, + on a support, stands a wrought-iron lantern which, by reason of + its cross-bars, throws here dark shadows and there bright lines + of light. For some time there is profound silence. All that can + be heard is the far-off music and the rustling of the sheets of + paper as LORENZO turns them over. LORENZO is dressed as at the + ball._ + +LORENZO. [_Raising his head_] What a frightful wind there is to-day! For +three nights now it has been raging and grows steadily more violent. How +horribly like the music of my thoughts! These poor thoughts of mine! +How like frightened creatures they beat about within this tight box of +bone! Once Lorenzo was young, but now, though only a little time has +passed—though the sun has encircled the earth but twice—lo, he is old, +and the weight of terrible experience, the horrible truth of things human +and divine, has bowed his youthful back. Poor Lorenzo! Poor Lorenzo! +[_He reads. Breaking off for a moment_] If all that is in these yellowed +papers is true, who then is ruler of the world, God or Satan? And who am +I that call myself Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro? Oh, the horrible reality +of human life! My young soul is smitten with sorrow. [_He reads, then +carefully lays aside the sheets and speaks_] So it is true, mother; it +is true. I thought, my mother, that you were a saint. I swore by your +memory, and my oath was as solemn as if I had sworn upon my knightly +sword; and yet you, my saintly mother, were the paramour of a drunken, +thieving groom. And my noble father, returning from Palestine to die +in his ancestral home, learned of this and pardoned you, and bore the +terrible secret with him to his grave. Whose son am I, O my saintly +mother—the son of a knight, who gave his life’s blood to the Lord, or the +son of a filthy groom, an abominable traitor and thief, who robbed his +master at his orisons? Poor Lorenzo! Poor Lorenzo! + + _He falls into deep thought. Swift footsteps are heard along + the staircase, and LORENZO rushes into the room, his head + between his hands, in the same attitude in which he left the + hall. He takes his hands from his face, sees the LORENZO who is + seated, and cries out in a frightened voice._ + +THE SECOND LORENZO. Who is this? + +THE FIRST LORENZO. [_Rising in alarm_] Who is this? + + _The SECOND LORENZO throws himself upon the other and hurls + the lantern to the floor. The room is now faintly illuminated + by the light from the open door. There is a brief, muffled + struggle and then the two figures separate._ + +THE SECOND LORENZO. Your jest is overbold, sir. Remove your mask, I +command you, else I will remove it for you by force. I gave you my castle +but not myself, and by assuming my mask you insult me. There is but one +Lorenzo, but one Duke of Spadaro, and that is I. Off with your mask, sir! +[_He advances toward the other._ + +THE FIRST LORENZO. [_In a trembling voice_] If you are only a frightful +apparition, I conjure you, in the name of God, vanish. There is but one +Lorenzo, but one Duke of Spadaro, and that is I. + +THE SECOND LORENZO. [_Wildly_] Off with your mask, sir! I have borne too +long with your unseemly jests. My patience is at an end. Either remove +your mask or draw your sword. Duke Lorenzo knows how to punish insolence. + +THE FIRST LORENZO. In God’s name! + +THE SECOND LORENZO. In the devil’s name, you mean, unhappy man. Your +sword, sir, your sword, else I shall run you through on the spot like a +guilty dog. + +THE FIRST LORENZO. In God’s name! + +THE SECOND LORENZO. [_Furiously_] Your sword, sir, your sword! + + _From the dimly lighted stage comes the whistling and the + clash of meeting rapiers. The two LORENZOS engage each other + savagely, though the FIRST LORENZO is obviously the inferior. + There are brief, muffled exclamations_: + +“In God’s name!” + +“Off with your mask!” + +“You have killed me, Lorenzo.” + + _He falls and dies. LORENZO sets his foot upon the corpse + and, wiping his sword, speaks with unexpected sadness and + tenderness._ + +LORENZO. I am sorry for you, Sir Impostor. Your strength of wrist, +your deep breathing, showed me that you were young like myself. But +your misfortune, unhappy sir, lay in this, that Duke Lorenzo wearied +of laughing at the amiable quips of his guests. You went to an obscure +death, young man, the hapless victim of a masquerading joke; but still +I pity you, and if I knew where your mother is I would bear to her your +parting words. Farewell, Signor. + + _He goes out. For some time there is silence. Then all is + veiled in darkness, and the sounds of wild music grow louder + and draw nearer._ + +_Curtain._ + + +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._ + + + + +ACT II + + +SCENE IV + + _A corner of the chapel in the feudal castle._ + + _The walls are draped in black in sign of mourning. The tall, + dust-laden windows of coloured glass admit a feeble, softly + tinted light. On a black dais, in a massive black coffin, lies + the body of LORENZO, Duke of Spadaro. At each corner of the + coffin is a huge wax candle. On the dais at the head of the + coffin, in the soft glow of the candles, stands DUKE LORENZO, + dressed entirely in black, his hand resting on the bier._ + + _From the courtyard of the castle comes at intervals the + whining and barking of hunting-dogs. Now and then a prolonged + and mournful blare of trumpets carries abroad the sad news + of the death of the Duke of Spadaro. In the intervals of + silence the solemn notes of an organ and the voice of a priest + can be heard at one side beyond the glass doors leading to + the other half of the chapel. Mass is being conducted there + uninterruptedly._ + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin_] The whole neighbourhood has +by now been informed of your death, Duke Lorenzo, and in tears is calling +for vengeance on your murderer. Lie still, Signor. Those who loved you +are now coming to pay their respects to your dust. The peasants will +come, and your servants, and your inconsolable widow, Donna Francesca. +But I beseech you, Lorenzo, lie quiet. I have already had the honour of +running my sword through your unworthy heart, but if you stir, if you +dare to speak or cry out, I will tear your heart clean from your breast +and throw it to your hunting-dogs. In the name of our former friendship, +I beseech you, Lorenzo, lie quiet. [_He arranges the shroud with tender +solicitude and kisses the corpse on the forehead. At this moment in the +corner of the chapel, in the folds of the black drapery, is heard a deep +sigh and the plaintive tinkling of bells_] Who’s there? Oh, is that you, +my little Ecco, hidden in the corner and softly tinkling your little +bells? Who let you in? + +ECCO. Why did you die, Lorenzo? Foolish Lorenzo! Why did you die? + +LORENZO. I had to die, Ecco. + +ECCO. Then I shall die with you, Lorenzo. Your servants use me ill. Your +dogs’ teeth are sharp. All day I lay hid in the tower, waiting for the +door of the chapel to open. Do not drive me away, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. You shall stay here, jester. + +ECCO. What a long, white nose you have, Lorenzo. It must be embarrassing +to have such a nose and to be compelled to hold it up like that. I would +laugh if it were not so frightful. + +LORENZO. That is death, Ecco. But hide yourself, some one is coming. + + _ECCO conceals himself. Several PEASANTS enter and bow low at a + little distance from the coffin, not venturing to come nearer._ + +LORENZO. [_Impressively_] Duke Lorenzo, open your heart and return to +life for a moment. Your good peasants have come to bid you farewell. Come +nearer, my friends. Duke Lorenzo in his lifetime was a kind master, and +now that he is dead he will not harm you. Draw nearer. + + _The PEASANTS approach, though it is apparent that they are + still afraid._ + +FIRST PEASANT. God forgive you, Duke Lorenzo, as I forgive you. Many +a time you and your hunters have trampled down my fields of grain, and +what the hoofs of your horses left untouched your kind overseer took for +himself, depriving me and my family of bread. Yet you were a good master, +and I pray God to forgive you your sins. + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin_] Quiet, sir, quiet. I +understand how it is with you: you cannot hear unmoved this bitter truth +about your evil deeds. But do not forget that you are dead. Lie quiet, +sir, lie quiet. + +A PEASANT WOMAN. May God forgive you, Duke Lorenzo, as I forgive you. +You took my little daughter from me for your ducal pleasure, and she was +ruined. But you were young and handsome, and you were a good master to +us. I pray God to forgive you your sins. [_She weeps._ + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin_] Quiet, sir, quiet. I remember +how you loved the blue corn-flowers amid the ripened grain. Does not this +remind you of some one’s blue eyes, of some one’s golden hair? + +SECOND PEASANT. On the very eve of your departure for Palestine, Duke +Lorenzo, to deliver the Holy Sepulchre, my son was killed in your +service. A poor service you rendered to the Lord, Duke Lorenzo, and you +shall have no forgiveness either on earth or in heaven. + +LORENZO. [_Setting his teeth_] Did you hear, sir? [_To the PEASANTS_] +Return in peace to your homes, my friends. Duke Lorenzo has heard you, +and he will humbly bear your every word to the throne of the Almighty. + + _The PEASANTS withdraw._ + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin_] Lorenzo, insane Lorenzo, what +have you done to me? + + _Enter SIGNOR CRISTOFORO, slightly tipsy. He kneels unsteadily + and for some time is silent. ECCO peeps from his hiding-place, + then conceals himself again._ + +LORENZO. He is listening, Signor Cristoforo. + +CRISTOFORO. [_Swaying to and fro_] Duke di Spadaro! Lorenzo! Boy! How +lonely I am without you. Forgive me, my poor boy. When your noble father +and I returned from Palestine and you were born—and a little, red chap +you were—I swore to your father that I would always protect you. And +I have protected your wines. Pardon me, Lorenzo, but they drink like +camels. To-day, however, having opened all the cellars, I knocked out the +heads of the casks and slit all the skins and said: “Drink, you camels, +you asses, you accursed sponges. I shall gird on my sword and go seek the +murderer of my boy, of my dear Lorenzo.” + + [_He wipes his eyes with his fist and staggers to his feet._ + +LORENZO. [_With dignity_] The Duke thanks you, Cristoforo. You are drunk, +my old friend, but at your words the lips of his wound have opened and +two crimson drops have welled up from the depths of his heart. They are +yours, Cristoforo. Go. + + _CRISTOFORO withdraws. ECCO creeps out, tinkling his bells._ + +ECCO. Have you nothing for me, Lorenzo? Give me at least one little drop +of blood from your heart. I am tired of being ill-tempered and deformed. + +LORENZO. I will give you more than that, Ecco. Come and kiss me. + +ECCO. I am afraid. + +LORENZO. He loved you, little coward. + +ECCO. If you were alive, Lorenzo, I should be glad to kiss you, but I am +afraid of corpses. Why did you die, Lorenzo? It was unkind of you. [_He +seats himself on the floor, curling his legs under him as if getting +ready for a long and interesting conversation_] You see, Lorenzo, we +must go away. You look upon me as a jester and do not take me seriously, +but once when you were playing with me you touched me with your sword, +and now I am just as much a knight as you are, Lorenzo. So listen to me. +Cease being dead, take your sword, and we will go away together like two +knights. + +LORENZO. [_Smiling_] Whither, my doughty knight? + +ECCO. To the Lord God! [_With growing animation_] He knows you, Lorenzo, +and, as for me, you will tell him that I am your brother, a little +hunchback. And when he has sanctified our swords— Oh, oh, Lorenzo, there +come your ruffians! I am afraid; I will hide myself. + + _He conceals himself. A band of drunken, boisterous SERVANTS + come in, reeling and jostling one another. Several keep their + hats on._ + +LORENZO. [_Angrily_] Off with your hats, you villains! Lie quiet, sir, +lie quiet. + +PIETRO. Bah! He’s already beginning to stink. Whoever wishes can go and +kiss his hand. I won’t. + +MARIO. I’d rather kiss Donna Francesca. Of all the ladies I have seen, +she pleases me best. You see, gentlemen, the inclination is inherited; my +uncle kissed Duke Lorenzo’s mother, so I want to kiss his wife. + + _Laughter._ + +LORENZO. I implore you, sir, be quiet. I see how the black blood surges +in your wound, but it is another’s blood, Lorenzo. + +MANUCCI. Pietro, you have stolen one of my golden spurs. To-morrow I +shall flay you for it. + +PIETRO. And I’ll lop off your nose. + +LORENZO. Away with you, you villains; be off! + + _He half draws his sword. The SERVANTS look about in fright._ + +PIETRO. Did you say that, Mario? + +MARIO. Sh! I heard the voice of the dead Duke, old Henry. Let’s be off. + +MANUCCI. I’ll have the hide of you yet. + +MARIO. Come, let’s be off. + + _They go out._ + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin, contemptuously_] And these, +sir, are your servants, to whom you intrusted your castle, your +treasures, and your wife, the beautiful Donna Francesca. Let us have +no charges of disloyalty or treason, unhappy Duke. Do not insult me +with lying evasions nor stain your honourable grave with sin. [_Greatly +agitated_] Be calm, sir, be calm. I hear Donna Francesca coming. I +recognise her step, and I implore you, sir, in the name of God, lie +quiet. Summon your strength, sir. + + _Silence. The mournful notes of the requiem from behind the + wall grow louder. LORENZO, bending forward and laying his hand + upon his heart, awaits the appearance of DONNA FRANCESCA. She + enters alone, clad in deep mourning. She kneels. Silence. + During the following scene ECCO comes partly out from the black + drapery and weeps bitterly, softly tinkling his bells._ + +LORENZO. [_Unable to control himself_] I love you, Francesca. + +FRANCESCA. [_In a low voice_] I love you, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Sadly_] But you see that I am dead, Francesca. + +FRANCESCA. To me, Lorenzo, you will always be alive. + +LORENZO. [_Sadly_] You will forget me, Donna Francesca. + +FRANCESCA. I shall never forget you, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Sadly_] You are young, Donna Francesca. + +FRANCESCA. In a single night my heart has grown old, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_Sadly_] Your face is beautiful, Donna Francesca. [_Gently +reproachful_] Bitter tears have not dulled the bright gleam of your +eyes, O Donna Francesca! Bitter tears have not washed the delicate roses +from your cheeks, O Donna Francesca! Your black mourning does not conceal +the grace and beauty of your form, O Donna Francesca, O Donna Francesca! + +FRANCESCA. The light has gone out of my eyes, Lorenzo. My face has +withered as a leaf withers at the cruel touch of the sirocco, and my form +is bowed to the earth in bitter and overwhelming grief. + +LORENZO. That is not true, Francesca. + +FRANCESCA. I swear it, Lorenzo. + +LORENZO. [_His voice trembling_] Lie still, sir, lie still. I see how +your heart heaves, Lorenzo. I see how your tortured heart quivers at the +pitiless words of love, and I pity you, Lorenzo. Go, Donna Francesca. +Leave me with my dead friend. Your beautiful grief tears at our hearts, +and I implore you in the name of God to leave us. + + _DONNA FRANCESCA weeps._ + +LORENZO. [_In an agony of grief_] O Donna Francesca! O my love! O light +of my youth! [_Covering his face with his hands, he weeps silently_] Draw +nearer, Francesca. Kiss him. I will not look. + + _FRANCESCA, sobbing convulsively, kisses the dead LORENZO._ + +LORENZO. [_Covering his face with his hands_] Kiss him more ardently, +Donna Francesca, for you will never see him again. Kiss him more +ardently. God placed a sword in my hand, and with it I punished the +insane Lorenzo. But still he was a knight. He was a Knight of the Holy +Ghost, Francesca. And now leave us. + + _ECCO, frightened, conceals himself. DONNA FRANCESCA, in tears, + descends from dais, kneels again, and withdraws. Silence. The + last mournful strains of the funeral dirge are heard._ + +LORENZO. [_To the one lying in the coffin_] I thank you for obeying my +behest and lying quiet. I saw how hard it was for you, and again I thank +you, Lorenzo. Now we are alone—now and for ever. Let us go, Lorenzo; let +us go into the unknown future. + + _The stage is suddenly dark._ + +_Curtain._ + + +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._ + + + + +ACT I + +THE BIRTH OF MAN AND THE SUFFERINGS OF THE MOTHER + + + _A profound darkness within which nothing moves. Then there can + be dimly perceived the outlines of a large, high room and the + grey silhouettes of OLD WOMEN in strange garments who resemble + a troop of grey, hiding mice. In low voices and with laughter + to and fro the OLD WOMEN converse._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE OLD WOMEN + +What I should like to know is whether our friend will have a son or a +daughter. + +What difference does that make to you? + +I like boys. + +And I like girls. They always stay at home and wait until you come to +them. + +But do you like to make calls? + + _Subdued laughter._ + +He knows. + +He knows. + + _Silence._ + +Our friend would like a girl. She says that boys are too rough, that they +are venturesome and seek dangers. When they are still quite small they +like to climb tall trees and swim in deep water, and often they fall, and +often they drown. And when they become men they start wars and kill each +other. + +She thinks that girls don’t drown, but I have seen many drowned girls +just the same, and they were like all drowned people—wet and greenish. + +She thinks stones don’t kill girls. + +Poor thing! Childbirth is so hard for her. Here we have been sitting for +sixteen hours and she is still crying. At first she cried loud so that +her shrieks hurt your ears, then lower, and now she only gasps and moans. + +The doctor says she’ll die. + +No, the doctor says the child will die and that she will be left alive. + +Why do they have children? It is so painful. + +Why do they die? That is still more painful. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +Yes, they bear children and they die. + +And again bear children. + + _They laugh. The low cry of the suffering woman is heard._ + +It has begun again. + +Her voice has come back. That’s good. + +That’s good. + +The poor husband! He is so distracted that he is funny to look at. At +first he was glad that he was to have a child, and said that he wanted +a boy. He thought that his son would be an ambassador or a general. But +now he doesn’t want anything, neither a boy nor a girl, and he only runs +about distractedly and weeps. + +When her throes begin, he strains too, and flushes. + +When they sent him to the drug store for some medicine he rode up and +down past the store for two hours and could not remember what he wanted. +So he came back. + + _Subdued laughter. The crying again becomes louder and then + dies away. Silence._ + +What has happened to her? Perhaps she is already dead. + +No, in that case we should hear weeping. The doctor would run out and +begin to talk nonsense, and they would bring out her husband unconscious, +and we should have our hands full. No, she is not dead. + +Then why are we sitting here? + +Ask Him. How should we know? + +He won’t tell. + +He won’t tell. He tells nothing. + +He drives us here and there. He rouses us from our beds and makes us +watch, and then it turns out that there was no need of our coming. + +We came of our own accord. Didn’t we come of our own accord? You must be +fair to Him. There, she is crying again. Aren’t you satisfied? + +Are _you_? + +I am saying nothing. I am saying nothing and waiting. + +How kind-hearted you are! + + _Laughter. The cries become louder._ + +How she screams! What pain she suffers! You know these pains? They are +like having the entrails torn out. + +We have all borne children. + +How strange her voice is! I don’t recognise the voice of our friend. It +is usually soft and gentle. + +But this cry is more like the howl of a wild animal. One can feel the +night in this cry. + +One can feel in it hopelessness and terror. It is like an endless dark +forest. + +One can feel solitude and anguish in it. Can it be that no one is with +her? Why are there no other voices but this wild cry? + +There _are_ voices, but you cannot hear them. Haven’t you noticed how +solitary a human shriek always is? All may be talking, but you don’t +hear them; yet if only one shrieks, it is as if everything were silent +and listening. + +I once heard a man shriek. A wagon had crushed his foot. Though the +street was full of people, it was as if he were actually the only one +there. + +But this is more frightful. + +Rather say louder. + +More prolonged, I should say. + +No, it is more frightful. You can feel death in it. + +Well, you could feel death there, too. The man died. + +Stop quarrelling! Isn’t it all the same to you? + + _Silence. A scream._ + +How strange is a human cry! When you yourself cry out in agony, you do +not notice how strange it is—how strange it is! + +I can’t picture to myself the mouth that is uttering those sounds. Can it +be the mouth of a woman? I cannot picture it. + +But you can feel that it is all distorted. + +The sound seems to be born in some abyss. Now it is like the cry of a +drowning person. Listen, she’s gasping. + +Some heavy thing is lying on her chest. + +Some one is stifling her. + + _The cries cease._ + +At last she has ceased. One gets tired of it. The cry is so monotonous +and ugly. + +Oh, you want beauty here, too, do you? + + _Subdued laughter._ + +Sh! Is He here? + +I don’t know. + +I think He is. + +He doesn’t like laughter. + +They say He laughs himself. + +Who ever saw Him laugh? You are simply repeating rumours. They tell so +many lies about Him. + +He will hear us. Let’s be serious. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +Just the same, I’d like to know whether it will be a boy or a girl. + +Yes, it’s interesting to know with whom you have to deal. + +I’d rather it would be still-born. + +How kind-hearted! + +No more than you. + +Well, I want him to become a general. + + _Laughter._ + +You laugh too much. I don’t like it. + +And I don’t like your glumness. + +Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! We are all of us both mirthful and +gloomy. Let each one be as she likes. + + _Silence._ + +They are awfully queer when they are born. Funny little things! + +And so self-satisfied. + +And they demand so much. I don’t like them. They begin right off to cry +and to insist, as if everything ought to be ready for them. Even before +they can see they know that there is a breast and milk and insist on +having them. And then they demand that they be laid to sleep. And then +they demand to be rocked and to have their little red backs gently +patted. I like them better when they die. Then they are less insistent. +They straighten themselves out and don’t ask to be rocked. + +Yes, they are very funny. I like to wash them when they are born. + +I like to wash them when they are dead. + +Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! Every one shall have her own way. +One will wash the child when it is born, another when it dies. + +But why do they think they have a right to make demands as soon as they +are born? I don’t like that. + +They don’t think. It is the stomach that insists. + +They are always insisting. + +Because no one gives them what they need. + + _Subdued laughter. The cries in the next room are renewed._ + +She is crying out again. + +Animals have an easier time. + +And they die easier and live easier. I have a cat. If you could only see +how fat and contented she is! + +And I have a dog; and every day I say to her: “You are going to die.” But +she only grins and cheerfully wags her tail. + +Well, they are animals. + +Well, these are people. + + _Laughter._ + +Either she is dying or the crisis has come. In this cry you can feel the +limit of her strength. + +You can feel the rolling eyes. + +And the cold sweat on her forehead. + + _They listen._ + +The child is being born. + +No, the mother is dying. + + _The cries are suddenly broken off._ + +I tell you—— + +THE BEING IN GREY. [_Speaks in a clear and powerful voice_] Silence! Man +is born. + + _Almost simultaneously with his words the cry of a child is + heard, and the candle in his hand flames up. The tall candle + burns with a feeble, uncertain light, but gradually the flame + becomes stronger. The corner in which the BEING IN GREY stands + motionless is darker than the other corners, and the yellow + flame of the candle illuminates the square chin, the firmly + compressed lips, and the large, bony cheeks. The upper part + of the face is hidden by the heavy folds of the scarf. He is + somewhat larger than an ordinary man._ + + _The candle, long and thick, is set in a candlestick of antique + workmanship. Against the green bronze his hand stands out grey + and firm, with long, slender fingers._ + + _As it grows slowly brighter there emerge from the darkness the + outlines of the room and the figures of five hunchbacked OLD + WOMEN in outlandish robes. The room is high and rectangular, + with smooth, uniformly tinted walls. In front of the spectator, + and also at his right, are two tall windows with eight panes of + glass each and without curtains. The night looks in through the + windows. Along the wall stand chairs with tall, straight backs._ + +THE OLD WOMEN. [_Hastily_] Hear them running about. They are coming here. + +How light it is! Let’s go. + +Look, the candle is tall and the flame is bright. + +Let’s go; let’s go. Quick! + +But we’ll come back! + +But we’ll come back! + + _They laugh softly and in the dim light glide out with odd, + zigzag movements, interchanging laughter. On their departure + the light, though it grows stronger, remains comparatively + dull, lifeless, and cold. The corner in which the BEING IN GREY + stands motionless with the burning candle, is darker than the + other corners._ + + _Enter the DOCTOR, in a white surgeon’s coat, and the FATHER + OF MAN. The face of the latter wears a happy though wearied + expression. Under his eyes are blue circles. His cheeks are + hollow and his hair is dishevelled. He is carelessly dressed. + The DOCTOR has a learned air._ + +DOCTOR. Up to the last moment I was uncertain whether your wife would +remain among the living or not. I used all my skill and knowledge, +but our science means little if nature does not come to our aid. I am +much agitated. How my pulse beats even now! Although I have helped so +many children to come into the world, to this day I cannot avoid this +excitement. But you are not listening to me, sir! + +FATHER OF MAN. I am listening, but I hear nothing. Her cries are still +ringing in my ears, and I find it hard to understand. Poor woman! How she +suffered! Fool that I was, insane, to wish for children! I now renounce +this criminal desire. + +DOCTOR. But you will call me when the next one is born. + +FATHER. That will never be. I am ashamed to say it, but at this moment I +hate the child for whom she suffered so. I have not even seen it. What is +it like? + +DOCTOR. It is a strong, well-nourished boy and, if I am not mistaken, +resembles you. + +FATHER. Resembles me? How delightful! Now I begin to love it. I have +always wished to have a son like myself. Did you notice whether his nose +is like mine? + +DOCTOR. Yes, his nose and his eyes. + +FATHER. His eyes, too? Oh, fine! I will pay you more than I agreed. + +DOCTOR. I must have an extra fee for the use of the forceps. + +FATHER. [_Turning to the corner where HE stands motionless_] O God, I +thank thee for fulfilling my desire and giving me a son like to myself. +I thank thee that my wife did not die and that the child lives. And I beg +thee so to order his life that he may grow up strong and healthy and be +wise and honest, and that he may never bring grief upon us—upon me and +his mother. If thou doest this, I shall ever believe in thee and go to +church. And now I dearly love my son. + + _Enter the KINSPEOPLE, six in number. One is an unusually + tall, elderly lady with double chin and small, haughty eyes. + She is extremely dignified and proud. An elderly gentleman + in spectacles, her husband, is very tall and so excessively + thin that his garments hang about him. He has a pointed beard + like a goat’s, and his hair, smooth as though pomaded, reaches + to his shoulders. He seems timid, but nevertheless has an + air of wisdom. In his hand he carries a low, black silk hat. + A young girl, their daughter, has a silly, turned-up nose, + blinking eyes, and open mouth. There is also a thin lady with + an extremely uncomfortable and sour expression. She holds + in her hands a handkerchief with which she frequently wipes + her mouth. Two YOUNG MEN, exactly alike, display unusually + tall collars which hold their necks stiffly up. They have + smoothly plastered hair and wear an expression of perplexity + and absent-mindedness. In each character all of the qualities + mentioned are carried to an extreme._ + +ELDERLY LADY. Allow me, dear brother, to congratulate you on the birth of +your son. [_She kisses him._ + +GENTLEMAN. Allow me, my dear kinsman, to congratulate you heartily on the +birth of a son so long expected. [_He kisses him._ + +THE OTHERS. Allow us, dear kinsman, to congratulate you on the birth of +your son. + + [_They kiss him. The DOCTOR withdraws._ + +FATHER. [_Deeply moved_] I thank you, I thank you. You are all so very +good. You are such kind and affectionate people. I love you dearly. +Heretofore I had my doubts, and I thought that you, dear sister, were +somewhat absorbed in yourself and your virtues, and that you, dear +brother-in-law, were somewhat pedantic, and of the others I thought that +they were cool toward me and only came for the dinner. But now I see that +I was wrong. I am extremely happy. A son is born to me. A son is born to +me like myself, and aside from that I see here so many good people who +love me. + + [_They kiss._ + +YOUNG GIRL. What are you going to name your son, dear uncle? I should so +like him to have a beautiful, poetic name. With a man so much depends on +the name. + +ELDERLY LADY. I should like the name to be simple and substantial. People +with beautiful names are always rattle-brained and rarely succeed in life. + +ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I think, dear brother-in-law, that you ought to name +your son for some one of your older kinsmen. That has the effect of +continuing and strengthening the family. + +FATHER. Yes, my wife and I have already thought about it, but we could +not come to a decision. So many new ideas and interests come with the +birth of a child. + +ELDERLY LADY. It rounds out one’s life. + +ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. It gives life a beautiful purpose. In bringing up +a child, by saving him from the errors of which we ourselves were the +victims, by storing his mind from our own rich experience, we produce +a better man and slowly but surely move toward the final goal of +existence—perfection. + +FATHER. You are perfectly right, my dear brother-in-law. When I was small +I was very fond of torturing animals, and this developed in me a strain +of harshness. I shall not allow my son to torture animals. Even after +I was grown up, I frequently made mistakes in friendship and love. I +selected unworthy friends and perfidious women. I will explain to my son—— + + _The DOCTOR enters and speaks in a loud voice._ + +DOCTOR. Sir, your wife is very ill. She wishes to see you. + +FATHER. O heavens! [_He goes out with the DOCTOR._ + + _The KINSPEOPLE seat themselves in a semicircle and for some + time maintain an impressive silence. In the corner the BEING IN + GREY stands motionless with his stony face turned toward them._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE KINSPEOPLE + +Can it be, my dear wife, that our kinswoman will die? + +No, I hardly think so. + +Having very little patience, she makes too much of her suffering. All +women bear children, and no one dies. I myself have borne six children. + +But she screamed so, mamma. + +Yes, her face was flushed with screaming. I noticed that. + +That was not from screaming. That was because she had to strain so. You +don’t understand these things. My face has been flushed, too, but I never +screamed. A friend of ours, the wife of the engineer, recently bore a +child, and she hardly cried at all. + +Yes, I know. My brother is needlessly worried. One must be firmer and +take a calmer view of things. I am afraid that when he comes to bring up +the child he will make him visionary and dissolute. + +He lacks will-power. Though he has little money, yet he loans to +untrustworthy people. + +Do you know how much the child’s linen cost? + +Oh, don’t mention it! My brother’s folly is so trying. He and I have had +arguments on this subject before. + +They say storks bring babies. Storks! + + _The YOUNG GENTLEMEN snicker._ + +Stop your silliness. I have had five children, and, thank God, I am no +stork. + + _The YOUNG GENTLEMEN snicker again, and the ELDERLY LADY looks + at them severely for a long time._ + +You should understand that this is a superstition. Children are born in a +perfectly natural manner, on strictly scientific principles. + +They live in another flat now. + +Who? + +The engineer and his wife. Their old quarters turned out to be very damp +and cold. They complained several times to the landlord, but he paid no +attention. + +In my opinion a small, warm flat is better than a large, damp one. In a +damp flat one might die of catarrh or rheumatism. + +One of my acquaintances has a very damp flat. + +And one of mine, too—very damp. + +There are so many damp flats nowadays. + +But tell me, please—I have been wanting to ask you for ever so long—how +can grease spots be taken out of white cloth? + +Wool? + +No, silk. + + _Cries of the child in the other room._ + +Take a small piece of clean ice and rub the place where the spot is real +hard, and when you have rubbed it real hard take a hot iron and smooth it. + +You don’t say so! How simple! But I have heard that borax water is better. + +No, borax water is good only for dark cloth. For white cloth ice is the +best thing. + +I say, may one smoke here? I somehow never happened to think whether it +would be proper to smoke where a child had just been born. + +Nor I. How strange! At funerals I know it is quite improper to smoke, but +here—— + +What nonsense! Of course you can smoke. + +However, smoking is in general a bad habit. You are still a very young +man. I should advise you to attend to your health. In the course of one’s +life so many occasions arise when one needs one’s health. + +But tobacco is stimulating. + +Believe me, it is a very unwholesome stimulation. When I was young and +thoughtless I used tobacco to excess. + +Oh, mamma, how it cries! How it cries, mamma! Does it want milk? + + _The YOUNG GENTLEMEN snicker. The ELDERLY LADY looks severely + at them._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT II + +LOVE AND POVERTY + + + _The scene is flooded with a bright, warm light. A large, very + high, and very bare room. The walls, of a light rose-colour, + are perfectly smooth and covered in places with a fantastic + and beautiful lacework of damp lines and spots. In the right + wall are two tall windows, each with eight panes of glass and + without curtains. The night looks in through them. There are + two wretched beds, two chairs, and a table without a spread. + On the table stands a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers and a + half-broken pitcher containing water._ + + _In one corner, which is darker than the other corners, stands + the BEING IN GREY. The candle in his hand is diminished by one + third, but the white flame is still bright and high and throws + brilliant spots of light on his stony face and chin._ + + _The NEIGHBOURS enter, dressed in bright, gay garments. Their + hands are filled with flowers and grasses and fresh, green + branches of oak and birch. They move about the room. Their + faces are open, cheerful, and kindly._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE NEIGHBOURS + +How poor they are! Just see, they haven’t a single extra chair! + +Nor curtains at the windows—— + +Nor pictures on the walls—— + +How poor they are! See, they have nothing to eat but stale bread—— + +And nothing but water to drink—cold water from a well. + +And they have no extra clothing, either. She always wears her +rose-coloured dress with the open neck, which makes her look like a young +girl. + +And he always wears his blouse and his fantastic necktie, which makes him +look like an artist and causes all the dogs to bark angrily at him—— + +And offends all proper people. + +Dogs hate shabby people. Only yesterday I saw three dogs attack him, +and as he drove them away with a stick he cried: “Don’t you dare touch +my trousers! They are my only trousers!” Then he laughed, and the dogs +showed their teeth and rushed at him and howled with anger. + +And to-day I saw two very respectable-looking people, a gentleman and a +lady, who, frightened by him, crossed to the other side of the street. +“He will ask us for money in a minute,” said the gentleman. “He will kill +us!” piped the lady. So they crossed the road, looking about and holding +their pockets. But he shook his head and laughed. + +He is so cheerful. + +They are always laughing. + +And singing. + +It’s he who sings; she dances. + +In her rose-coloured dress with the open neck. + +It is a delight to look at them. They are so young and radiant. + +But I am so sorry for them. They are hungry. Just think of it, hungry! + +Yes, that is so. They used to have much furniture and clothing, but they +have sold all and now they have nothing left to sell. + +I remember she had beautiful earrings, and she sold them to buy bread. + +And he had a handsome, black dress coat—his wedding-coat—and he sold it. + +They have nothing left but their wedding-rings. How poor they are! + +That’s nothing, that’s nothing! I was young myself once and I know what +it means. + +What’s that you say, grandfather? + +That’s nothing, that’s nothing! + +Just see, merely thinking of them makes grandfather want to sing! + +And dance! + + _Laughter._ + +He is so kind. He made my boy a bow and arrows. + +And she wept with me when my daughter was sick. + +He helped me mend my broken fence. He is a strong young fellow. + +It’s a delight to have such good neighbours. Their youth warms our cold +age; their light-heartedness drives away our cares. + +But their room is like a prison: it’s so empty. + +No, it is like a temple: it’s so bright. + +See, they have flowers on the table. She gathered them while she was +walking about the fields in her rose-coloured dress with the open neck. +Here are lilies-of-the-valley. The dew is not yet dry on them. + +And here is flaming scarlet lychnis. + +And here are violets. + +And here is just green grass. + +Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers! Don’t drop them on the +floor—her kisses are on them. Don’t breathe on them with your breath—her +breath is on them. Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers! + +He will come and see the flowers. + +He will take the kisses. + +He will drink in her breath—— + +How poor they are! Yet how happy! + +Let’s go. Let’s go away. + +But has none of us brought anything for our dear neighbours? That would +be too bad! + +I have brought a piece of fragrant, warm bread and a bottle of milk. +[_She puts it on the window-sill._ + +And I have brought some soft, tender grass. When it is scattered about +the door, the room is like a blossoming meadow and smells like spring. +[_She strews the grass on the floor._ + +And I have brought flowers. [_Strewing them._ + +And we have brought branches of birch and oak with green leaves. When the +walls are hung with them the room will look like a cheery, green forest. + +They decorate the room, filling the dark windows and covering the bare, +rose-coloured walls with leaves. + +I have brought a fine cigar. It is a very cheap one, but it is strong +and fragrant and will bring delightful dreams. [_He lays it on the +window-sill._ + +I have brought a rose-coloured ribbon. When you tie it in your hair it +makes you gay and beautiful. My lover gave it to me, but I have many +ribbons and she has none at all. [_She lays it on the window-sill._ + +How about you, grandfather? Haven’t you brought something? + +Nothing. Nothing. I brought only my cough, and they don’t need that, do +they, neighbour? + +No more than my crutches—Say, girls, who needs my crutches? + +Do you remember, neighbour——? + +And do you remember, neighbour——? + +Let’s go to bed, neighbour. It’s already late. + + _They sigh and go out, one of them coughing and the other’s + crutches clattering on the floor._ + +Let’s go! Let’s go! + +God grant them happiness. They are such good neighbours. + +God grant they may always be healthy and cheerful, and love each other, +and that no ugly black cat may ever run between them. + +And that the young man may find work. It is bad when a man has no work. + + _They withdraw, and immediately the WIFE OF MAN enters, very + beautiful, graceful, tender, and delicate, with flowers in her + splendid, half-dishevelled hair. She is very sad. She seats + herself in a chair and, laying her hands on her knees, speaks + sorrowfully, her face toward the audience_: + +I have just been to town and have been hunting. I don’t know what I was +hunting for. We are so poor. We have nothing. It is very hard for us to +live. We need money, but I don’t know how to get it. If you ask it of +people, they won’t give it; and I haven’t the strength to take it from +them. I was hunting for work, but no one gave me any work. They all said +to me: “There are so many people and so little work.” I kept my eyes on +the road, thinking perhaps some rich people might have dropped a purse, +but either they did not drop one or some one more fortunate than I had +already picked it up. And I am so sad. You see my husband will soon come +back from his hunt for work, tired out and hungry, and what can I give +him except my kisses? He cannot satisfy his hunger with kisses, can he? I +feel so sad. I’d like to cry. + +I can go without eating for a long time. I don’t mind it. But he cannot. +He has a large body which demands nourishment, and when he has not eaten +for some time he becomes pitifully pale, and sick, and irritable. He +scolds me, but afterward he kisses me and asks me not to be angry. But I +never get angry, because I love him so. I am only sad. + +My husband is a very talented architect; I even think he is a genius. His +parents died very early and left him an orphan. For some time after the +death of his parents his relatives supported him, but since he was always +very independent in character and brusque, and often said unpleasant +things, and did not express his gratitude, they cast him off. But he +continued to study, supporting himself by giving lessons, and often going +hungry. And so he finished his course in the university. He was often +hungry, my poor husband. Now he is an architect and makes designs of +beautiful buildings, but no one will buy them, and lots of stupid folks +even laugh at them. In order to get on one must have either a patron or +a stroke of good fortune. But he has neither patron nor good fortune. +He goes about, hunting for some opportunity or, perhaps, looking on the +ground for money as I did. He is still very young and is simple as a +child. + +Of course, fortune will come to us sometime, but when? Meanwhile, it is +very hard to keep alive. When we were married we had a little dowry, but +we quickly used it up. We always went to the theatre and ate candy. He +still is hopeful, but I sometimes lose all hope and weep by myself. My +heart sinks when I think that he may be here at any moment and again find +nothing except my poor kisses. + +O God, be a kind and merciful father to us! Thou hast so much of +everything—bread and work and money. Thy earth is so rich. It bears +fruits and grain in the fields and covers the meadows with flowers. From +its dark depths it yields up gold and beautiful precious stones. And thy +sun is so warm, and there is so much quiet joy in thy pensive stars. Give +us a little bread from thy bounty—even a very little—only so much as thou +givest thy birds, that my dear, good husband may not be hungry; a little +warmth, that he may not be cold, and a little work, that he may proudly +hold up his beautiful head. And pray do not be angry with my husband +because he scolds and laughs, or even sings and makes me dance. He is so +young and so light-hearted. + +Now that I have prayed I feel better and again I have hope. + +Really, why should God not give when we pray like this? I will go out +and hunt a little. Perhaps some one has dropped a purse or a sparkling +diamond. + + [_She goes out._ + +THE BEING IN GREY. She does not know that her wish is already fulfilled. +She does not know that this morning two men, in a costly house, bending +over a design of Man’s, eagerly scanned it and were delighted with it. +All day they have been hunting in vain for Man. Wealth has been seeking +him, as he is seeking wealth, and to-morrow morning when the neighbours +go away to work, an automobile will come to the house and two gentlemen, +bowing low, will enter the bare room and bring wealth and fame. But they +do not know this—neither he nor she. Thus fortune and happiness come to +Man, and thus they leave him. + + _MAN and his WIFE enter. MAN has a handsome, proud head, with + flashing eyes and high forehead. His dark brows divide above + his nose and spread like two bold wings. His wavy, black hair + is carelessly thrown back. His low, soft, white collar displays + a shapely neck and part of his chest. His movements are light + and swift like those of a young animal, but the attitudes he + takes are peculiar to MAN alone; they are masterful, free, and + proud._ + +MAN. Again nothing. Pretty soon I shall go to bed and lie there all day +long. The people that need me can come and find me. I shall not go to +find them. To-morrow I am going to lie abed. + +WIFE. Are you tired? + +MAN. Yes, I am tired and hungry. Like Homer’s hero, I could eat a whole +bull, and here I have to be satisfied with a crust of stale bread. Do you +know that a man cannot always live on bread alone? I want to gnaw, tear, +bite! + +WIFE. I am so sorry for you, dear. + +MAN. Yes, I am sorry for myself, but that doesn’t satisfy my hunger. +To-day I stood for a whole hour in front of a lunch-room and gazed on the +chickens and the tarts and the sausages, just as people view works of +art. And oh, the signs! They can paint ham so exquisitely that one could +eat it, iron and all. + +WIFE. I like ham, too. + +MAN. Is there anybody who doesn’t like ham? Do you like lobsters? + +WIFE. Yes, I do. + +MAN. Oh, what a lobster I saw! Though he was only a painted lobster, he +was more handsome than a live one. Red as a cardinal, majestic, severe. +One might kneel to him for a blessing. I think that I could eat two such +cardinals and a carp thrown in. + +WIFE. [_Sadly_] Didn’t you notice my flowers? + +MAN. Flowers! Can you eat flowers? + +WIFE. You don’t love me. + + _MAN kisses her._ + +MAN. Forgive me, but really I am so hungry. See how my hands shake. I +haven’t strength enough to throw a stone at a dog. + + _WIFE kisses his hand._ + +WIFE. Poor dear! + +MAN. How did these leaves come to be on the floor? How sweet they smell! +Did you put them there, too? + +WIFE. No; probably it was our neighbours. + +MAN. Our neighbours are dear people. Strange that with so many good +people in the world a man can die of hunger. Why is it? + +WIFE. You have become gloomy; you frown. Do you see anything? + +MAN. Yes, before me, across my humorous fancies, a hideous image of +poverty glided stealthily and rose up yonder in the corner. Do you see +her? The pitiful, outstretched hands—like those of a child lost in the +woods—the voice appealing to the silence of the human desert: “Help me!” +No one hears. “Help me, I am dying!” No one hears. Look, Wife, look! +Look! The black shadows, trembling, float apart like wraiths of black +smoke from the long, dreadful chimney that leads down to hell. Look! I, +too, am in the midst of them! + +WIFE. You terrify me. I cannot look in that dark corner. Did you see all +this on the street? + +MAN. Yes, I saw it all on the street, and soon it will be here. + +WIFE. No, God will not let it come to us. + +MAN. Why does he let it come to others? + +WIFE. We are better than others. We are good people. We do not anger him +in any way. + +MAN. Do you think so? But I often scold. + +WIFE. You are not wicked. + +MAN. Yes, I am wicked, I am wicked. When I walk along the street and look +at the things that are not ours, I grow boar’s tusks. Oh, how much money +there is that is not mine! Listen, my dear little Wife. This evening +I was walking in the park, in that lovely park where the roads are +straight as arrows and the beautiful beech-trees are like crowned kings—— + +WIFE. And I was walking along the city streets, where there were stores +and stores, such beautiful stores—— + +MAN. Well-dressed people with canes passed me, and I thought: “I have +none of that.” + +WIFE. Handsomely gowned women in well-fitting boots which make the foot +charming, in rustling silk skirts, and in elegant hats from beneath which +their eyes sparkled mysteriously, passed by me, and I thought: “I have no +fine hat, I have no silk skirt.” + +MAN. One awkward fellow shouldered me aside, but I showed him my tusks +and he slunk cowardly behind the others. + +WIFE. A finely dressed lady jostled me, but I was so embarrassed that I +did not even look at her. + +MAN. Riders swept by me on proud and fiery horses, but I have no horse. + +WIFE. And such diamonds were in her ears! I wanted to kiss them. + +MAN. Red and green automobiles glided by noiselessly like phantoms with +blazing eyes, and people were sitting in them laughing and listlessly +glancing from side to side, but I have no automobile. + +WIFE. And I have neither diamonds nor emeralds—not even a pure white +pearl. + +MAN. On the shore of the lake glittered a luxurious restaurant with +lights like the kingdom of heaven, and people were eating there. There +were high officials in dress suits, and angels with white wings who +distributed beer and bread and butter, and people were eating and +drinking. Oh, I want to eat, little Wife, I want to eat! + +WIFE. My dear boy, if you keep running about you will increase your +hunger. Come, sit down, and I will sit on your knees. Now, take a paper +and draw a beautiful, beautiful building. + +MAN. But my genius is hungry, too, and it won’t sketch anything but +edible landscapes. For a long time my palaces have looked like big +dumplings stuffed with fat and my churches like sausages. But there are +tears in your eyes. What is the matter, little Wife? + +WIFE. I am sad because I cannot help you. + +MAN. You make me ashamed. Though I am a strong man, intelligent, +talented, and healthy, I can do nothing, while my little wife, my fairy, +weeps because she is not strong enough to help me. When woman weeps, man +is disgraced. I am ashamed of myself. + +WIFE. You are not to blame if people cannot appreciate you. + +MAN. I am blushing to the tips of my ears. I feel like a child whose ears +have been pulled. You, too, are hungry, and I, selfish creature that I +am, had not noticed it. I’m a brute. + +WIFE. But, my dear, I am not hungry. + +MAN. It is disgraceful, cowardly. That rude fellow who jostled me was +right. He saw that I was nothing but a fat pig, a boar with sharp tusks +and a stupid head. + +WIFE. If you are going to scold yourself so unfairly, I shall begin to +cry again. + +MAN. No, no. Don’t cry. When I see tears in your eyes I am always +terrified. I am afraid of those bright crystal drops. It is as if they +were shed not by you but by some one else, some frightful being. I won’t +let you cry. True, we have nothing, we are miserably poor; but I will +tell you what we are going to have. I will charm you with a beautiful +story. I will enwreath you, my queen, with rose-coloured dreams. + +WIFE. You need not fear. You are strong and talented and you will +succeed. The moment of depression will pass, and a divine inspiration +will again throw its halo over your proud head. + +MAN. [_Assumes an attitude of bold and proud defiance, and, throwing +an oak spray into the corner where the UNKNOWN stands, he cries_] Ho, +you, whatever your name may be—Destiny, the Devil, Life—I throw down +the gauntlet to you. I challenge you to battle. The faint-hearted bend +their knees before your mysterious power. Your stony face fills them with +horror. In your silence they hear the coming to birth of misfortune and +its ominous approach. But I am bold and strong, and I challenge you to +battle. Let our swords flash, let our shields ring, let the blows fall on +our heads—blows that will shake the earth. Come forth to battle! + +WIFE. [_Approaching and standing close behind his left shoulder, speaks +earnestly_] Bolder, my dear, still bolder! + +MAN. To your inertness, sinister being, I oppose my bold, living +strength. To your gloom I oppose my clear and ringing laughter. Parry the +blows! Against your stony face, in which there is no light of reason, I +hurl the projectile of my glowing thought. You have a heart of stone that +knows no pity. Stand aside! or I will pour into it the seething poison of +rebellion. The black cloud of your fierce wrath has darkened the sun. We +will light up the darkness with our swords. Ho! Parry the blows! + +WIFE. Bolder, still bolder! Behind you stands your armour-bearer, my +proud knight. + +MAN. If I conquer, I shall sing songs which all the world will echo; and +if I fall dumbly under your blows, then I shall think only of how I may +rise again and rush to battle. There are weak spots in my armour, I +know, but, though covered with wounds and dripping with crimson blood, I +shall yet gather strength to cry: “You have not yet conquered, malicious +enemy of mankind!” + +WIFE. Bolder, my knight! I will wash your wounds with my tears. With my +kisses I will stanch the flow of your crimson blood. + +MAN. And dying on the field of battle as brave men do, I shall mar your +brute pleasure with one last cry: “I have conquered!” I have conquered, +malicious foe, for with my last breath I shall refuse to acknowledge your +supremacy. + +WIFE. Bolder, my knight, bolder! I will die with you. + +MAN. Ho! Come forth to battle! Let our swords flash, let our shields +ring, let the blows fall on our heads, blows that will shake the earth. +Ho! Come forth! + + _For some time MAN and his WIFE remain in the same attitudes, + and then they turn to each other and kiss._ + +MAN. Thus we shall share life together, my little Wife, shall we not? +Let life blink like an owl blinded by the sunshine, we will force her to +smile. + +WIFE. And to dance to our songs—we two together! + +MAN. We two. You are a good wife and a faithful friend. You are a brave +little woman, and as long as you and I are together nothing can terrify +us. What is poverty? To-day we are poor, and to-morrow we are rich. + +WIFE. And what is hunger? To-day we are hungry, to-morrow we are filled. + +MAN. Oh, you think so, do you? Perhaps, but it will take a great deal +to fill me. My hunger isn’t easily satisfied. Do you think this will be +plenty? In the morning, tea, coffee, chocolate—take your choice—and then, +after that, breakfast—three courses—then lunch, then dinner, then—— + +WIFE. Lots of fruit. I am so fond of fruit. + +MAN. All right. I will buy it in baskets in the market. It is cheaper +there and fresher; though, to be sure, we shall have our own orchard. + +WIFE. But we have no land. + +MAN. I’ll buy some. For a long time I have wanted a little plat of my +own, and, by the way, I’ll build a house on it after my own design. I’ll +show the rascals what sort of architect I am! + +WIFE. I want to live in Italy, right by the sea, in a white-marble +villa set in a grove of lemon-trees and cypresses; and I’d like some +white-marble steps leading straight down to the blue water. + +MAN. I see. Good! But besides that I mean to build a castle in Norway +among the mountains: far below, the fiord; high up on the steep cliff, +the castle.—Haven’t we any paper? No matter, the wall will do. Here is +the fiord. Do you see it? + +WIFE. Yes—how lovely! + +MAN. The water is sparkling and deep. Here it reflects the tender, green +grass and there the red and black and brown stone. And see, here in the +opening, right where this spot is, a touch of deep-blue sky and a quiet, +white cloud—— + +WIFE. Look! A white boat is reflected in the water. It is like two white +swans, breast to breast. + +MAN. And see, here the mountain rises from the cheerful green meadows and +forests, and, as it mounts, becomes more and more gloomy, more and more +severe. There are sharp cliffs, black shadows, precipices, ragged clouds—— + +WIFE. It is like a ruined fortress. + +MAN. And see, on this fortress, right on this spot here in the centre, I +will build a castle fit for an emperor. + +WIFE. How cold it is there, and how the wind blows! + +MAN. Oh, but I’ll have thick stone walls, and there will be huge windows +of one large pane, and on winter nights, when the blizzard rages and the +fiord is roaring below, we will draw the curtains and kindle a fire in +the huge fireplace. There will be great andirons on which will burn whole +logs—whole forests of pitchy pine. + +WIFE. Oh! How warm! + +MAN. And see, how still! Everywhere rugs, and lots and lots of books +which radiate silent yet living warmth and comfort, and we two together. +Outside roars the storm, but here we are together in front of the +fireplace on a white bear’s skin. You say, “Shall we take a peek at +what’s going on outside?” and I say, “Very well,” and we go to the +largest window and draw the curtain. Heavens! What’s that? + +WIFE. Whirling snow! + +MAN. It sweeps by like white horses. Look, myriads of little frightened +spirits, white with terror, seeking refuge from the night! And the +whistling and the roaring—— + +WIFE. Oh, it’s cold! I am shivering. + +MAN. Quick! Back to the fire. Here, give me my ancestral beaker. No, not +that one, the gold one that the vikings drank from. Fill it with golden +wine—more—let the fiery liquid rise to the very brim. There’s a chamois +roasting on the spit. Bring it here; I will eat it. Quick, or I will eat +you instead! I’m starved! I’m hungry as the devil! + +WIFE. There, now; they’ve brought it. What are you going to do next? + +MAN. What next? Why, eat it, of course. What else could be next? But what +are you doing with my head, little Wife? + +WIFE. I am the Goddess of Fame. I have twined for you a wreath of the +oak leaves which our neighbours strewed, and I am crowning you. Fame has +come—glorious fame! + + [_She puts the wreath on his head._ + +MAN. Yes, fame, loud-voiced, echoing fame. Look at the wall. See, here I +go, and do you know who is by my side? + +WIFE. Why, that’s me. + +MAN. See, people are bowing to us. They are whispering about us. They +are pointing at us. See that respectable-looking old gentleman who falls +a-weeping and says: “Blessed is our native land to have such children!” +See that pale young man who is looking at us. Fame has smiled upon him, +also. By this time I have built the People’s Palace of which our whole +country is so proud. + +WIFE. You are my glorious hero! The oak wreath becomes you, but a laurel +wreath would be even better. + +MAN. Look! look! Here are representatives of the city where I was born +coming to me. They bow low and say: “Our city is proud of the honour——” + +WIFE. Oh! + +MAN. What’s the matter? + +WIFE. I have found a bottle of milk! + +MAN. Impossible! + +WIFE. And bread—soft, fragrant bread—and a cigar! + +MAN. Impossible! You have made a mistake. What you think is milk is only +the dampness from this accursed wall. + +WIFE. No, indeed! + +MAN. A cigar! Cigars don’t grow on window-sills. They sell them at +ridiculously high prices in the stores. This is probably just a black, +broken twig. + +WIFE. But, do look! Ah, now I understand! Our dear neighbours brought it. + +MAN. Neighbours! Upon my word, they are angels. And even if the devil +himself had brought these things—bring them here quick, my little wife. +[_The WIFE of MAN sits on his knees and they eat, she breaking the pieces +of bread and putting them in his mouth while he gives her milk from the +bottle_] It looks like cream. + +WIFE. No, it’s milk. Chew your bread more slowly or you’ll choke yourself. + +MAN. Give me the crust. It is so nicely browned. + +WIFE. There, didn’t I tell you you would choke yourself? + +MAN. It’s all right; got it down. + +WIFE. The milk’s running down my neck and my chin—oh, it tickles! + +MAN. Here, let me drink it up. [_He drinks it off her neck and chin_] We +mustn’t waste a drop. + +WIFE. What a mischief you are! + +MAN. There, everything’s eaten up. That was quick work. Everything that +is good comes soon to an end. This bottle must have a double bottom. +To look at it you would think it was deeper. What cheats these bottle +makers are! [_He lights the cigar, and assumes an attitude of supreme +contentment. She ties the rose-coloured ribbon in her hair, using the +black window for a mirror_] This seems to be an expensive cigar. It is +very fragrant and strong. I am always going to smoke that kind. + +WIFE. You’re not looking at me. + +MAN. Yes, I am. I see everything. I see the ribbon, and I see that you +want me to kiss your throat. + +WIFE. I won’t let you, you silly man. You can smoke your cigar if you +like, but as for my throat—— + +MAN. What, isn’t it mine? The deuce! That is a violation of property +rights. [_She runs away. He catches her and kisses her_] There, the right +is restored, and now, my little Wife, dance for me. Just imagine that +this is a magnificent, luxurious, astounding, miraculously beautiful +palace. + +WIFE. I’ve imagined it. + +MAN. Now imagine that you are the queen of the ball. + +WIFE. It’s done. + +MAN. And that marquises and counts and lord mayors are asking you to +dance with them, but you decline them all and select the—what do you call +him—the fellow in tights? Oh, yes, the prince. Why! What’s the matter? + +WIFE. I don’t like princes. + +MAN. Oh, that’s it! Well, what sort do you like? + +WIFE. I like talented artists. + +MAN. Good! Here’s your artist. Oh, heavens! Look at you there flirting +with empty space! Oh, woman! + +WIFE. But I was just imagining. + +MAN. Oh, all right. Now imagine a wonderful orchestra. See, here’s a big +Turkish drum—boom, boom, boom! + + [_He pounds his fist on the table in imitation of a drum._ + +WIFE. My dear, it is only in a circus that they call the crowd together +with a drum; in a palace—— + +MAN. Oh, the deuce! Stop the picture. Now imagine again. Listen! The +singing violins are pouring forth their melody, and here sounds the +tender voice of a flute. Listen! The fat bass viol is booming like a +beetle— [_MAN, wearing the oak wreath, sits and strikes up the tune of +the dance, beating time with the palms of his hands. The tune is the same +as that which is played in the following act, at the ball of MAN. The +WIFE dances gracefully_] Ah, my little gazelle! + +WIFE. I am the queen of the ball. + + _The song and dance become more and more lively. Presently MAN + gets up, begins to dance where he stands, and finally seizes + his WIFE and dances with her, the oak wreath slipping to one + side._ + + _The BEING IN GREY watches them with indifference, holding in + his stony hand the brightly blazing candle._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT III + +A BALL AT THE HOUSE OF MAN + + + _A ball is going on in the great hall of the spacious house + of MAN. The hall is a large, high, rectangular room with + perfectly smooth white walls and ceiling and a light-coloured + floor. There is a certain lack of harmony in the parts, the + doors, for example, being disproportionately small as compared + with the windows. In consequence of this the hall produces a + strange and somewhat irritating impression, an impression of + something inharmonious, something incomprehensible, something + non-essential and intrusive. The room is pervaded by a chilly + whiteness, its monotony being broken only by a row of windows + along the rear wall. These are very high, reaching almost to + the ceiling, and are close together. Through them the night + shows dark and gloomy. Not a single gleam of light, not one + bright spot, is visible in the empty caverns enclosed by + the frames. The wealth of MAN is shown by the abundance of + gilding. There are gilded chairs and very broad gilded frames + on the pictures. These are the only furnishings and the only + decoration of the immense room. The hall is illuminated by + three chandeliers in circular form, with electric lights set at + wide intervals around them. Near the ceiling the room is very + bright, but lower down the light is noticeably less, so that + the walls appear greyish._ + + _The ball at the house of MAN is at its height. An orchestra + of three is playing. The musicians bear a striking resemblance + to their instruments. Thus, the one with a fiddle resembles a + fiddle, having a very thin neck and a small head with a topknot + drooping to one side. His body is somewhat bent. Over his + shoulder, underneath the fiddle, a handkerchief is carefully + spread. The flutist resembles a flute. He is very long and + very thin, with a long-drawn-out face and long-stretched-out + thin legs. The one with the bass viol resembles a bass viol. + He is short, has drooping shoulders, is very broad below the + waist, and wears broad pantaloons. They play with an infinite + painstaking which is very conspicuous. They keep time by + shaking their heads and swaying their bodies. The tune during + the entire ball is always the same. It is a rather brief polka + of two musical phrases, with dancing notes, cheerful but very + empty. The instruments are slightly out of tune with each other + and consequently there is between them, as well as between the + successive notes, a strange incoherence and, as it were, empty + spaces._ + + [Music] + + _The young girls and young men, all of them very handsome, + well-formed, and elegant, are dancing a dreamy dance._ + + _In contrast to the loud and jerky sounds of the music, their + dancing is very smooth, silent, and light. During the first + musical phrase they circle about; during the second one they + separate and reunite gracefully and a trifle artificially._ + + _Along the wall on the gilded chairs sit the GUESTS in rigid, + formal attitudes. They move stiffly, scarcely turning their + heads. They also speak stiffly—there is no whispering nor + smiling—without looking at each other, and utter, jerkily and + abruptly, only such words as are given in the text. Their + hands seem to be broken at the wrist and hang in an attitude + of stupid pride. In spite of the extreme and sharply marked + differences in their faces, they all wear a similar expression + of self-satisfaction, arrogance, and sodden reverence for the + wealth of MAN._ + + _The girls who are dancing wear white gowns; the men are + dressed in black. The GUESTS wear black, white, and bright + yellow._ + + _In the corner nearest the spectators, which is darker than the + other corners, the BEING IN GREY, called HE, stands motionless. + The candle in his hand is already reduced by two thirds and + burns with a vivid yellow flame, throwing yellow patches of + light on his stony face and chin._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE GUESTS + +I must observe that it is a very great honour to be a guest at the ball +of Man. + +You might add that this honour is bestowed upon very few. The whole city +tried to get invitations, but very few received them. My husband, my +children, and I are all very proud of the honour which highly respected +Man has bestowed upon us. + +I even feel a sort of pity for those who couldn’t come. All night they +will lie awake from envy and to-morrow they will slander us and tell how +people are bored at the balls of Man. + +They have never seen this brilliancy. + +You might add, this amazing wealth and luxury. + +Precisely what I mean: this charming, care-free joy. If this is not joy, +then I should like to know where joy is. + +Enough. You cannot convince people who are tortured by envy. They will +tell us that we did not sit on gilded chairs—that there were no gilded +chairs at all! + +And they will say that they were just ordinary, cheap chairs bought at a +second-hand store. + +And that there was no electric light but simply tallow candles. + +Why not say candle-ends? + +Or wretched night-lamps. Oh, slander! slander! + +And they will barefacedly deny that there are gilded cornices in the +house of Man. + +And that the pictures have broad, gilded frames. It seems to me I can +hear the gold jingling. + +You see it glitter; that is sufficient, I should say. + +I have rarely had opportunity to enjoy such music as one hears at the +balls of Man,—this divine harmony which wafts the soul to higher spheres. + +Music ought to be good when it costs so much. You should not forget that +this is the best orchestra in the city and that it plays on the most +élite occasions. + +This music runs in your head for a long time. It certainly takes the ear +captive. My children on returning from the balls of Man hum the tune for +a long time. + +I sometimes think I hear it on the street. I look around, but there are +no musicians and no music. + +And I hear it in my dreams. + +I must say that I am particularly pleased with the painstaking manner +in which the musicians play. They understand how much money they have +received for their music, and they wish to give some return for it. That +is perfectly proper. + +They work as hard as if they had themselves entered into their +instruments. + +Rather say their instruments have entered into them. + +How costly! + +How gorgeous! + +How brilliant! + +How costly! + + _For some time, in different parts of the room, the two + expressions_, “How costly!” “How gorgeous!” _are repeated + abruptly with a sound resembling a bark._ + +Aside from this hall Man has fifteen magnificent rooms, and I have seen +them all. The dining-room has a fireplace so huge that whole logs can be +burned in it. There are magnificent reception-rooms and a boudoir. The +sleeping chambers are roomy, and above the heads of the beds—just think +of it—are baldachins! + +Yes, isn’t it amazing! Baldachins! + +Do you hear? Baldachins! + +Allow me to continue. For his little son there is a beautiful, bright +room finished in wood of a golden yellow colour. The sun seems always to +shine in it. + +Oh, such a charming boy! He has curls like the sun’s rays. + +Quite true. When you look at him you involuntarily think: What, has the +sun risen? + +When you look at his eyes you think: Why, autumn is over and the blue sky +has come again! + +Man loves his son passionately. For horseback riding he has bought him a +pony, a cunning, snow-white pony. My children—— + +Allow me to continue, I beg of you. Have I spoken yet of the bath? + +No, no! + +Ah, the bath! + +Yes, the bath! + +Yes, hot water all the time. Then, farther on, is the library of Man +himself, and there you see nothing but books, books, books! They say he +is very wise, and you could infer that from his books. + +I once saw the garden. Have you seen it? + +No, I have not had that pleasure. + +Well, I saw the garden, and I must say that it charmed me. Just picture +to yourself lawns of emerald, incredibly smooth, and down the middle two +paths sprinkled with fine, red sand. Then flowers, even palms! + +Even palms? + +Yes, even palms. And all the trees are clipped, too, some of them like +pyramids, others like green columns. And there is a fountain, and +shining, coloured globes, and in the midst of the green grass stand +little plaster-of-paris gnomes and mountain goats. + +How costly! + +How gorgeous! + + _For some time they repeat abruptly_: “How costly!” “How + gorgeous!” + +Man did me the honour of showing me his stables and his carriage houses, +and I expressed my unqualified approval of his horses and carriages. In +particular, the automobile made a peculiarly deep impression on me. + +And—think of it!—he has as many as seven servants! A man and woman cook, +two chambermaids, gardeners, the—— + +You left out the coachman. + +Oh, yes, of course, the coachman. + +And they themselves do nothing. They are so important. + +Everybody agrees that it is a great honour to be a guest of Man. + +But don’t you find this music somewhat monotonous? + +Dear me, no! I don’t find it so, and I am surprised that you do. Don’t +you see what kind of musicians these are? + +As for me, I should like to hear this music all my life long. There is +something in it which thrills me. + +And me. + +And me. + +Under its spell how delightful it is to give oneself up to sweet dreams +of bliss—— + +And to be wafted away in them to the interstellar spheres. + +How fine! + +How costly! + +How gorgeous! [_They repeat these exclamations._ + +I see a commotion at the doors yonder. Man will now pass through the hall +with his Wife. + +The musicians are becoming completely exhausted. + +There they are! + +They’re coming! Look, they’re coming! + + _In the low, double door at the right appear MAN, his WIFE, his + FRIENDS, and his ENEMIES. They cross the hall diagonally, going + toward the door at the left. The dancers, continuing to dance, + divide their ranks and make way for them. The musicians play + with desperate loudness and discordancy._ + + _MAN has grown much older. In his long hair and his beard + are traces of grey, but his face is manly and handsome, and + he walks with a calm dignity and a certain reserve. He looks + straight ahead, apparently not observing those about him. His + WIFE, leaning on his arm, is still beautiful, though she also + has grown older. She, too, apparently does not see what is + going on about her, and with a somewhat strange, almost fixed, + gaze looks straight before her. Both are richly dressed._ + + _Immediately behind MAN walk his FRIENDS. They all resemble + one another, having noble faces, open, high foreheads, and + honest eyes. As they walk proudly forward with chests thrown + out and with confident, firm tread, they look from side to side + condescendingly and with a slightly scornful air. All have + white roses in their buttonholes._ + + _A little way behind them come the ENEMIES of MAN. They also + resemble one another closely. All have depraved faces, low + foreheads, and long, monkey-like arms. They walk restlessly, + jostling each other, crouching, hiding behind each other, and + casting sidewise under their brows keen, sneaking, envious + glances. In their buttonholes are yellow roses._ + + _In this manner they pass slowly, without speaking, across + the hall. The sound of the footsteps, the music, and the + exclamations of the guests produce a confused and markedly + inharmonious noise._ + +THE GUESTS + +There they are! There they are! What an honour! + +How handsome he is! + +What a manly face! + +Look! Look! + +He doesn’t even glance at us. + +He doesn’t see us. + +We are his guests. + +What an honour! What an honour! + +And she, look, look! + +How beautiful she is! + +How proud! + +Do just look at her diamonds! + +Diamonds! Diamonds! + +Pearls! Pearls! + +Rubies! + +How gorgeous! What an honour! + +Honour! Honour! Honour! + + [_They repeat the exclamations._ + +And there come the Friends of Man. + +Look, look! There are the Friends of Man. + +What noble faces! + +What a proud walk! + +They bask in his fame. + +How they love him! + +How faithful they are to him! + +What an honour to be a Friend of Man! + +They look upon everything as if it were their own. + +They feel at home here. + +What an honour! + +Honour! Honour! Honour! + + [_They repeat the exclamations._ + +And there are the Enemies of Man! + +Look, look! The Enemies of Man! + +They walk like whipped dogs. + +Man has humbled them. + +He has muzzled them. + +See how they wag their tails. + +How they slink along! + +They jostle each other. + +Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! + + [_They laugh._ + +What villainous faces! + +What greedy glances! + +Cowards! + +Envious! + +They are afraid to look at us. + +They feel that we are at home here. + +We must scare them still more. + +Man will be grateful to us. + +Scare them, scare them! + +Boo! Boo! + + _They shout at the ENEMIES of MAN, intermingling the cry_ “Boo! + Boo!” _with their laughter. The ENEMIES crowd together and cast + timid but sharp glances from side to side._ + +They are going out! They are going out! + +What an honour! + +They are going out! + +Boo! Boo! Ha! Ha! Ha! + +They’re gone! They’re gone! They’re gone! + + _The procession disappears through the door at the left. A + period of silence follows. The music is not so loud, and the + dancers gradually fill the room._ + +Where did they go? + +I think they went to the dining-room. They are serving dinner there. + +Probably they will soon invite us, too. Don’t you see some one looking +for us? + +Indeed, it’s high time. If one dines too late, one sleeps badly. + +For my part, I dine very early. + +A late dinner sits heavy on the stomach. + +The music is still playing. + +And they are still dancing. I am surprised that they can hold out so long. + +How gorgeous! + +How sumptuous! + +Do you know for how many persons the table is laid? + +I had no chance to count. The butler came in and I took occasion to +withdraw. + +It cannot be that they have forgotten us. + +Man, you see, is so proud, and we are so petty. + +Your remark is quite uncalled for. My husband says that we show him +honour by attending. We are quite wealthy ourselves. + +If you take into account the reputation of his Wife—— + +Don’t you see some one looking for us? Perhaps they are looking for us in +the other rooms. + +How rich—— + +In my opinion one may quite easily become rich by handling other people’s +money carelessly. + +Silence! Only his Enemies say that—— + +Well, there are perfectly honourable people among them. I am bound to say +that my husband—— + +Dear me! How late it is! + +Apparently there is some misunderstanding. I cannot believe that they +have simply forgotten us. + +Evidently you understand life and human nature very little, if you think +that. + +I am surprised. We ourselves are quite wealthy—— + +I think I heard some one calling us. + +You only imagined it. No one called us, and, to speak frankly, I don’t +understand why we have come to a house with such a reputation. One should +be careful in the selection of one’s associates. + + _A SERVANT IN LIVERY appears at the door._ + +SERVANT. Man and his Wife invite their honoured guests to come to table. + + _The GUESTS rise hastily._ + +What a gorgeous livery! + +He has invited us! + +I said there was some misunderstanding. + +Man is so kind. Probably they are themselves not yet seated. + +I asked whether there was not some one looking for us. + +What a livery! + +They say the dinner is magnificent. + +Nothing can be bad in the house of Man. + +What music! What an honour to be at the ball of Man! + +Let those envy us who—— + +How gorgeous! + +How sumptuous! + +What an honour! + +What an honour! + + _Repeating these words they withdraw one after another, and + the hall becomes empty. The dancers, couple after couple, stop + dancing, and without speaking walk out after the other guests. + For some little time afterward one couple circle about, but + they, too, soon follow the others. The musicians, however, + continue to play with the same desperate painstaking._ + + _A lackey extinguishes the chandeliers, leaving only one light + in the farthest chandelier, and goes out. In the dimness that + ensues, the figures of the musicians can be seen as vague, + wavering forms, their bodies rocking with their instruments. + The BEING IN GREY stands out sharply. The flame of the candle + flickers and illuminates his stony face and chin with a bright, + yellowish light._ + + _Without raising his head, he turns and, illuminated by the + flame of the candle, walks with calm and silent footsteps + across the hall to the door through which MAN passed, and + disappears through it._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT IV + +MISFORTUNE + + + _A large, rectangular room of a gloomy aspect. The walls, + ceiling, and floor are smooth and dark. In the rear wall are + two tall, eight-paned, curtainless windows, between which is a + low door. Two similar windows are in the right wall. Night is + looking in at the windows, and when the door is open the same + deep blackness peers quickly into the room. In general, however + much light there may be in the rooms of MAN, the large, dark, + windows seem to devour it._ + + _The left wall is pierced by a single low door leading into + the inner apartments. Against this wall stands a broad divan + covered with dark cloth. At the window on the right is the + work-table of MAN, very plain and cheap. On it is a dimly + burning lamp with a dark shade, under which a design spread + out on the table makes a yellow square. On the table also are + a child’s toys—a little soldier cap, a wooden horse without a + tail, and a red, long-nosed clown with bells. Against the wall + between the windows is a shabby old bookcase, entirely empty. + On the shelves can be seen streaks of dust, showing that the + books have been recently removed. There is but one chair._ + + _In a corner darker than the other corners stands the BEING IN + GREY, called HE. The candle in his hand is no higher than it is + broad. It is only a stub and is beginning to flatten out as it + melts. It burns with a reddish, flickering light and casts red + spots upon the BEING’S stony face and chin._ + + _MAN’S only servant, an OLD WOMAN, is seated in the chair. + She speaks in a monotonous voice, addressing an imaginary + companion_: + +MAN is poor again. He had many valuable things—horses, and carriages, and +even an automobile—but everything is gone now, and of all his servants +I alone am left. In this room and in two others there are still some +fine things, like the divan there and the bookcase, but in the remaining +twelve rooms there is nothing. They stand empty and dark. Day and night +the rats run about in them and fight and shriek. People are afraid of the +rats, but I am not. It’s all the same to me. + +For a long time an iron plate has been hanging at the carriage entrance +with a notice that the house is for sale, but nobody buys. The plate is +rusty and the letters on it are worn away by the rains, but no one comes +and no one buys. No one has use for the old house. But perhaps some one +will buy some day. Then we shall go and hunt for another place, and the +new place will seem very strange. My mistress will begin to weep, and +perhaps even the old gentleman will weep. But not I. It’s all the same to +me. + +You wonder where the wealth has gone? I don’t know. Perhaps you are +surprised at that, but, you see, all my life I have worked in private +families and I frequently have seen their money disappear quietly through +some crevice or other. So it was with this family. At first there was +much; then there was less; then nothing at all. Customers used to come +and give orders, and then they stopped coming. Once I asked the lady why +this was so, and she answered: “They cease to like what they used to +like. They cease to love what they used to love.” I asked: “How can it be +that people cease to like a thing when once they have come to like it?” +She did not answer and began to cry. But I didn’t. It’s all the same to +me. It’s all the same to me. + +As long as they pay me, I will live with them. If they stop paying, I +will go somewhere else and live with others. I have cooked for them; when +I leave, I shall cook for others; and after a while, I’ll stop entirely; +for I shall be old and my eyesight poor. Then they will drive me away and +say: “Go where you like. We will hire some one else.” But what of that? +I’ll go. It’s all the same to me. + +People are surprised at me. They say it is frightful to live here; that +it is frightful to sit evenings with only the wind whistling in the +chimney and the rats shrieking and gnawing. + +I don’t know; perhaps it is frightful, only I don’t think about it. Why +should I? They sit quietly and look at each other and listen to the wind, +and I sit by myself alone in the kitchen and also listen to the wind. +Isn’t it the same wind that whistles in our ears? Young people used to +come and visit their son, and then they would all laugh and sing and go +into the empty rooms and chase away the rats. But no one comes to me +and I sit alone, all alone. There is no one to talk with, so I talk to +myself. It’s all the same to me. + +And so they are in straits. Three days ago another misfortune came. +The young gentleman went out for a walk. He put his hat on one side of +his head and smoothed back his hair, as young men do. But a wicked man +threw a stone at him from behind a corner and cracked his skull like a +nut. They brought him home and laid him down, and he is lying there now, +dying—or perhaps he will live. Who knows? The master and the mistress +wept, and then they took all the books and loaded them on a dray and sold +them; and now they have hired a nurse with the money and bought medicine. +They even bought some grapes. So the books were of some use after all. +However, he can’t eat the grapes. He can’t even look at them. So they +lie there by him on a plate—just lie there. + + _DOCTOR enters by the outside door. He is gloomy and much + worried._ + +DOCTOR. Am I in the right house? Do you know, old lady? I am the doctor. +I make many calls and often I go to the wrong place. They call me here, +they call me there; but all the houses look alike and the people are +tiresome in all of them. Is this the right place? + +OLD WOMAN. I don’t know. + +DOCTOR. Just let me look in my note-book. Is there a child here with sore +throat—choking? + +OLD WOMAN. No. + +DOCTOR. Young man choking on a bone? + +OLD WOMAN. No. + +DOCTOR. Man here who suddenly went crazy from poverty and killed his wife +and two children with an axe? There ought to be four in all. + +OLD WOMAN. No. + +DOCTOR. Young girl whose heart has stopped beating? Don’t lie to me, old +woman. I think she is here. + +OLD WOMAN. No. + +DOCTOR. No? I believe you. You seem to speak sincerely. Have you a young +man whose skull was broken with a stone and who is dying? + +OLD WOMAN. Yes. Go through that door at the left into the next room; but +don’t go farther, or the rats will eat you. + +DOCTOR. Very well. They’re always ringing my door-bell, day and night. +See, it’s night now. The street lights are all put out, but I am still on +the go. I often make mistakes, old woman. + + _He goes out through the door which leads to the inner part of + the house._ + +OLD WOMAN. One doctor attended him but didn’t cure him, and now there is +another, and probably he won’t cure him, either. But what’s the odds? +Their son will die and we shall be left alone in the house. I shall sit +in the kitchen and talk to myself, and they will sit in this room in +silence, thinking, and there will be one more room for the rats to run +and fight in. Let them run and fight. It’s all the same to me. It’s all +the same to me. + +You ask me why the wicked man hit the young master? I don’t know. How +should I know why people kill one another? One threw a stone from behind +a corner and ran away, and the other fell down, and now he is dying. +That’s all I know. They say that our young master was kind and brave and +always took the part of the wretched. I don’t know. It’s all the same to +me. Good or bad, young or old, alive or dead, it’s all the same to me. +It’s all the same to me. + +As long as they pay me, I’ll stay. If they stop paying, I’ll go somewhere +else and cook for others; and after a while I’ll stop entirely; for I +shall be old, and my eyesight poor, and I shan’t be able to tell salt +from sugar. Then they will drive me away, and say: “Go where you like. We +will hire some one else.” But what of that? I’ll go. It’s all the same to +me. Here or there or nowhere—it’s all the same to me, all the same to me. + + _Enter DOCTOR, MAN, and his WIFE. MAN and his WIFE have + perceptibly aged, and are entirely grey. MAN’S long hair, + rising high above his head, and his large beard make his head + resemble that of a lion. Though he walks slightly bent, he + holds his head erect and looks out sternly and resolutely from + beneath his grey brows. When he looks at anything near, he puts + on large spectacles with silver rims._ + +DOCTOR. Your son has fallen into a sound sleep. Don’t wake him up. +Perhaps the sleep will do him good. You go to sleep, too. If a man has +time to sleep, he ought to sleep, and not to walk about and talk. + +WIFE. Thank you, doctor. You have so reassured us. Will you not come +again to-morrow? + +DOCTOR. I will come to-morrow and the day after to-morrow. You go to +sleep, too, old woman. It’s already night and time for every one to +sleep. Do I go through this door? I frequently make mistakes. + + _He goes out. The OLD WOMAN also goes out. MAN and his WIFE + remain._ + +MAN. See, Wife, here is a design I began before our son was hurt. When I +had drawn this line I stopped and said to myself: “After I have rested a +little I will go to work again.” How simple a line it is; how quiet and +yet how frightful! Perhaps it is the last that I shall draw while our son +is alive. How calm, how simple it is, and yet how full of foreboding! + +WIFE. Don’t worry, my dear. Dismiss these apprehensions. I believe that +the doctor told the truth and that our son will recover. + +MAN. But are you not worried? Look at yourself in the mirror. You are as +white as your hair, my dear companion. + +WIFE. Of course I am a little anxious; still I am sure there is no danger. + +MAN. My poor armour-bearer! Steadfast guardian of my blunted sword! Now, +as always, you beguile and cheer me by your sincerity and devotion. Your +old knight is now broken and his withered hand cannot long hold his +weapon. But what is this? Our son’s toys! Who put them here? + +WIFE. My dear, you forget. You put them here yourself some time ago. You +said then that you could work better with these simple child’s toys lying +before you. + +MAN. Oh, yes; I had forgotten. But now they are like instruments of +torture and execution to a man condemned to death. When a child dies, his +toys become a curse to the living. Oh, Wife, Wife! The very sight of them +is terrible! + +WIFE. We bought them when we were poor. It saddens me to look at them. +Poor, dear toys! + +MAN. I cannot bear it. I must take them in my hands. See, here is the +horse with the broken tail. “Gid-ap, gid-ap, horsie! Where are you +galloping?” “Far, papa, far away into the fields and the green woods.” +“Take me with you, horsie.” “Gid-ap, gid-ap! Climb on, dear papa—” And +here’s the soldier’s cap made of pasteboard. Poor little cap, which I +myself tried on laughingly when I bought it in the shop: “Who are you?” +“I am a knight, papa. I am the strongest, bravest knight that ever was.” +“Where are you going, my little knight?” “I am going to kill the dragon, +dear papa. I am going to free the captives, papa.” “Ride on, ride on, my +little knight!” [_The WIFE of MAN weeps_] And see, here is our clown, +just as he always looked, with his dear, stupid grin. He is as tattered +as if he had been through a hundred fights, but he is still laughing and +his nose is as red as ever. Come, ring your bells, my friend, as you used +to ring them. You can’t? Only one bell left, you say? Well, then, I’ll +throw you on the floor. [_He throws the toy down._ + +WIFE. What are you doing? Remember how often our child has kissed his +funny little face. + +MAN. Yes, I was wrong. Forgive me, my dear, and you, little toy, forgive +me, too. [_He picks up the toy, bending his knees with difficulty_] Still +smiling! Come, I will lay you a little farther away. Don’t be angry; I +cannot look at your smile just now. Go and smile somewhere else. + +WIFE. Your words wring my heart. Believe me, our son will recover. Would +it be just for the young to die before the old? + +MAN. Where have you ever seen justice in this world, Wife? + +WIFE. My beloved, I beg you, kneel with me in prayer to God. + +MAN. It is hard for my old knees to bend. + +WIFE. Bend them—it is your duty. + +MAN. God will not hear me, for never yet have I troubled his ear either +with praise or with petition. Do you pray; you are the mother. + +WIFE. No, you must pray; you are the father. If a father doesn’t pray +for his son, who will? To whose hands will you commit him? Could I speak +alone as we two can speak together? + +MAN. Let it be as you say. Perhaps, if I bend my aged knees, eternal +justice will answer. + + _They both fall on their knees, their faces turned toward the + corner where the UNKNOWN stands motionless, and their hands + folded on their breasts in attitude of prayer._ + +PRAYER OF THE MOTHER + +O God, I beseech you, let my son live. That is all I know, that is all I +can say—only this one thing: “God, let my son live.” I cannot frame other +words. All about me is dark. All is falling away. I understand nothing, +and my soul is so filled with horror, O Lord, that I can say only one +thing. O God, let my son live, let my son live! Let him live! Forgive me +for uttering so poor a prayer, but I cannot do otherwise, O Lord; you +know I cannot. Look upon me, only look upon me. Do you see, do you see +how my head trembles? Do you see how my hands shake? And what are my +hands, O Lord? Have mercy upon him! He is so young. He has a birthmark on +his right arm. Let him live, if only a little while, only a little while! +He is only a child, and so innocent. He still loves sweets, and I bought +him some grapes. Have mercy, have mercy! + + _She weeps silently, covering her face with her hands. Without + looking at her MAN speaks._ + +PRAYER OF THE FATHER + +See, I am praying to you. I have bent my aged knees. I have fallen in the +dust before you. See, I kiss the earth. Perhaps I have sometimes offended +you. In that case, pardon me, pardon me. It is true that I have been +presumptuous and overbold, that I have demanded instead of beseeching, +and that I have often reproached you for your acts. Pardon me. If you +desire, if such is your will, punish me. Only spare my son; spare him, I +pray you. I do not beg for mercy or for pity; no, I beg only for justice. +You are old and I, too, as you see, am old. You will understand my prayer +the better for that. Wicked people tried to kill him, people who by their +evil deeds insult you and pollute the earth—malicious, brutal, villainous +people, who throw stones from behind corners—from behind corners, the +villains! Let not this wicked thing be done. Stanch his blood. Bring +back his life, bring back life to my fine boy. You have taken everything +from me, but have I ever importuned you? Have I said, Restore my wealth, +restore my friends, restore my genius? No, never. I never asked you even +for my genius, and you know what genius means—how it is more to one than +life itself. It is the will of fate, I thought, and I bore everything, +I bore everything, I bore it proudly. But now, on my knees in the dust, +kissing the earth, I beg of you, bring back life to my son. I kiss the +earth. + + _They rise. The BEING called HE listens with indifference to + the prayer of the father and the mother._ + +WIFE. I fear that your prayer, my dear, was not sufficiently humble. +There seemed to be a note of pride in it. + +MAN. No, no, Wife. I said what was right, just as a man should speak. +Should He love cringing flatterers more than bold, proud people who speak +the truth? No, Wife, you don’t understand. Now I have faith, now I am +calm, even cheerful. I feel that I am still of some service to my son, +and that heartens me. See whether he is sleeping. He ought to be sleeping +soundly. + + _The WIFE goes out. MAN casts a friendly glance into the corner + where the BEING IN GREY stands. He takes up the toy clown, + plays with it, and gently kisses its long, red nose. At this + moment the WIFE comes in and MAN, somewhat embarrassed, says_: + “I offended this poor fool, but now I have begged pardon for + everything. Well, how is our dear son?” + +WIFE. He is very pale. + +MAN. That’s nothing. It will pass. He has lost a great deal of blood. + +WIFE. His pale, shaved head is so pitiful to see. He had such beautiful +golden curls. + +MAN. They cut them off in order to wash the wound. But never mind, Wife, +never mind. They will grow out still finer. Did you gather them up? They +must be gathered up and preserved. His precious blood is on them, Wife. + +WIFE. Yes, I have laid them away in the jewel box, all that is left of +our wealth. + +MAN. Do not lament the loss of our wealth. Wait until our son begins to +work. He will win back all that we have lost. Now I am cheerful, my dear, +I have faith in our future. Do you remember our poor rose-tinted room? +The good neighbours strewed oak leaves about it, and you made a wreath +for my head and said I was a genius. + +WIFE. And I say it even now, my dear. If other people have ceased to +value you, I have not. + +MAN. No, my dear little Wife, you are wrong. The creations of genius live +longer than this wretched old garment that we call our body, but even +during my lifetime my works are—— + +WIFE. No, they are not dead and will never die. Recall the house on the +corner which you built ten years ago. Every evening at sunset you go to +look at it. Is there in the whole city a building more beautiful, more +meaningful? + +MAN. True. I so built it that the last rays of the setting sun might fall +upon it and set its windows ablaze. After the whole city is in darkness, +my building is still bidding farewell to the sun. That was work well +done, and perhaps it will outlive me, if only a little. Don’t you think +so? + +WIFE. Of course it will, my dear. + +MAN. One thing grieves me, Wife. Why am I so soon forgotten? I might have +been remembered a little longer, my dear, a little longer. + +WIFE. People forget what they once knew. They cease to love what they +once loved. + +MAN. They might have remembered me somewhat longer, somewhat longer. + +WIFE. I saw a young artist near the house. He was studying the building +carefully and was making a sketch of it in his note-book. + +MAN. Why did you not tell me of that, my dear? That is significant, +very significant. It means that my thoughts will pass on to others, and +even though I am forgotten, yet my thoughts will live on. That is very +important, extremely important. + +WIFE. They have certainly not forgotten you, my dear. Think of the young +man who bowed to you so respectfully on the street. + +MAN. True, Wife. A fine young man, very. He had a glorious young face. It +is well that you remind me of this. It has filled my soul with sunshine. +But I feel sleepy. I am probably tired. Yes; and I am old. My grey little +Wife, do you see that I am old? + +WIFE. You are still as handsome as ever. + +MAN. And my eyes shine? + +WIFE. Yes, your eyes shine. + +MAN. And my hair is black as pitch? + +WIFE. It is as white as snow, which is even more handsome. + +MAN. And I have no wrinkles? + +WIFE. There are a few little wrinkles, but—— + +MAN. Of course. I know that I am a handsome fellow. To-morrow I will buy +a uniform and enter the light brigade. Won’t that be fine? + +WIFE. [_Smiling_] Now you are joking as you used. Well, lie down, my +dear, and take a short nap and I will go to our son. Rest quietly; I will +not leave him until he wakes, and then I will call you. You don’t like to +kiss my wrinkled old hand, do you? [_MAN kisses it._ + +MAN. Nonsense! You are the most beautiful woman in the world. + +WIFE. But the wrinkles? + +MAN. Wrinkles? I see a dear, kind, good, intelligent face; nothing more. +Don’t be angry with me for my harshness. Go to our son. Guard him. Sit +by him like a quiet shadow of tenderness and comfort. And if he grows +restless in his sleep, sing him a little song as of old. And set the +grapes nearer so that he can reach them. + + _The WIFE goes out. MAN lies down on the lounge with his head + toward the corner where the BEING IN GREY stands motionless. + MAN’S position is such that the hand of the BEING almost + touches his grey, dishevelled hair. He quickly falls asleep._ + +THE BEING IN GREY. Man, flattered by his hopes, has fallen into a deep +and grateful sleep. His breathing is as quiet as a child’s, and his aged +heart, resting from its sufferings, beats calmly and evenly. He does not +know that in a few moments his son will die. And, as he sleeps, in his +mysterious fancies an impossible happiness rises before him. + +He dreams that he is riding with his son in a white boat over a +beautiful, smooth river. He dreams that it is a beautiful day and that he +sees the blue sky and the transparent, crystal water. He hears the reeds +rustle as they part before the boat. He is filled with joy and he fancies +that he is blessed. All his emotions are deceiving him. + +But suddenly he becomes restless. The terrible truth, penetrating the +dense veil of his dreams, has seared his thought. + +“Why is your golden hair cut so short, my boy; why is it?” + +“My head ached, father, and that is why my hair was cut so short.” + +And again deceived, Man is happy and sees the blue sky and hears the +reeds rustling as they part. + +He does not know that his son is already dying. He does not hear how in +a last wild hope, with childish faith in the power of older persons, his +son calls him, without words, with the cry of his heart, “Papa, papa, I +am dying! I am slipping away! Hold me!” Man’s sleep is deep and joyous, +and in his mysterious and deceiving visions an impossible happiness rises +before him. + +Awake, Man! Your son is dead! + +MAN. [_Terrified, raises his head and gets up_] Ah! Did some one call me? + + _At the same moment the weeping of many women is heard in + the next room. With high-pitched voices they are uttering + long-drawn-out lamentation over the dead. Enter the WIFE, pale + as death._ + +MAN. Is our son dead? + +WIFE. Yes, he is dead. + +MAN. Did he call me? + +WIFE. No, he did not wake. He called no one. He is dead, my son, my +precious child! + + _She falls on her knees before MAN and sobs, throwing her arms + about his knees. MAN places his hand upon her head, and, in a + voice choked with sobs but threatening, he speaks, his face + toward the corner where the BEING IN GREY stands, indifferent._ + +MAN. You have offended a woman, villain! You have killed our boy. [_The +WIFE sobs. MAN with trembling hand quietly smooths her hair_] Don’t +weep, my dear, don’t weep. He will laugh at our tears, as he laughed at +our prayers. But you (I know not who you are, God, the Devil, Fate, or +Life)—I curse you. + + _He speaks the following with a loud, strong voice, with + one hand held over his wife, as if to defend her, the other + threateningly extended toward the UNKNOWN._ + +THE CURSE OF MAN + +I curse all that you have given me! I curse the day on which I was born! +I curse the day on which I shall die! I curse my whole life, my joys, and +my grief! I curse myself! I curse my eyes, my ears, my tongue! I curse my +heart, my head! And I hurl all back into your cruel face, senseless Fate! +Be accursed, be accursed for ever! Through my curse I rise victorious +above you. What more can you do to me? Hurl me upon the ground, yes, hurl +me down! I shall only laugh and cry out, “Be accursed!” Fetter my lips +with the clamps of death, and my last thought shall be a cry into your +ass’s ears, “Be accursed, be accursed!” Seize upon my corpse, gnaw it +like a dog, worry it in the darkness,—I am not within it. I have vanished +and, vanishing, I repeat the curse, “Be accursed, be accursed!” Over the +head of the woman whom you have offended, over the body of the boy whom +you have killed, I hurl upon you the curse of Man! + + _He stands in silence with his hand raised in a threatening + attitude. The BEING IN GREY listens with indifference to the + curse, and the flame of the candle flutters as if blown by the + wind. For some time the two stand facing each other in a tense + silence—MAN and the BEING IN GREY. The crying in the next room + becomes louder and more prolonged and gradually passes into a + rhythmical wailing._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT V + +THE DEATH OF MAN + + + _A vague, wavering, flickering, dim light through which one can + at first make out nothing. When the eye becomes accustomed to + the gloom, the following scene is disclosed_: + + _A long, wide, basement room with a very low ceiling and + without windows. A flight of stairs leads from the room to the + entrance, somewhere above. The walls are smooth, gloomy, and + dirty, like the coarse, spotted hide of some huge beast. The + rear wall, as far as to the steps, is occupied by a large, + flat buffet with a mirror. The buffet is filled with straight + rows of bottles containing liquids of various colours. Behind + a low counter sits the BARTENDER, perfectly motionless, with + his hands folded across his stomach. He has a white face with + red nose and cheeks, a bald head, and a large, sandy beard, + and wears an expression of complete calm and indifference. He + remains the same through the entire scene, not once moving + from his place or changing his attitude. At small tables sit + the DRUNKARDS, on wooden stools. The number of the people is + seemingly increased by their shadows, which rove along the + walls and ceiling._ + + _The scene presents an endless variety of the disgusting + and the horrible. The faces resemble masks, the parts of + which are disproportionately large or small. Some have large + noses, others are entirely noseless. The eyes roll wildly, + almost bursting from their sockets, or are nearly closed so + that they are reduced to scarcely visible slits and points. + There are prominent Adam’s apples and diminutive chins. All + have tangled, shaggy, and dirty hair, which in some cases + half conceals the face. In spite of their variety, all the + faces have a hideous resemblance, which consists in a sallow, + grave-like colour and an expression now of frightful laughter + and now of insane and gloomy horror._ + + _The DRUNKARDS are dressed in rags of one colour, which + expose a sallow, bony hand, or a sharp knee, or a sunken, + frightful chest. Some are nearly naked. The women are scarcely + distinguishable from the men and are even uglier. The hands + and heads of all tremble, and their gait is unsteady, as if + they were walking on very slippery or boggy or moving surfaces. + Their voices, too, are alike in that they are wheezing, + whimpering, and as unsteady as the gait. They utter their words + with lips which do not obey them and which are, as it were, + stiffened with cold._ + + _In the centre of the group, at a separate table, sits MAN, + resting his grey, dishevelled head upon his hands. He remains + throughout in the same position, except for the moment that he + speaks. He is shabbily dressed._ + + _In one corner the BEING IN GREY with the nearly burned-out + candle stands motionless. The narrow, blue flame flutters, + now bending to one side and now reaching upward with a sharp + tongue, throwing livid spots of light on His stony face and + chin._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE DRUNKARDS + +My God! My God! + +Listen! How strangely everything shakes! You cannot fix your eyes on +anything. + +Everything trembles as in a fever: people, chairs, and the ceiling. + +Everything sways as if it were afloat. + +Don’t you hear a noise? I hear a noise as if iron wheels were rumbling or +stones were falling from a cliff—huge stones, falling like rain. + +That is the noise in your ears. + +That is the noise of the blood. I can feel my blood, thick, black, and +smelling of rum. It rolls heavily along the veins, and when it comes to +the heart everything seems to fall and terror seizes me. + +I seem to see lightning flashes. + +I see huge, red bonfires and people burning in them. There’s a disgusting +smell of burning flesh! Black shadows whirl about the bonfires, drunken +shadows. Ho, there! Let me have a dance with you! + +My God! My God! + +I, too, am cheerful. Who will laugh with me? No one wants to. Then I will +laugh alone. [_He laughs alone._ + +A charming woman is kissing my lips. She smells of musk and her teeth are +like a crocodile’s. She is trying to bite me. Away, you slattern! + +I am not a slattern. I am an old, pregnant serpent. For an hour I have +been watching the little serpents issuing from my body and crawling +about. Take care! Don’t crush my little snakes! + +Where are you going? + +Who’s walking about there? Sit down! The whole house shakes when you walk. + +I can’t sit still. It is frightful when I sit still. + +It is frightful for me, too. When I sit still I can feel horror running +through my body. + +So can I. Let me go! + + _Three or four drunkards wander aimlessly about with unsteady + steps, stumbling among the tables._ + +See what it is doing! For two hours it has been trying to jump onto my +knees. It comes within an inch of it. I drive it away, but it comes back. +That’s a queer sort of game. + +Black cockroaches are creeping about under my skull, making a crawling +noise. + +My brain is falling to pieces. I can feel one grey fragment separate from +the other. My brain is like spoiled cheese—it smells. + +It smells like carrion here. + +My God! My God! + +To-night I will crawl to her on my knees and butcher her. Blood will +flow. It is flowing now—red blood. + +Three people are continually following me. They are calling me into a +dark, lonely corner. They want to butcher me there. They are gathered +about the door now. + +Who is that walking along the walls and ceiling? + +My God! They have come—they’re after me! + +Who? + +They. + +My tongue is numb. What shall I do? My tongue is numb. I will weep. [_He +weeps._ + +Everything in me is coming out. I shall turn inside out in a moment and +be red. + +Listen, listen! Ho, somebody! A monster is coming upon me. It is raising +its hand. Help! Oh! + +What’s this? Help! A spider! + +Help! + + [_For some time they cry with hoarse voices_: “Help!” + +We are all drunkards. Let’s call everybody down here. Up yonder it is +nasty. + +No, don’t. When I go out on the street, the street rushes about like a +wild beast and quickly throws me to the ground. + +We have all come here from the street. We drink alcohol and it makes us +happy. + +It makes us miserable. All day I tremble with horror. + +Better this horror than life. Who wants to go back there? + +Not I. + +Nor I. I’d rather die here. I don’t want to live. + +Nobody wants to live. + +My God! My God! + +Why does Man come here? He drinks little and sits long. We do not need +him. + +Let him go home. He has a home. + +He has fifteen rooms. + +Don’t touch him! He has nowhere else to go. + +He has fifteen rooms. + +But they are empty, except for the rats. The rats run about in them and +fight. + +But his wife? + +He has nobody. Probably his wife is dead. + +His wife is dead. + +His wife is dead. + + _During this conversation and that which follows, the OLD WOMEN + in strange garments enter noiselessly and without attracting + attention replace the quietly withdrawing DRUNKARDS. They + mingle in the conversation, but so gradually that no one + notices it._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE DRUNKARDS AND THE OLD WOMEN + +OLD WOMAN. He will soon die. He is so feeble he can scarcely walk. + +DRUNKARD. He has fifteen rooms. + +OLD WOMAN. Listen to his heart. How unevenly and feebly it beats. It will +soon stop. + +DRUNKARD. Invite us to your house, Man. You have fifteen rooms. + +OLD WOMAN. It will soon stop—the big, old, feeble heart of Man. + +DRUNKARD. He is asleep, the drunken fool. It is frightful to sleep, and +yet he sleeps on. He might die in his sleep. Hey, there! Wake him up! + +OLD WOMAN. Do you recall how his heart used to beat—fresh and strong? + + _Subdued laughter._ + +DRUNKARD. Who’s laughing? There are intruders here. + +DRUNKARD. Only in your imagination. There is no one here but us—us +drunkards. + +DRUNKARD. I will go out on the street and raise a disturbance. I have +been robbed. I am completely naked. I have a green skin. + +OLD WOMAN. Good evening. + +DRUNKARD. Again the wheels are rumbling. My God! They will crush me. Help! + + _No one answers._ + +OLD WOMAN. Good evening. + +OLD WOMAN. Do you remember how he was born? + +OLD WOMAN. I think you were there. + +DRUNKARD. It must be I am dying. My God! My God! Who will carry me to +the grave? Who will bury me? I shall lie about like a dog in the street. +People will walk over me. Carriages will ride over me. They will crush +me. My God! My God! [_He weeps._ + +OLD WOMAN. Allow me to congratulate you, my dear kinsman, on the birth of +your son. + +DRUNKARD. I am firmly convinced that there is an error here. A straight +line that presents the form of a closed circle is simply ridiculous. + +DRUNKARD. I will prove it to you in a jiffy. + +DRUNKARD. You are quite right. + +DRUNKARD. My God! My God! + +DRUNKARD. Only people who are ignorant of mathematics will admit it. I +won’t admit it. Do you hear? I won’t admit it. + +OLD WOMAN. Do you remember the rose-coloured dress and the naked throat? + +OLD WOMAN. And the flowers—the lilies-of-the-valley on which the dew had +not yet dried, and the violets, and the green grass? + +OLD WOMAN. Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers! + + _Subdued laughter._ + +DRUNKARD. My God! My God! + + _The DRUNKARDS are all gone. Their places are occupied by the + OLD WOMEN with strange garments. The light, though very faint, + becomes steady. The figure of the UNKNOWN comes sharply out as + does also the grey head of MAN, upon which from above falls a + feeble light._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE OLD WOMEN + +Good evening. + +Good evening. What a glorious night! + +Well, we are together again. How are you? + +I have a cough. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +It won’t be long now. He will soon die. + +Look at the candle. The flame is blue and narrow and droops toward the +sides. There is no wax left now—only the wick is burning. + +It does not want to go out. + +When did you ever see a flame that wanted to go out? + +Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! Whether it wants to go out or not, +time is passing. + +Do you remember his automobile? Once it almost crushed me. + +And his fifteen rooms? + +I have just been there. I was nearly eaten by the rats, and I caught cold +from the draughts. Now that some one has stolen the windows, the wind +sweeps through the whole house. + +Did you lie on the bed where his wife died? How soft it is, isn’t it? + +Yes, I went through all the rooms and mused a bit. They have such a dear +nursery. Only it is too bad that the windows are broken there, too, and +the wind rustles amid the dust. The child’s little bed is so dear! The +mice have now built their nests in it and are raising their families. + +Such dear little naked micelets. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +And in the study on the table lie the toys—the horse without a tail, the +soldier cap, and the red-nosed clown. I played a bit with them. I put on +the cap. It quite becomes me. But there’s a terrible lot of dust on them. +I was just covered with dirt. + +But were you not in the hall where the dance took place? It is so +cheerful there! + +Yes, I was there, but just imagine what I saw. It was dark. The panes +were all broken and the wind was rustling in the wall-paper—— + +It makes a sound like music. + +And along the wall in the darkness were squatted the guests. Oh, if you +only knew how they looked! + +We know! + +And with grinning teeth they barked abruptly: “How costly! How gorgeous!” + +Surely you are joking! + +Of course I am joking. You know how jolly I am. + +How costly! How luxurious! + +How gorgeous! + + _Subdued laughter._ + +Remind him. + +How costly! How gorgeous! + +Do you remember the music at your ball? + +He will soon die. + +The dancers circled about and the music played so tenderly, so +beautifully. This is the way it played. + + _They form a semicircle about MAN and in a low voice hum the + tune that was played at the ball._ + +Let’s have a ball. It is so long since I have danced. + +Just imagine that this is a palace, a miraculously beautiful palace. + +Call the musicians! You cannot have a good dance without music. + +Musicians! + +Do you remember? + + _They strike up the tune and at the same moment the three + musicians who played at the ball descend the stairs. The one + with a violin carefully spreads the handkerchief over his + shoulder, and all three begin to play with extreme painstaking, + though the sounds are low, soft, and sad as in a dream._ + +Now we have a ball! + +How costly! How gorgeous! + +How brilliant! + +Do you remember? + + _Humming in a low tone in time with the music, they begin to + circle about MAN, posturing and repeating with wild distortions + the movements of the girls in white robes who danced at the + ball. During the first musical phrase they circle about, and + during the second they approach each other and then draw apart + gracefully and silently. They whisper in low voices._ + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die, but do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die, but do you remember? + +Do you remember? + + _The dance becomes swifter and the movements more jerky. + Through the voices of the OLD WOMEN who are singing there glide + strange, whimpering notes; and the same strange laughter, as + yet subdued, runs like a low rustling through the dancers. As + they sweep past MAN they discharge, as it were, into his ears + abrupt whispers_: + +Do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +How tender! How fine! + +How restful to the soul! + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die. You will soon die. You will soon die—— + +Do you remember? + + _The whirling dance becomes swifter and the movements still + more abrupt. Suddenly all is silent and motionless. The + musicians become rigid, with their instruments in their hands. + The dancing women are motionless in the same attitudes in + which the oncoming of silence found them._ + + _MAN rises, straightens himself, throws back threateningly his + beautiful grey head, and cries out in a challenging voice, + unexpectedly loud and full of sorrow and anger. After each + brief utterance there is a short but profound silence._ + +MAN. Where is my armour-bearer? Where my sword? Where is my shield? I am +weaponless. Come hither quickly, quickly. Be accurs—— + + [_He sinks upon a chair with head thrown back and dies._ + + _At the same instant the candle, flaring up, goes out, and a + deep gloom envelops all objects. It is as though the gloom + were pouring down the stairway and gradually spreading + over everything. Only the face of MAN is illuminated. Low, + indistinct conversation of the OLD WOMEN, whispering and + interchanging laughter._ + +THE BEING IN GREY. Silence! Man is dead. + + _Profound silence, during which the same cold, indifferent + voice repeats the words from the far distance like an echo_: + “Silence! Man is dead.” _Profound silence. Slowly the gloom + becomes thicker, but the mice-like figures of the OLD WOMEN + watchers can still be seen. Now quietly and silently they begin + to circle about the corpse. Then they begin to hum in a low + tone, and the musicians begin to play. The gloom becomes still + more dense, and as the music and singing become louder and + louder the wild dance becomes more unrestrained. They are no + longer dancing but wildly whirling about the corpse, stamping + and shrieking with continuous, wild laughter. Absolute darkness + ensues. The face of the dead is still illumined, but presently + that also vanishes. Black, impenetrable darkness._ + + _In the darkness one can hear the movements of the wild + dancers, the shrieking, the laughter, and the discordant and + desperately loud sounds of the orchestra. Having attained their + greatest intensity, all these sounds quickly withdraw somewhere + and die away. Silence._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT V + +THE DEATH OF MAN + +(VARIANT) + + +[It was only after “The Life of Man” had been presented on the stage that +I became convinced I had fallen into error—both as regards the form and +also as regards the fundamental meaning of the play. + +As for the form, I could be content to leave the play unchanged. Written +in a period of doubts and fears, it might be allowed to stand as my first +attempt at a neo-realistic drama. Sins against the fundamental meaning +are, however, quite another matter. + +Leaving it to others to judge how far I am right and how far I am wrong +in my interpretation of the meaning of human life, I am bound, both for +my own sake and for the purpose of greater consistency and clearness, to +correct such defects in the play as either obscure its fundamental idea +or present that idea in an incomplete and unfinished form. + +In the fifth act, a variant of which I now offer, the most essential +defect was the incorporation into the drama of a relatively incidental +element, namely, the Drunkards, and the absence of so essential a group, +and a group so important in life as the Heirs, who naturally complete the +groups of Kinsmen, Friends, and Enemies of Man. + +By introducing into the drama the barroom and the Drunkards I did not, +of course, intend to imply that every man dies inevitably in a barroom. +Nevertheless, several of my critics quite erroneously drew the following +series of inferences: “I do not go to barrooms, consequently this is +not true, consequently I shall never die, consequently what sort of a +Life of Man is this?” But the loneliness of Man dying in misfortune, +to suggest which these people, themselves so solitary and unfortunate, +were introduced, may be indicated fully by the presence of the Heirs. +While the Drunkards merely give Man an opportunity to die in solitude, +the Heirs, on the other hand, with the natural pitilessness of all +successors, not only urge him to die, but actually force death upon him. +_Succession_ is an important element which I left out of consideration in +my first picture of “The Death of Man.” + +_Mercy_ was absent from my play, and this also seemed to many to be +unjust. In the present version it is represented in the character of the +Sister of Mercy, and although during the whole of the act she does not +open her eyes once, yet her very presence bears witness to the fact that +mercy really exists. + +Reminding my readers, however, that justice is merely a new or as yet +unexposed error, I bring to a close my explanations (perhaps superfluous) +and submit this new version of “The Death of Man” to the kindly judgment +of the reader. + + AUTHOR.] + + _The high, gloomy room in which the SON and the WIFE of MAN + died. On everything lies the stamp of ruin and death. The walls + are warped and threaten to fall. The corners are overspread + with cobwebs—regular, light-coloured circles inextricably + interlaced. From the sagging ceiling likewise hang dark-grey + clumps of abandoned spider-webs. The two tall windows have + been forced inward and are bent as though by the steady and + persistent pressure of the infinitude of darkness which + surrounds the house of MAN. Should the windows not hold + firm—should they fall inward—the darkness would pour into the + room and extinguish the feeble, dying light by which it is + illuminated._ + + _In the rear wall a zigzag stairway leads upward to the rooms + where once the ball was given. At the foot of the stairs the + warped, decayed steps can be seen, but farther upward they are + lost in a dense and frowning darkness. By this wall stands a + bed under a sagging, torn baldachin—the bed on which the WIFE + of MAN died._ + + _On the right is the dark opening of a large, cold, + long-disused fireplace, in which, in a great heap of grey, + dead ashes, can be seen a white sheet of partly burned paper, + apparently a design. Before the fireplace in an armchair MAN + sits motionless, dying. In his torn gown and unkempt grey hair + and beard one can see the complete abandonment and solitude of + death. Some little distance from MAN, in an armchair of the + same sort, sits a SISTER OF MERCY, fast asleep, a white cross + on her breast. During the whole act she does not once waken._ + + _About the dying man are seated the HEIRS, surrounding him + closely in a circle of eagerly outstretched faces. There + are seven of them, three women and four men. Their necks + are greedily stretched out toward MAN, their mouths are + half-opened, expressing avarice, and the fingers on their + uplifted hands are hooked stiffly like the claws of birds of + prey. Among them there are large, well-fed people, particularly + one gentleman, whose fat body welters formlessly upon the + chair; but, from the manner in which they sit and in which + they look at MAN, one can see that they have been hungry all + their lives, that all their lives they have been awaiting the + inheritance, and that apparently they are still hungry._ + + _In one corner the BEING IN GREY, with the candle nearly burned + out, stands motionless. The narrow, blue flame flutters, now + bending to one side and now reaching upward with a sharp + tongue, and throws livid spots of light on His stony face and + chin._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE HEIRS + + _They speak in loud voices._ + +Dear kinsman, are you sleeping? + +Dear kinsman, are you sleeping? + +Dear kinsman, are you sleeping or not? Answer us. + +We are your friends. + +Your heirs. + +Answer us. + + _MAN is silent. The HEIRS change their voices to a loud + whisper._ + +He says nothing. + +He doesn’t hear. He is deaf. + +No, he is only pretending. He hates us, and he would be glad to drive us +away, but he can’t. We are his heirs. + +Every time we come he looks at us as if we had come to kill him. As if he +were not dying of himself! + +The fool! + +That’s from old age. All people become fools in their old age. + +No, it’s his greed. He would be glad to carry everything with him to the +grave. He doesn’t know that man goes to the grave empty-handed. + +Why do you so hate our dear kinsman? + +Because he is slow in dying. [_Louder_] Old man, why don’t you die? You +are spoiling our life. You are robbing us. Your clothes are torn and +rotten, your house is tumbling down, your furniture is getting old and +losing its value. + +That is true, he is robbing us. + +Sh! Why shout? + +Old man, you are stripping us of our own. + +But perhaps our dear kinsman hears us. + +Let him hear. It is always good to hear the truth. + +But perhaps he has still enough strength to make a will and deprive us of +the inheritance. + +Do you think so? + + _They laugh affectedly. They speak softly with assumed + tenderness, but yet so loud that MAN can hear them._ + +Nonsense. He was always an intelligent man with a sense of humour, and he +understands a joke perfectly well. Is it not true, my dear kinsman? + +Of course we were joking. + +We can wait any length of time; it is only that we are sorry for him. +It’s so sad to sit day and night all alone before the empty fireplace. Is +it not true, dear kinsman? + +Why doesn’t he go to bed? + +Oh, it is just a little whim. His wife died on this bed, and he will +never allow any one to touch either the linen or the pillows. + +But time has already touched them. + +They smell of decay. + +Everything here smells of decay. [_He sniffs._ + +Really, when you stop to reflect that in this fireplace he used to burn +whole logs so wastefully—— + +Do you remember his ball? Our dear kinsman scattered his money so freely. + +_Our_ money. + +But do you remember how he petted his wife, that insignificant creature! + +You had better add, “who deceived him.” + +Sh! + +Who had a dozen paramours. + +Sh! Sh! + +Who lived with a lackey, yes, with her own lackey. I myself once saw them +making eyes at each other. + +However, she is dead. Don’t slander the dead. + +But it is so. I heard about it, too. + +Poor deceived fool! + +Do you see any adornments in his honoured grey hair? + +Sh! Sh! + + _With exclamations of_ “Silence!” “Silence!” _they interchange + glances and laugh slyly._ + +Man has no right to think only of himself. Considering how much he might +have left and how little remains—— + +A mere pittance. + +We must thank Providence even for what is left. Our honoured kinsman is +so careless. + +Just look at his gown. Isn’t it shameful to treat an expensive garment so? + +Is it really so expensive? I cannot see from here what kind of cloth it +is. + +Approach him cautiously and feel of it. It is silk. + + _One of the women goes up to dying MAN and, pretending that she + is straightening his pillow, feels of the cloth. All watch her + with curiosity._ + +Silk! + + _By various gestures, the HEIRS express their disgust. MAN for + an instant rouses a little and feebly calls_: “Water!” + +What does he say? Did he hear us? What does he want? + +MAN. Water! In God’s name, water! + + _He ceases speaking. Several of the HEIRS, frightened, look + here and there for water but do not find any. Voices in a tone + of irritation and alarm_: + +Water! + +He is asking for water. + +Yes, give him some water. + +There isn’t any water. + + _They all turn toward the sleeping SISTER OF MERCY and cry + out, putting their hands to their mouths in the fashion of a + megaphone_: + +Sister of Mercy! + +Sister of Mercy! + +Sister of Mercy! + +We are speaking to you, Sister of Mercy! The sick man wants some water. + +Shake her. What do they pay her for, if she sits there all the time +asleep? + +If you want a Sister of Mercy that won’t sleep, you must pay more. Can’t +you understand? + +She is very tired. The poor woman is overworked. + +Let her sleep. It is a pity to disturb her when she is sleeping so +soundly. Dear kinsman, can’t you wait a bit? The Sister is very tired and +is sleeping. + + _MAN does not answer, and they all sit down again on their + chairs in a semicircle. The feeble light which illuminates the + room slowly grows dimmer and darkness rises in the corners. + The darkness comes on heavily from somewhere above, down the + staircase. It spreads over the ceiling and clings sullenly to + every hollow in the walls._ + +He is quiet again. Poor man! + +How dark it is! Do you not see how dark it is? + +When I stop to think that he may sit thus before the fireplace for a long +time yet—weeks, perhaps months—then I feel like seizing him by his thin +neck and strangling him. + +Begging your pardon, sir, although you appear to be very solicitous about +the inheritance, I must remark that I don’t know who you are. + +Neither do I. Neither do I. + +You are simply a nobody—a man from the street! What right have you to the +inheritance? + +I am just as much an heir as you are. + +No, sir, you are a scoundrel. + +No, it is you who are a scoundrel. + +Sh! Sh! + +Drive him out! Away with him! + +You are all scoundrels. + +Sh! You will wake him up. + + _Savagely showing their teeth, they threaten each other with + clinched fists._ + +Gentlemen, the light is going out. I can scarcely see your faces. + +We must be going. Another day is wasted. + +We must be going. + +Well, I will remain. I am not going to leave. This is my house; mine, +mine, mine! + +The rats will eat you here. + +[_In a fury_] This is my house; mine, mine, mine! + +One seventh part, Mr. Heir-from-the-Street—at best one seventh part. + +It is my house; mine! + +Gentlemen, it is getting dark. + +Good night, dear kinsman. + +Good night, dear kinsman. + +Good night, dear kinsman. + + _One after another they go out, bowing low to MAN. Some of them + raise the limp hand of dying MAN as it lies on the arm of the + chair and gently press it. The HEIR-FROM-THE-STREET is left + alone. With a contemptuous glance at silent MAN and the SISTER + OF MERCY, he swiftly and with an angry expression examines the + room. He touches the walls, feels of the upholstering on the + chairs, and estimates with his eye that which he cannot reach + with his hand. He goes to the bed on which the WIFE of MAN died + and tests the firmness of the linen, but when the rotten cloth + tears in his fingers, the HEIR, furiously stamping his foot, + scatters the pillows and the sheets. Then he walks resolutely + up to the dying MAN and takes a position behind his back._ + +SPEECH OF THE HEIR + +Listen, old Man. You ought to die. Why insult death by hanging back? Be +off. Free living things from your dead hand. It lies on everything with +leaden weight. Look! All things are waiting eagerly for your death: these +falling walls, this spider-web and the spider imprisoned in its circles, +this dark fireplace—it used to breathe upon you with its warmth, but now +it is summoning your worn-out body to the chill of the grave. Begone! +Where you are going you will meet those who loved you, both in youth and +in old age, and those who were beloved by you. + + _Silence._ + +Don’t you believe it? + + [_He turns to the corner where the BEING IN GREY stands._ + +Ho, you! Tell him that his loved ones will meet him there, his son with +the crushed head and his wife who died of sickness and grief. + + _Silence._ + +You, too, are silent? And all is silent? So be it. But whatever may await +you, begone from here. I, the living, drive you forth from life, and when +you die I will bless you. I will lay wreaths upon your coffin, and on the +spot where your body will decay I will erect a monument—if it is not too +expensive. Begone! + + _Silence. The HEIR again walks up and down the room, but the + melancholy of the place, the continually increasing darkness, + and the heavy silence frighten him. He moves anxiously about, + as if he had forgotten where the exit is, and speaks in a + hoarse voice._ + +Sister of Mercy, wake up! Sister! Where is the door—where is the door? +Sister of Mercy! + + _Silence. In various places almost simultaneously the OLD + WOMEN appear, and there follows a nimble, silent game very + entertaining to the OLD WOMEN. They block the exit of the HEIR; + they circle about the room and, thus noiselessly thrusting him + hither and thither, finally let him pass through to the door. + Raising his hands above his head with an expression of horror, + the HEIR runs out. Subdued laughter on the part of the OLD + WOMEN._ + +CONVERSATION OF THE OLD WOMEN + +Good evening. + +Good evening. What a glorious night! + +Well, we are together again. How are you? + +I have a cough. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +It won’t be long now. He’ll soon die. + +Look at the candle. The flame is blue and narrow and drooping toward the +sides. The wax is already consumed—only the wick is left, and that will +soon burn out. + +It does not want to go out. + +Did you ever see a flame that wanted to go out? + +Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! Whether the flame wants to go out or +not, time is passing. + +Time is passing. + +Time is passing. + +Do you recall his birth? Allow me to congratulate you, my dear kinsman, +on the birth of your son. + +Do you remember the rose-coloured dress and the naked throat? + +And the flowers—the lilies-of-the-valley, on which the dew had not yet +dried, and the violets, and the green grass? + +Don’t touch them, girls. Don’t touch the flowers! + + _They laugh._ + +Time is passing. + +Time is passing. + + _Laughter. One of the OLD WOMEN puts the bed in order._ + +What are you doing? + +I am making the bed on which his wife died. + +What’s the use of that? He’ll soon be dead. + +Don’t bother me. I am making the bed on which his wife died. + +How kind you are! + +Now all is right. Now he can go. + +When He permits him. + +Now all is right; now all is right. + + _Like a deep sigh there sweeps through the room a harmonious + but very sad and strange sound. Originating somewhere above, it + tremulously dies out in the dark corners. It is as though many + harp-strings were snapping one after another._ + +Sh! Do you hear it? + +What’s that? + +It’s up above where the ball was. That’s the music. + +No, it’s the wind. I was there; I saw it, and I know it is the wind. The +window-glass is broken and the wind is playing a chord over the sharp +points of the glass. + +It _is_ like music. + +How cheerful it is up there! The guests are squatting in the darkness by +the tattered walls. Oh, if you only knew how they look! + +We know. + +And with grinning teeth they bark abruptly: “How costly!” “How gorgeous!” + +Surely you are joking! + +Of course I am joking. You know how jolly I am. + +How costly! How gorgeous! + +How brilliant! + + _Subdued laughter._ + +Remind him. + + _They surround MAN, pressing close to him with gentle, + caressing movements. They fondle him with their bony hands. + They peer into his face and whisper slyly, probing the inmost + recesses of his old heart._ + +Do you remember? + +How costly! How gorgeous! + +Do you remember the music at your ball? + +He will soon die. + +The dancers circled about and the music played so tenderly, so +beautifully. This is the way it went. + + _With low voices they hum the air of the music which was played + at the ball._ + +Do you remember? + +Let’s have a ball. It is so long since I have danced. Just imagine that +this is a palace, a miraculously beautiful palace! + +Do you remember? Hark, the singing violins pour forth their notes! Hear +how tenderly the flute sings! Hear how—— + + _Strains of music, suddenly interrupting the speech of the OLD + WOMAN, begin to play in the room above, where the ball was + held. The sounds are loud and distinct. The OLD WOMEN listen + attentively._ + +Sh! Do you hear? + +They are playing. + +The musicians are playing. + + _One of them cries out in a loud voice_: “Ho, musicians! + Hither!” + + _The others echo her_: “Ho, musicians! Hither! Ho, musicians! + Hither!” + + _The music above ceases, and almost at the same moment the + three musicians who played at the ball, issuing from the + darkness, descend the warped staircase. They come out to the + centre of the stage and stand in a row, as they stood before. + The one with the violin carefully spreads a handkerchief + over his shoulder, and all three begin to play with extreme + painstaking. The sounds, however, are tender, low, and sad, as + in a dream._ + +Now we have a ball! How costly! How gorgeous! + +How brilliant! + +Do you remember? + + _Humming softly in time to the music, they begin to circle + about MAN, posturing and repeating with wild distortions the + movements of the girls in white robes who danced at the ball. + During the first musical phrase they circle about; during the + second they approach each other and then draw apart gracefully + and silently. They speak in loud whispers_: + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die, but do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die, but do you remember? + +Do you remember? + + _The dance becomes swifter and the movements more jerky. + Through the voices of the OLD WOMEN who are singing there + glides a strange, whimpering note; and the same strange + laughter, as yet subdued, runs through the dancers like a low + rustling. As they sweep past MAN they discharge, as it were, + into his ears abrupt whispers_: + +Do you remember? + +Do you remember? + +How tender! How fine! + +How restful to the soul! + +Do you remember? + +You will soon die! You will soon die! You will soon die—— + +Do you remember? + + _The whirling dance becomes swifter and the movements still + more jerky. Suddenly all is silent and motionless. The + musicians are petrified with their instruments in their hands; + the dancing women stand motionless in the attitudes in which + the oncoming of silence found them._ + + _MAN rises. With staggering, unsteady steps he walks toward + the bed. One of the OLD WOMEN bars his way and whispers in his + face_: + +Don’t lie on the bed; you will die there! + +You will die there! + +Beware of the bed! + + _MAN pauses, helpless, and sadly begs_: “Help me, somebody! I + cannot reach the bed.” _Suddenly the scales fall from his eyes. + He sees the malicious OLD WOMEN watching and mischievously + sporting with death. He sees the ruin and darkness and + destruction that pervade everything about him. He sees as if + for the first time the stony face of the BEING IN GREY and + the candle slowly burning out. He raises his hand and the OLD + WOMEN give way before him. He throws back threateningly his + grey-haired, beautiful head, stands erect, and, preparing + for his last battle, he cries out in a challenging voice, + unexpectedly loud and full of grief and anger. In the first + brief expression one can still hear the feebleness of age, + but with each succeeding utterance the voice becomes more + youthful and stronger, and the candle, reflecting for a + moment the life that has returned, flames up high, red and + quavering, illuminating all about it with the sombre glow of a + conflagration._ + +MAN. Where is my armour-bearer? Where is my sword? Where is my shield? I +am weaponless! Come quickly, quickly! Be accursed! + + _He falls at the foot of the bed and dies. At the same instant + the flame of the candle with one last feeble flare goes out, + and deep gloom envelops all objects. It is as if the walls + and the windows that had formerly held back the darkness had + finally given way and the darkness had flooded everything + with a dense, black, triumphant wave. Only the face of MAN is + illumined. Low, indistinct conversation of the OLD WOMEN is + heard, together with whispering and interchanging of laughter._ + +BEING IN GREY. Silence! Man is dead. + + _Profound silence. The same cold, indifferent voice repeats + the words from the far distance like an echo_: “Silence! Man + is dead.” _Profound silence. Slowly the gloom becomes denser, + though the mice-like figures of the OLD WOMEN watchers can + still be seen. Quietly and silently they begin to circle about + the corpse. Then they begin to hum in a low tone, and the + musicians start playing. The gloom becomes still more dense, + the music and singing louder and louder, and the wild dance + more unrestrained. They are no longer dancing but wildly + whirling about the corpse with stamping and shrieking and wild, + uninterrupted laughter. Complete darkness ensues. The face of + the dead is still illumined, but presently that also vanishes. + Black, impenetrable darkness._ + + _In the darkness one can hear the movements of the wild + dancers, the shrieking and laughter, and the discordant and + desperately loud sounds of the orchestra. On attaining their + highest pitch, all these sounds swiftly recede somewhere and + die away. Silence._ + +_Curtain._ + + + + +THE SABINE WOMEN + +A BIT OF ROMAN HISTORY + +IN THREE ACTS + + + + +ACT I + + + _A wild, rugged spot, at daybreak. As the sun rises, armed + ROMANS enter from the hills, dragging with them the beautiful + but dishevelled SABINE WOMEN. The latter resist, scream, and + scratch—all but one, who, perfectly quiet, seems to have fallen + asleep in the arms of the ROMAN who carries her. The captors, + groaning with the pain of their scratches, quickly drop the + WOMEN in a heap and, hastily retreating, rearrange their + clothing. They pant as if exhausted. The screaming subsides. + The WOMEN, watching suspiciously the movements of the men, + also set themselves to rights. They whisper and chatter in low + tones._ + +FIRST ROMAN. By Hercules! I’m as wet as a muskrat. I’ll wager my woman +weighed four hundred pounds at least. + +SECOND ROMAN. You needn’t have picked the biggest of the lot. For my +part, I chose a thin little thing, and—— + +FIRST ROMAN. What’s happened to your face? You don’t mean to say that +thin little thing—— + +SECOND ROMAN. Wow! She scratches like a cat. + +FIRST ROMAN. They all scratch like cats. I have been in a hundred +battles. I have been hacked with swords, beaten with clubs, bruised with +stones. Gates and walls have fallen on me, but this is the worst yet. My +Roman nose is a wreck. + +THIRD ROMAN. If I hadn’t been clean shaved in the ancient Roman fashion, +there wouldn’t be a hair left on my face. You know what nice, slender +fingers and what amazingly sharp nails they have. Well, talk about cats! +Cats is no name for them. Mine never said a word, but all the way she +just plucked out the down. + +A TALL, FAT ROMAN. [_Speaks in a bass voice_] Mine got her hands under my +breastplate and tickled me in the armpits so that I laughed the whole way. + + _A low, contemptuous laugh from the WOMEN._ + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us. + +SECOND ROMAN. Come, gentlemen; stop your whining and spruce up. It would +be a pity for the ladies to lose their respect for us on this very first +day. Just look at Emilius Paulus. There’s a man who keeps up his dignity. + +THIRD ROMAN. Radiant as Aurora! + +FOURTH ROMAN. By Hercules! Not a scratch on him. How did you manage it, +Paulus? + +PAULUS. [_With feigned modesty_] Oh, I don’t know. She clung to me from +the start as if I were her husband. You astonish me, gentlemen. Why, it +was simplicity itself. When I took her up she spontaneously threw her +arms about my neck. The only danger was that she would hug me to death. +Her arms may be slender, but they are strong. + +FIRST ROMAN. There’s luck for you. + +PAULUS. Simplicity itself, I tell you. Her innocent, confiding little +heart told her that I loved her truly and respected her. Half the way she +slept like a weary child, though you, of course, won’t believe that. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Pardon me, gentlemen, but how are we going to tell which +is which? Having stolen them in the dark like chickens from a hen-coop—— + + _From the group of WOMEN comes the indignant exclamation_: + “What a disgusting comparison!” + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us. + +THE FAT ROMAN. [_Lowering his voice an octave_] Well, how are we to +pick them out? Mine was a very jolly sort, and I shan’t give her up to +anybody. And, anyway, I’m not going to let people tread on my toes. + +SECOND ROMAN. Chucklehead! + +THIRD ROMAN. I shall know mine by her voice. I shan’t forget her +screaming, come Christmas. + +FOURTH ROMAN. I shall know mine by her nails. + +SCIPIO. And I shall know mine by the wonderful fragrance of her hair. + +PAULUS. And I mine by the modesty and beauty of her soul. O Romans! +We stand on the threshold of a new life. Tedious solitude, farewell! +Farewell, interminable nights, with your accursed nightingales! Let the +nightingale sing now, or any other bird—I’m ready. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Yes, it is time that we entered on the domestic stage of +life. + + _Ironical exclamations from the WOMEN_: “Oh, yes! Why don’t you + try it? Come on!” + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us. + +SECOND ROMAN. It’s high time—high time, I say. + +THIRD ROMAN. Gentlemen, who goes first? + + _Silence. All stand motionless. Low, mocking laughter on the + part of the WOMEN._ + +THE FAT ROMAN. For my part, I’ve had all the tickling I want. Let some +one else try it. And, anyway, I’m not going to let any one tread on my +toes. Here, Paulus, you go. + +PAULUS. Brute! Don’t you see that my darling is still asleep? Look—that +dark clump there under the stones—that’s she. O innocent soul! + +SCIPIO. Gentlemen, it is apparent from your attitude of indecision and +from your confusion—a wholly justified confusion, I may say—that no one +of you has the courage to approach these merciless creatures. Now, here +is my plan—— + +THE FAT ROMAN. Wise head! + +SCIPIO. Here, I say, is my plan. Let us advance in a body, and quite +leisurely, each one hiding himself behind the others. Certainly, if we +were not afraid of their husbands—— + +THE FAT ROMAN. Their husbands! Bosh! + + _Deep sighs from the WOMEN and demonstrative weeping._ + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us. + +SCIPIO. There you go again, Mark Antony, with that mouth of yours. +We must avoid this unlucky word husband. You see how it works on the +feelings of these poor women. Well, gentlemen, do you agree to my plan? + +THE ROMANS. Agreed! Agreed! + +SCIPIO. Well, then, gentlemen—— + + _The ROMANS prepare for the attack, the WOMEN prepare to + defend themselves. In the place of lovely faces are seen sharp + finger-nails, ready to bury themselves in face and hair. A + low, hissing is heard, as of snakes. The ROMANS advance in + accordance with their plan; that is, each one hides himself + behind some one else, with the result that they all fall back + and take shelter in the wings. The WOMEN laugh. The ROMANS + return to their places in confusion._ + +FIRST ROMAN. It looks as if there were some flaw in your plan, Scipio. As +Socrates would say, we advanced backward. + +THE FAT ROMAN. I can’t make head or tail of it. + +PAULUS. Courage, gentlemen. What is a scratch or two? Once we have +reached the goal, oh, what bliss! Forward, Romans! To the attack! + + _The ROMANS, with the exception of PAULUS, who gazes dreamily + at the heavens, rush upon the WOMEN in a disorderly crowd, + but, after a moment of silent struggling, retreat hastily. + Silence. The ROMANS all rub their noses._ + +SCIPIO. [_Speaking through his nose_] Did you notice, gentlemen, that +they didn’t even scream? A bad omen! I prefer a screamer. + +FIRST ROMAN. What’s to be done now? + +SECOND ROMAN. How I long for a domestic life! + +THIRD ROMAN. And I for a family hearthstone. What is life without a +family hearthstone? Now that Rome’s founded—hang it all—I’d like a little +rest. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Unfortunately, gentlemen, not a single one of us +understands the psychology of the other sex. Busied with wars and the +founding of Rome, we have become crude, we have lost our polish, we have +forgotten what a woman is—— + +PAULUS. [_Modestly_] Not all of us. + +SCIPIO. However, from the fact that these women once had husbands—whom we +routed yesterday—I draw the conclusion that there exists some means, some +mysterious method, of approaching a woman whom you do not know. But how +find out what it is? + +THE FAT ROMAN. Suppose we ask the women themselves. + +FIRST ROMAN. They won’t tell. + + _Spiteful laughter among the WOMEN._ + +SECOND ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us. + +SCIPIO. Well, now, I’ve thought of a plan—— + +THE FAT ROMAN. Wise head! + +SCIPIO. As for our charming captives, it strikes me, gentlemen, that far +from our capturing them, they have captured us. Busied in scratching +our faces, tearing out our hair, and tickling us in the armpits, they +obviously cannot hear us. Not being able to hear us, they are not open +to persuasion. Not being open to persuasion, they are not persuaded. So +there you are! + + _Repeating_ “So there you are!” _the ROMANS fall into a state + of gloomy meditation. The WOMEN listen attentively._ + +SCIPIO. Well, here is my plan. Let us, in accordance with military +custom, select an envoy from our number, and ask our fair opponents to +do the same. The representatives of the warring factions, being thus in +complete security [_he feels of his nose_] under the protection of the +white flag, will be able, if I may employ a Latin expression, to reach a +_modus vivendi_, and then—— + + _The ROMANS interrupt this brilliant speech with loud hurrahs. + SCIPIO, being unanimously elected envoy, raises the white flag + and cautiously approaches the WOMEN, at the same time calling + over his shoulder_: “Don’t get too far away, fellows.” + +SCIPIO. [_In an ingratiating tone_] Fair ladies—please stay where you +are, ladies, you see I’m under the protection of the white flag, and +the white flag, I assure you, is sacred, and my person is inviolable—it +really is— Fair ladies! Although it was only yesterday that we had +the pleasure of capturing you, already there have arisen between us +disagreements, feuds, and strange misunderstandings. + +CLEOPATRA. What impudence! Just because you have tied a white rag to a +stick you needn’t think you can make these insulting speeches. + +SCIPIO. [_In a conciliatory tone_] Mercy me! Insulting speeches? Quite +the contrary. I am delighted—that is to say, we are all of us perfectly +miserable. [_With the courage of despair_] I swear by Hercules we are +dead in love with you. Madam, since you seem to sympathise with us, I +venture to ask a slight favour. Please select from your number, as we +have done, an envoy—— + +CLEOPATRA. Oh, we know. We have already heard of it. You needn’t repeat. + +SCIPIO. Why, we hardly spoke above a whisper. + +VOICES OF THE WOMEN. Well, we heard, just the same. + +CLEOPATRA. You go back with that rag where you belong, and wait. We +are going to talk this matter over. No—farther off, if you please. No +eavesdropping. Who is that suckling yonder with his mouth wide open? +[_Pointing at the dreaming PAULUS_] Take him away, please. + +THE ROMANS. [_Whispering to one another_] Now we’re getting on. + + _They withdraw on tiptoe, some showing their good faith by + plugging their ears._ + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. How impudent! How insulting! What odious tyranny! Oh, +our poor husbands! + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. I swear I’ll scratch out a thousand eyes before I +will be disloyal for one instant to my unhappy husband. Sleep sweetly, my +beloved. In the keeping of this brave heart your honour is safe. + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. I also swear. + +FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. And I. + +CLEOPATRA. Alas, my dear companions, we can all of us swear, but what’s +the use? These rude, uncultured men are no respecters of oaths. Take my +captor, for instance. Although I bit his nose—— + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Oh, do you remember yours? + +CLEOPATRA. [_Spitefully_] I shall remember him to my dying day. He +smelled of breastplates and swords and all the other things that go with +a coarse soldier. And he was so careless about squeezing me. Oh, my poor, +dear husband! + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Well, they all have that soldiery smell. + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. And they all squeeze like bears. Probably it is the +military fashion. + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. When I was a little girl I remember a soldier boy +came to our house and said he was from a far-off country where—— + +CLEOPATRA. Ladies, this is no place for reminiscences. + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. But this soldier boy I was telling you about—— + +CLEOPATRA. My dear Juno, what in Venus’s name have we to do with your +soldier when every one of us has on her neck a soldier of her own? Now, +my dears, what is to be done? Here is my proposition—— + +VERONICA. [_Who has awakened, approaches. She is thin and impressively +tall. Languidly, her eyes half closed, she interrupts CLEOPATRA_] Where +are they? Why are they so far off? I wish they would come nearer. I am +ashamed when they are not by me. All this time I have been in a trance, +and now I cannot find the young man who carried me. He smelt like a +soldier. + +CLEOPATRA. There he stands, with his mouth wide open. + +VERONICA. I will go to him. I am consumed with shame. + +CLEOPATRA. Hold her back! Why, Veronica, can it be that you have already +forgotten your poor, dear husband? + +VERONICA. I swear I will never cease to love him. But why do we not go to +our captors—or perhaps you are planning something else, my dears? For my +part, I am ready for any fate. Let them come to us. Men are insufferably +familiar as soon as you cease being angry with them. + +CLEOPATRA. Well, my dears, my first suggestion is that we take an +oath never to betray our dear, unhappy husbands. However our captors +may treat us, we shall remain firm as the Tarpeian rock. When I think +how lonely my husband is, how he vainly calls me to his empty bed, +“Cleopatra, where art thou, Cleopatra”; when I remember how he loved +me—[_The WOMEN all weep_] Come, my dears, let us swear. They are waiting +for us, you know. + +SABINE WOMEN. We swear. We swear. Whatever they may do to us, we will not +betray our husbands. + +CLEOPATRA. There! My mind is at rest so far as the husbands are +concerned. Sleep, beloved; sleep in peace. And now, ladies, the next +thing is to choose an envoy as the Romans suggest, and let her—— + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Scratch his eyes out. + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. No, let her give the rascal a piece of her mind. +They think we can do nothing but scratch; let them hear how we can talk. + +VERONICA. [_Shrugging her lean shoulders_] What is the use of talking +when they have us in their power? + +CLEOPATRA. Stop her! Ah, Veronica, might is not right, whatever Roman law +may say. Make me your envoy, and I will convince our captors that they +have no right to detain us, that they are in duty bound to let us go, +that according to divine law, or human law, or any other law, as they say +in Rome, they have acted like perfect swine. + +VOICES OF WOMEN. Go, Cleopatra; do go. + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Stop Veronica. + +CLEOPATRA. Hello, there, you envoy with the white rag! Come here, please. +I want to talk with you. + +SCIPIO. Shall I remove my sword? + +CLEOPATRA. Never mind. Why should you? You needn’t think we are afraid of +your swords. Come, now, don’t be frightened. I shan’t bite. You weren’t +timid yesterday night when you broke into our peaceful home and rudely +tore me from the arms of my poor husband. Well, come on, if you are +coming. + + _SCIPIO approaches cautiously. The ROMANS and the SABINE WOMEN + arrange themselves at right and left of the stage in two + symmetrical groups and follow the parley attentively._ + +SCIPIO. I am charmed, madam—— + +CLEOPATRA. Charmed, indeed! Let me tell you that you are a scoundrel, +a lunatic, a brigand, a thief. Oh, you murderer, you miscreant, you +monster, you scum! What you have done is blasphemous, disgusting, +abominable, unheard of. + +SCIPIO. Madam! + +CLEOPATRA. You sicken me. You make my flesh creep. I can’t bear the sight +of you. You smell like a soldier. If your nose were not covered with +scratches, I would—— + +SCIPIO. Pardon me. You did the scratching. + +CLEOPATRA. I? Then you are the man who— [_Looks at him contemptuously_] +Excuse me. I didn’t recognise you. + +SCIPIO. [_Joyfully_] But I recognised you instantly. Your hair smells of +verbena; doesn’t it, now? + +CLEOPATRA. None of your business what it smells of. Verbena perfume is as +good as any other. + +SCIPIO. Just what I meant. + +CLEOPATRA. I don’t care what you meant. I’ve said nothing about your +odours. And, anyway, why all this silly gabble about smells? I beg you, +my dear sir, as a man of honour, to come to the point. What do you want +of us? + + _SCIPIO modestly lowers his eyes, but, unable to hold himself + in, snickers behind his hand. All the ROMANS snicker and the + WOMEN bridle._ + +CLEOPATRA. [_Blushing_] Snickering is no answer. You’re just horrid! I +ask you, what do you want of us? I suppose you know that we are already +married. + +SCIPIO. How shall I put it, madam? We are ready to offer you our hands +and hearts—— + +CLEOPATRA. What! You really mean it? Are you crazy? + +SCIPIO. Look at us. We are no dandies from the Nevski. Having just +founded Rome, we are eager to eternalise our— Put yourself in our place, +madam, and have pity on us. Would you not pity your husbands if they woke +up some fine morning and found their wives missing? We are lonely, madam. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Oh, so lonely. + +VERONICA. [_Wiping her eyes_] I’m so sorry for them. + +SCIPIO. In the midst of war’s alarms, busied in the founding of Rome, we +have let slip, so to speak, the moment when—Madam, we pity your husbands +from the bottom of our hearts. + +CLEOPATRA. [_With dignity_] I am pleased to hear you say so. + +SCIPIO. But why the devil did they give you up? + + _The ROMANS joyfully support him with_: “That’s right”; “You’ve + struck it, Scipio”; _but the WOMEN show resentment and utter + such exclamations as_: “How mean of them!” “They’re insulting + our husbands.” “The insinuating wretches!” + +CLEOPATRA. [_Drily_] If you wish to go on with this parley, I beg of you +to refer to our husbands with respect. + +SCIPIO. With the greatest pleasure. But, madam, respect them as we may, +we cannot but admit that they are unworthy of you. At this very moment, +when your inhuman sufferings are pulling at our heart-strings, when the +hot tears evoked by your bereavement are pouring forth like mountain +brooks in spring, when the very stones, quivering with pity, moan and +repine, when your charming noses, drenched with cruel tears, lose their +wonted form and begin to swell—— + +CLEOPATRA. Nothing of the kind. + +SCIPIO. When all nature, and so forth— Well, where are your husbands +now? I don’t see them. They are invisible. They are absent. They have +abandoned you. Shall I say, at the risk of offending, they have basely +deserted you? + + _The ROMANS stand in a haughty pose, with arms akimbo. + Excitement and tears on the part of the WOMEN. The gentle voice + of PROSERPINA is heard, saying_: “Really, why are they not + here? It’s high time.” + +CLEOPATRA. All very fine, and your pose is certainly handsome, but +suppose people should take it into their heads to come by night and steal +us? + +SCIPIO. We shall be on the alert all night long. + +CLEOPATRA. Or in the daytime? + +SCIPIO. Oh, you wouldn’t think of going in the daytime. + + _The languid voice of VERONICA_: “Why are they so far away? + I am ashamed when they are so far away. I want them to come + nearer.” + + _Whispers among the WOMEN_: “Make her keep still.” + +CLEOPATRA. Well, of all the impudence! Still, I am sorry for you, +and I really must confess to some respect and consideration for your +sufferings, though your youth has led you astray. However, I shall now +advance an argument that will at one blow shatter your air-castles and, I +hope, put you to blush. How about the children, sir? + +SCIPIO. Wh—what children? + +CLEOPATRA. The children we have left at home. + +SCIPIO. That, madam, is, I confess, a serious question. Permit me to +withdraw for a moment in order to confer with my companions. + + _CLEOPATRA goes to the WOMEN, SCIPIO to the men. They confer in + whispers._ + +SCIPIO. Madam. + +CLEOPATRA. What is it? + +SCIPIO. After protracted consideration, my companions, the Ancient +Romans, have instructed me to communicate to you that you will have new +children. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Staggered_] Oh, do you think so? + +SCIPIO. We swear it. Gentlemen, swear! + + _The ROMANS swear in a discordant chorus._ + +CLEOPATRA. But the surroundings are very unattractive. + +SCIPIO. [_Offended_] The surroundings? + +CLEOPATRA. Yes. This is a horrid place—all mountains and ravines—simply +impossible! What’s this stone doing here? Take it away, please. + +SCIPIO. Oh, madam! [_Carries the stone away._ + +CLEOPATRA. And such trees! I’m fairly stifled here. What is this stupid +tree? But you are embarrassed, aren’t you? Permit me to withdraw. I +suppose I must give you an answer. + +SCIPIO. An answer? What to? + +CLEOPATRA. Why, I thought you asked me a question. + +SCIPIO. I? Pardon me, madam, I must be getting stupid. What did I ask you +a question about? + +CLEOPATRA. Do you mean to insult me? + +SCIPIO. I? + +CLEOPATRA. Yes, you. You said you were getting stupid. + +SCIPIO. I? + +CLEOPATRA. Certainly, _I_ didn’t say so. You are forgetting yourself, sir. + +SCIPIO. I? + +CLEOPATRA. Well, anyway, I am going. And you, sir, had better spruce up a +little if we are to continue to talk to one another. You _are_ a sight. +Haven’t you a handkerchief? Wipe your face. It is as sweaty as if you had +been carrying stones all day long. [_She makes as if to withdraw._ + +SCIPIO. Madam—allow me—I believe I did carry a stone or two, but the fact +is you made me do it. + +CLEOPATRA. I? Why, I never thought of such a thing. + +SCIPIO. Begging your pardon, madam, what are we talking about? + +CLEOPATRA. How should I know? That’s your affair, not mine. + +SCIPIO. Evidently you’re making fun of me. + +CLEOPATRA. Oh, you’ve noticed it? + +SCIPIO. I won’t allow myself to be ridiculed. + +CLEOPATRA. How can you prevent it? + +SCIPIO. I’m still a bachelor, thank God! + +CLEOPATRA. Aha! At last, “thank God!” Well said, my dear sir. A nice +box we should have been in if we had trusted to your oaths. [_To her +companions_] Do you hear? They are already thankful that we are not their +wives. + +SCIPIO. Heavens! This is unendurable. Either you stop making fun of me—— + +CLEOPATRA. Or else—— + +SCIPIO. Or else go home. Yes, madam, go home. This is the limit. By +Hercules, we didn’t found Rome just for the sake of sticking fast, like +flies in marmalade, in your absurd deliberations! + +CLEOPATRA. Absurd? + +SCIPIO. Yes, idiotic. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] You insult me. + +SCIPIO. Good Lord! She’s crying. Madam, what do you want? Why did you +pick on me? Ancient Roman though I am, this woman will positively drive +me crazy. Stop your crying! I can’t make head or tail of this thing. I +don’t even know what you are blubbering about. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] Will you let us go? + +SCIPIO. Certainly, certainly. Friends, Romans, do you agree? I’m at the +end of my rope. + +FAT ROMAN. Yes, let them go. We’ll fetch some wives from Etruria. + +SCIPIO. All right. These creatures are not women. They are—— + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] On your word of honour? + +SCIPIO. What am I to do on my word of honour? + +CLEOPATRA. You will let us go? Perhaps your promise is just a trick, and +as soon as we start to go you will lay hold of us. + +SCIPIO. No, no. Run along. Are you glued to the spot? + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] Will you carry us back? + +SCIPIO. Heavens and earth! What next? + +CLEOPATRA. You know very well that having brought us here you are in +honour bound to carry us back again. It’s a long way. + + _The WOMEN laugh maliciously. SCIPIO, panting with anger, + casts frenzied glances about, but, after trying in vain to say + something, stamps his foot and goes back to his friends. All + the ROMANS pointedly turn their backs to the WOMEN, and sit + in that position during the following scene. The WOMEN confer + quietly._ + +CLEOPATRA. You have heard, my dears; they are letting us go. + +VERONICA. How dreadful! + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. You might better say, “driving us away.” It’s simply +maddening! Here they carry off perfectly innocent women—rouse the whole +house in the middle of the night—turn all the furniture upside down—wake +up the children—and then, if you please—don’t want us! + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. And our poor husbands! Their sufferings are in vain. + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. Just think of it—in the night-time, when everybody +was asleep! + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. Say, do you know the way back? + +FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. You don’t suppose, do you, that I was observing the +road? Of course I don’t. I only know it is dreadfully far. + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. Well, it’s obvious they won’t carry us back. + + _Subdued laughter._ + +VERONICA. [_Moaning_] Oh, my dear boy! See, they’ve made him turn his +back to me! I am going to him. + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Wait a moment, Veronica. Your boy won’t leave you. We +must talk this thing over. + +PROSERPINA. I wonder whether, after all, it is not all the same what +husbands we have, whether those or these. The others were all right and +these are all right. I am sure, at least, that the very first thing mine +will ask of me is to make him a hot porridge. I’d rather enjoy having a +new husband. The old one is sick of my menu, but this gawk will enjoy it. + +CLEOPATRA. For shame, Proserpina! History will condemn us. + +PROSERPINA. A lot history will understand about our doings! And here in +Rome it’s not so very bad, after all. + +CLEOPATRA. You’re horrid, Proserpina. Just suppose they should be +listening to us! But here’s my plan, my dears. Though we are, of course, +going home at once to our dear, late husbands, it is a long walk, and we +are tired. + +FIRST SABINE WOMAN. My nerves are completely shattered! + +SECOND SABINE WOMAN. No constitution could stand it! All of a sudden in +the middle of the night to wake up the whole house—— + +CLEOPATRA. So let’s stay here a day or two and rest. That will please +them and commit us to nothing. Besides, when they see how cheerful +and modest we are, our captors will find it easier to part with us. I +confess, too, that I am a little sorry for mine. His nose is a sight. + +THIRD SABINE WOMAN. But we’ll stay only two days! + +FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. One day will be enough for me. We’ll just take a +little walk— Hurry, Cleopatra, I think they have already fallen asleep. + +CLEOPATRA. [_To SCIPIO_] Sir! + +SCIPIO. [_Not turning around_] What you want? + +CLEOPATRA. Come here a moment, please. + +SCIPIO. At your service, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. We have decided to accept your kind offer and to go away at +once. You are not angry? + +SCIPIO. Not at all. + +CLEOPATRA. But first we should like to rest a little. Will you let us +stay here a day or so and rest? This is a lovely spot. + + _All the ROMANS simultaneously turn around and spring to their + feet._ + +SCIPIO. [_In ecstasy_] Dear madam! What has the place to do with it, and +what—? O Jupiter! Madam, I swear by Hercules, I swear by Venus, I swear +by Bacchus! Madam, may I be thrice anathema if— I swear by Aphrodite! +Gentlemen, Ancient Romans! Board the ship! + +CLEOPATRA. I suggest that we take a little stroll. + +SCIPIO. Oh, madam! Gentlemen, Romans! Foot-pace! Dress front! left, +right; left, right! Column of twos! [_He seizes CLEOPATRA by the arm +and leads her toward the hills. At his command the ROMANS, each seizing +a SABINE WOMAN, proudly march in file behind him._] Left, right; left, +right! One, two; one, two! + +PAULUS EMILIUS. [_Left dreaming alone upon the stage, rushes about, +crying pitifully_] Where is she? Gentlemen, Ancient Romans, wait! I have +lost her. Where is she? + + _VERONICA stands like a bride, her eyes modestly cast down._ + +PAULUS. [_Flying toward her blindly_] Beg your pardon, madam, have you +seen her? + +VERONICA. You stupid! + +PAULUS. I? + +VERONICA. Yes, stupid! + +PAULUS. Why, what are you scolding me for? + +VERONICA. Scolding you! You silly! Can’t you see? Oh, my darling boy! I +have waited for you thirty years! Oh, take—— + +PAULUS. Take what? + +VERONICA. Me. You see it is I, she— Oh, you stupid thing! + +PAULUS. You? No, you are not the right one. + +VERONICA. Yes, I am. + +PAULUS. No, you’re not. [_He sits on the ground and weeps._ + +VERONICA. See, they have left us alone, and I am ashamed. Come! + +PAULUS. [_Weeps_] You are not the right one. + +VERONICA. But I say I am, plague take you! Did any one ever see the like! +My husband repeated that phrase, “You are the wrong one,” for thirty +years, and now this suckling is at it. Give me your hand. + +PAULUS. [_Gets up in terror_] You are the wrong one. Oh, oh, oh, save me! +She has captured me! + +_Curtain._ + + + + +ACT II + + + _A scene shrouded in gloom, symbolising the sad plight of the + bereaved husbands. Possibly rain is falling, and the wind + whistling, and perhaps black clouds cover the sky; but very + likely it just seems so. At any rate, the gloom is horrible. + The_ mise en scène _should suggest that the husbands are + plunged in grief and would like to be relieved of it._ + + _As the curtain rises the disposition of the characters is as + follows: At the sides, in two symmetrical groups, a part of + the SABINE MEN are engaged in gymnastic exercises. As they + move their arms they repeat with rapt attention_: “Twenty-five + minutes’ daily drill will banish every pain and ill.” _In the + middle of the stage, on a long bench, sit in a row the husbands + who have children. Each one holds a baby in his arms. Their + heads droop wearily to one side and their attitudes dramatise + despair. It is a distressing picture. For a long time nothing + is heard but the ominous, barely audible whisper_: “Twenty-five + minutes’ daily drill——” + + _Enter ANCUS MARTIUS, exhibiting from a distance a letter._ + +MARTIUS. The address, Sabines! The address of our wives! The address, +gentlemen, the address! + +HUSHED VOICES. Hear! Hear! The address! The address! We have the address! + + _ANCUS MARTIUS quickly takes from his pocket a little bell and + jingles it._ + +VOICES. Silence! Silence! + +MARTIUS. Gentlemen, Sabines, history will not reproach us either for +dilatoriness or indecision. Neither dilatoriness nor indecision are +traits of the Sabine, whose stormy, impetuous character can scarcely be +restrained by the flood-gates of reason and experience. Recall, plundered +husbands, whither we rushed on the memorable morning which followed the +memorable night when those brigands basely kidnapped our hapless wives. +Do you recall, Sabines, whither our nimble legs carried us, devouring +space, annihilating all obstacles, and filling the land with din. Come, +recall, gentlemen! + + _The SABINES maintain a timid silence._ + +MARTIUS. Come, come, recall, gentlemen! + +A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, Proserpina, my darling! Where art thou? +O-o-o-oh! + + _The SABINES, in rapt silence, gaze at the mouth of the + speaker._ + +ANCUS MARTIUS. [_Without waiting for an answer, cries impressively_] To +the Information Bureau! That’s where. But recall, gentlemen, our grief. +That effete institution as yet knew nothing and gave us no correction of +their previous addresses. And, having for a whole week replied to our +inquiries with ever the same cruel irony, it finally responded in these +burning words [_he reads_]: “Left for parts unknown.” But, Sabines, did +we rest satisfied? Recall. + + _SABINES maintain silence._ + +MARTIUS. No, we did not rest satisfied. Here is a dry but eloquent +enumeration of our achievements in these brief eighteen months. We have +inserted advertisements in all reputable newspapers, with promises of +reward to the finder. We have summoned all the prominent astrologers, +and every night from their observation of the stars they have sought to +divine the address of our hapless wives—— + +A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-oh! + +MARTIUS. Not only have we sacrificed one thousand chickens, geese, and +ducks, but we have disembowelled all the cats in our endeavours by the +inspection of birds and animals to determine the portentous address. +But, alas, through the will of the gods our superhuman efforts have been +frustrated! Recall, Sabines— However, it’s not necessary. I will only add +that neither experimental nor theoretical science has given us an answer. +Even the constellations, to which our gaze was turned with sorrowful +inquiry, though they deigned to reply, were no more definite than the +Information Bureau: Left, left, left! Whither? For parts unknown! + + _Subdued weeping among the SABINES._ + +A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina! Oh! Proserpina! + +MARTIUS. Yes, Sabines, a strange answer to receive from the +constellations when one considers that from their point of vantage the +whole universe is visible. But I continue with pride the enumeration of +our achievements. Recall, gentlemen, what our learned jurists were doing +while the astrologers were conjecturing from the stars. Come, now, recall! + + _The SABINES maintain silence._ + +MARTIUS. Come, recall, gentlemen. It’s strenuous work talking to you. +You stand like statues; by Heaven, you do! I am sure you remember, only +you are modest about speaking. Come, now, gentlemen; come, come, come, +recall! What were our jurists doing while—— + +A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, o-o-o-oh! o-o-o-oh! + +MARTIUS. Silence, there! Why are you eternally dragging in your +Proserpina? Well, I will help you, gentlemen. Do you remember why we are +practising gymnastics? Come, come! + +A TIMID VOICE. [_From the back row_] To develop our muscles. + +MARTIUS. To be sure, and very well said. And now, why do we need muscles? +Come, come, answer up! Gentlemen, you wear one’s patience completely out. +Jog your memories. Why do we need muscles, Sabines? + +A HESITATING VOICE. To fight with. + +MARTIUS. [_Raising his arms to heaven in despair_] Ye Heavens! “To fight +with!” And I hear that from a Sabine, a friend of the law, a patron of +order, the only genuine example of a legal conscience in the world! +“To fight with!” I am ashamed of this ruffianly breach of etiquette +appropriate only to the brigand Romans, the base kidnappers of our +absolutely legal wives. + +A TIMID VOICE. Oh, Proserpina, Proserpina! + +MARTIUS. Hold your tongue, will you? Proserpina, indeed! Just when +we are getting down to general principles you must come in with your +maundering about Proserpina! But I see, gentlemen, that this bereavement +has somewhat dimmed your usually brilliant memories, and so I repeat in +brief: We need muscles in order that, having learned the address and +entered upon our march against the Romans—do you understand?—we may be +able to carry the entire distance the heavy code of laws, the collection +of enactments and decisions on appeal, and also—do you understand +now?—the four hundred volumes of investigations which our jurists have +compiled on the question of the legality of our marriages—eh, do you +understand?—and on the illegality of kidnapping. Our weapons, Sabines, +are the justice of our cause and a clear conscience. We will prove to +the base kidnappers that they _are_ kidnappers, and to our wives we will +prove that they were kidnapped, and Heaven will shudder; for now that +the address is found, it’s all up with the Romans. Look! [_He shakes +the letter and the SABINES, standing on tiptoe, peek at it_] Here is a +registered letter signed “A Repentant Kidnapper.” In it some unknown +friend expresses repentance for his thoughtless crime. He assures us that +he will no longer kidnap, and prays that fate may have mercy upon him. +The name is undecipherable—blurred by a big blot where, apparently, tears +have fallen. There, gentlemen! That is the power of conscience! He also +informs us, by the way, that the hearts of our wives are broken—— + +A TIMID VOICE. Proserpin—— + +MARTIUS. Please listen, will you? Between you and your Proserpina I +cannot get a word in edgewise. Proserpina, you must remember, is a mere +detail, and yet at a time when we are all with such enthusiasm working +out general problems, when we are formulating a plan—I’ll tell you about +it presently—when we are preparing for victory or death, you whine for +some insignificant Proserpina or somebody. In the name of the assembly, I +call you to order. And now, gentlemen, forward! Attention! Form in rank +and file! Come, step lively, gentlemen! Oh, this is maddening! You cannot +even yet distinguish right from left. Where are you going? Where are you +going? Halt! [_He seizes a SABINE who is out of line and instructs him_] +In order to learn which your right foot is, you must stand still and look +at me. Now place yourself with your face to the north—or, no, with your +face to the south and your back to the east. Now, where is your face? +Man, that is not your face, that is your back. See, here is your face; +can’t you understand? Oh, this is intolerable! If you want to know which +your right foot is, look at your neighbour. Now, gentlemen, which of you +have penknives? Turn your pockets inside out. Good. Toothpicks? Leave +them behind. Not a suggestion of violence, gentlemen; nothing that pricks +or cuts. Our weapons are a clear conscience and the justice of our cause. +Now each one of you take up a volume of the laws and investigations. +Good! They ought to be bound, but we’ll attend to that later. Now you +see what muscles are for! Very good, very good. Trumpeters to the front! +Remember, you’re to play “The March of the Plundered Husbands.” Forw— +Hold on! Do you remember how to march? + + _The SABINES remain silent._ + +MARTIUS. You don’t? Well, I will remind you. Two steps forward, one step +backward; two steps forward, one step backward. The first two steps are +designed to indicate, Sabines, the unquenchable fire of our stormy souls, +the firm will, the irresistible advance. The step backward symbolises +the step of reason, the step of experience and of the mature mind. In +taking that step we ponder the outcome of our acts. In taking it we also +maintain, as it were, a close bond with tradition, with our ancestors, +with our great past. History makes no leaps, and we, Sabines, at this +great moment, we are history. Trumpeters, trumpet! + + _The trumpets emit a doleful wail, which, now convulsively + lurching forward and now smoothly and gently swaying backward, + carries with it the whole army of plundered husbands. Taking + two steps forward and one step backward, they slowly pass + across the stage._ + + _The curtain falls. The trumpets blare wearily and the second + scene passes into the third._ + + The St. Petersburg theatre, “The Convex Mirror,” very + successfully adapted for this scene the air of the + “Marseillaise.” In the first two measures the trumpets sounded + boldly and triumphantly, while in the succeeding measure they + emitted a kind of belch as mournful as it was distressing. + + + + +ACT III + + + _The same wild scene as in the first act, though there are + now some traces of orderliness. Near one of the huts stands a + ROMAN in a lazy attitude, blissfully picking his nose. In the + background, at the left, the army of husbands is seen marching + with concentrated attention in the same manner as before: two + steps forward, one step backward. The ROMAN, on catching sight + of them, shows at first signs of animation, and, ceasing to + attend to his nose, watches them with goodnatured curiosity. + The slowness of their movements, however, apparently makes + him drowsy. He yawns, stretches languidly, and seats himself + leisurely on a stone. At a signal from ANCUS MARTIUS the + trumpets cease._ + +MARTIUS. [_In a tone of despair_] Halt, Sabines! Halt, will you? + + _The SABINES halt as if rooted to the spot._ + +MARTIUS. Come, halt, will you? Oh, Heavens! Will nothing hold back this +falling avalanche? Will nothing— Thank God, they have halted! Attention! +Trumpeters, to the rear! Professors, to the front. The rest, attention! + + _The TRUMPETERS withdraw, the PROFESSORS advance. The rest + stand as if fettered._ + +MARTIUS. Professors, make ready! + + _The PROFESSORS quickly squat down, unfold little tables, + lay upon each table a thick book, and open the covers with + a clatter. The effect is something like the firing of a + field-battery. The ROMAN (it is SCIPIO), waking up, apparently + becomes interested and inquires in a friendly manner_: “What + is the matter, gentlemen? What can I do for you? If this is a + circus, I take the liberty to inform you that the Colosseum is + not yet finished.” + +MARTIUS. [_Calmly_] Silence, base kidnapper! [_To the SABINES_] And now, +Sabines, we have reached the wished-for goal. Behind us is the long path +of privation, hunger, solitude, and canned fruit. Before us a struggle +such as history has never known. Be inspired, Sabines, but control +yourselves; be tranquil. Maintaining a spirit of natural indignation, +calmly await the fated end. Recall, Sabines, why we have come here. + + _The SABINES are silent._ + +MARTIUS. Come, recall, gentlemen! We surely did not come here with these +huge books merely to take a walk! Come, recall, gentlemen. Why are we +here? + +SCIPIO. Come, come, gentlemen, recall. + +MARTIUS. [_To SCIPIO_] Just think of it, they’re always like that! + +SCIPIO. You don’t mean it! + +MARTIUS. It’s a fact. They stand like graven images. They can do nothing +but blink their eyes. Tell me, now— Can one deliver a first-class speech +without resorting to the exclamation “Recall, gentlemen”? + +SCIPIO. [_Good-naturedly shaking his head_] Well, scarcely. It would be a +queer speech. + +MARTIUS. There! Of course it would. Even you understand that, but as for +these fellows—— + + _From the ranks of the SABINES comes a tremulous voice_: “Oh, + Proserpina, my darling, where art thou? O-o-o-oh!” + +SCIPIO. [_Puzzled_] He must be recalling. + +MARTIUS. [_Contemptuously_] Oh, he is always recalling. [_To the +SABINES_] Attention! We are now going to make a peremptory demand for our +wives. Woe to the abductors if their conscience has not yet awakened! We +will have the law of them. Oh, base abductor; summon your base companions +and prepare for the dire penalty! + +SCIPIO. I will call my wife at once. + + _He goes into the hut, calling_: “Cleopatra! Come out, please; + some one wants to see you on business!” + + _PAULUS EMILIUS peeks from around the corner and, recognising + the SABINES, shouts joyfully_: “The husbands have come! The + husbands have come! Ancient Romans, wake up! The husbands are + here!” + + _He rushes to MARTIUS and, with tears in his eyes, hangs upon + his neck. MARTIUS is nonplussed. PAULUS hurries on, repeating + the joyous cry_: “The husbands are here!” + + _The drowsy ROMANS crawl out of their huts and take up a + position on the right side of the stage. MARTIUS, in a dramatic + pose, haughtily waits until they are assembled._ + +THE FAT ROMAN. By Bacchus! I have had as delightful a sleep as on the day +we founded Rome. What’s that row of dummies? + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! That’s the husbands. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Heavens, but I’m thirsty! Proserpina, my pet, bring me +some cider! + + _From the ranks of the SABINES comes a faint cry_: “Proserpina! + O-o-o-oh!” + +THE FAT ROMAN. What does he want? Is he, too, calling my wife? + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! That’s her husband. + +THE FAT ROMAN. Oh, I forgot! Heavens, but I am thirsty! After that hot +porridge and a sound sleep I could drink a lake dry. And what porridge +Proserpina can make! Really, Romans, it is a gift of the gods! + +FIRST ROMAN. Sh! + +THE FAT ROMAN. The deuce, I forgot! But I had the queerest dream just +now. I thought I was asleep and suddenly I saw Rome beginning to fall, +fall, fall—and then it fell. + +FIRST ROMAN. But how about our wives? Although they have callers, they do +not appear. It’s an awkward situation. + +SECOND ROMAN. Probably they are dressing. + +FIRST ROMAN. Oh, woman, thy name is vanity! One might expect them to say, +“Pooh! it’s only my late husband!” but no, they can’t escape the eternal +feminine. Really, the psychology of woman is beyond me! + +THE FAT ROMAN. Heavens, but I am thirsty! How long are those Egyptian +mummies going to stand there? They have trumpets. They might at least +strike up a tune. Look! Look! They move! + +MARTIUS. Romans, at last we stand face to face. I trust that, setting +aside all dissimulation, you will give us a direct and honest answer. Do +you recall, Romans, the deed you committed on the night between the 20th +and the 21st of April? + + _The ROMANS look at one another in embarrassed silence._ + +MARTIUS. Come, recall! Is it possible you cannot recall? Try to recall, +gentlemen. I assure you, I shall not stir a step until you recall. + +THE FAT ROMAN. [_Terrified, whispers to another_] Maybe you can remember, +Agrippa? It must have been something important, huh? + + _Remarks by the ROMANS_: “No, I can’t remember anything.” “I + must have lost my memory while I was asleep.” “I’d better go; + you can tell me about it afterward.” “Really, what does he + want?” + +MARTIUS. [_In a loud voice_] Then I will remind you, Romans. On the night +between the 20th and 21st of April there was committed the greatest crime +known to history. Certain individuals—I will disclose their identity +later—villainously abducted our wives, the beautiful Sabine women. + + _The ROMANS, remembering, confirm the statement with joyful + noddings of the head_: “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” “Ho! That’s what + is on foot!” “Perfectly true. ’Twas the 20th of April.” + +THE FAT ROMAN. [_Deeply impressed_] These Sabines have heads! + +MARTIUS. And you were the abductors, Romans! Oh, I know you will attempt +to justify yourselves. You will distort the facts. You will basely +pervert the legal norms, taking refuge in that abominable casuistry which +is inevitably linked with every violation of right. But we are prepared. +Professors, begin! + + _The PROFESSOR at the end of the line begins speaking in a + monotonous voice that seems to come from beyond the bounds of + space and time_: “Concerning Crimes against Property; volume + one, division one, chapter one, page one, entitled On the + Subject of Robbery in General. In very ancient times, far more + ancient than the present time, when birds, insects, and beetles + fearlessly hopped about in the sunlight and no violations of + justice entered into their consciousness, inasmuch as there was + no consciousness—in those remote times——” + +MARTIUS. Attention, Romans, attention! + +SCIPIO. Can’t you make it shorter? + +MARTIUS. Can’t be done. + +SCIPIO. But your hearers will go to sleep. + +MARTIUS. Do you think so? + +SCIPIO. Why, as you see, they are already dozing, and when they are +dozing they don’t hear anything. Can’t you begin at the other end, eh? +Come, be so good as to say straight out what you want. + +MARTIUS. In sooth, this is a strange argument! But be it so. +Condescending to the weakness of your friends, I will tell you directly +that we want to prove to you that you were wrong when you abducted our +wives, and that you Romans are abductors, and that by no subtleties of +sophistry will you succeed in justifying your base act! Even the heavens +will shudder! + +SCIPIO. Really, really, my dear fellow, we don’t even deny it. + +MARTIUS. You don’t? Then why have we come here? + +SCIPIO. I don’t know. Perhaps you were out for a stroll. + +MARTIUS. No, we came on purpose to prove these things to you. It’s very +odd. Then you agree that you are abductors? + +SCIPIO. Unreservedly. And I find the word “abductors” very appropriate. + +MARTIUS. But perhaps you are not thoroughly convinced of it? In that case +the professor is quite ready—Aren’t you, Professor? Are you not quite +ready to—— + +SCIPIO. Oh, no! You mustn’t. We are thoroughly convinced. Romans, back me +up or he will begin again! + +ROMANS. Agreed, agreed! + +MARTIUS. Well, then, what’s all this about? + +SCIPIO. I don’t know. + +MARTIUS. Here is a strange misunderstanding. Sabines, celebrate your +triumph! They confess their guilt. The mere appearance of our threatening +preparations has awakened in them the powerful voice of legal conscience, +and Heaven itself has shuddered. It only remains for us, in the +consciousness of having performed our duty, to return and—— + +A TREMBLING VOICE. But my Proserpina? + +MARTIUS. Ah, yes! Inappropriate though your expression may be, you have +the right idea—quite right, my friend. Romans, here is a complete and +accurate list of the names of our wives. Be so kind as to return them +to us. For all loss, all damage—what’s the wording of your law there, +Professor? + +PROFESSOR. Tare and tret. + +MARTIUS. No, no! “Injury!” Yes, for every injury you will be held +responsible. Read the entire section, Professor. However—here are our +wives. Attention, Sabines! Maintain your self-control, I beseech you. +Restrain the outburst of passion until the question of justice is +settled—Two steps forward, one step backward! Halt! Greetings to you, +Sabine wives! Welcome, Cleopatra! + + _The WOMEN with eyes downcast and modest aspect, dignified and + yet submissive, occupy the centre of the stage._ + +CLEOPATRA. [_Without raising her eyes_] If you have come to scold, Ancus +Martius, let me tell you that we do not deserve your reproaches. We +struggled long and did not yield except on compulsion. I swear to you, +beloved Martius, I have not for a single moment ceased to weep for you. + + _She weeps and, taking her cue, all the SABINE WOMEN weep._ + +MARTIUS. Calm yourself, Cleopatra. They have already confessed that they +are abductors. Let us now return to our household gods, Cleopatra. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Without raising her eyes_] I fear that you will scold us, +but we have become accustomed to this location. Don’t you like these +hills, Martius? + +MARTIUS. I don’t understand you, Cleopatra. What have the hills to do +with it? + +CLEOPATRA. I fear you will be angry, but, really, we are not to blame. +I have already wept for you in due form, Martius, and now I cannot +understand at all what you want. More tears? Oh, as many as you like. +My dear friends, they think we have not wept enough for them. Let us +show them their error. Oh, weep, weep, my dear friends! I loved you so, +Martius! + + _The WOMEN shed rivers of tears._ + +SCIPIO. Calm yourself, Cleopatra. Excitement is bad for you now. And you, +sir, do you hear? Go back home. Come, Cleopatra, lie down and rest. I +will look after the soup myself. + +MARTIUS. And what has the soup to do with it, I should like to know? Calm +yourself, Cleopatra, there is some misunderstanding here. Apparently you +do not understand that you are abducted. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] There, I told you you were going to scold! Scipio, +deary, have you my handkerchief? + +SCIPIO. Here it is, precious. + +MARTIUS. But I should like to know what the handkerchief has to do with +it. + +CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] What a fuss to make about a handkerchief! I cannot +get on without a handkerchief when I am crying, and it is all your fault. +You are a cruel monster, Ancus Martius! + + _They all weep, SABINE WOMEN, SABINE MEN, and even several of + the ROMANS._ + +THE VOICE. Proserpina! O-o-o-oh! + +MARTIUS. [_In a sonorous voice_] Calm yourselves, Sabines. Control +yourselves. Don’t move; I’ll settle everything in a jiffy. There +apparently is some misunderstanding of a legal nature. This unhappy woman +thinks she is accused of stealing a handkerchief and does not even dream +that she herself is stolen. We will prove this to her. Professors, begin. + + _The PROFESSORS make preparations. The ROMANS are + horror-stricken. SCIPIO seizes CLEOPATRA by the hand._ + +SCIPIO. Own up, Cleopatra! Come, be quick! Heavens, he will begin in a +moment! + +CLEOPATRA. I have nothing to confess. It is all slander. + +MARTIUS. Professor, we are waiting. + +SCIPIO. Come, hurry, own up! Oh, Heavens, he is already opening his +mouth! He will have it open in a minute! Sabines! Wait! She has +confessed! Shut your mouth, Professor, she has confessed! + +CLEOPATRA. Very well, I confess. [_To the WOMEN_] My dear friends, do you +confess, too? + +SCIPIO. [_Hastily_] Yes, they all confess. Everything is all right. + +MARTIUS. [_In perplexity_] One moment, sir, if you please. Cleopatra, do +you admit that you and the other Sabine women were abducted on the night +between the 20th and the 21st of April? Do you? + +CLEOPATRA. [_Spitefully_] No, we ran away of ourselves. + +MARTIUS. There, you see! She doesn’t understand. Mr. Profes—— + +CLEOPATRA. That’s mean of you, Martius. You overslept. You did not defend +us; you gave us up; you forgot us; you abandoned us; and now you accuse +us of running away. We were abducted, Martius, basely abducted. You can +read about it in any Roman history, to say nothing [_weeping_] of the +encyclopedia. + +SCIPIO. [_Shouting_] Come, shut your mouth, Professor! + + _But the PROFESSOR’S mouth remains open. The ROMANS are thrown + into a panic, and some rush off the stage._ + +MARTIUS. Romans, Sabines, attention! I will remove the difficulty in a +moment. There is some misunderstanding of a mechanical nature. Allow me +to inspect you, Professor. Why, to be sure. I might have known it. The +hinge is broken and he cannot shut his mouth. No matter. We will fix it +up when we get home. For the present it is enough that they admit they +were abducted. I have heard it with my own ears. Our goal is attained, +and Heaven itself has shuddered. Let us go back to our household gods, +Cleopatra. + +CLEOPATRA. I don’t want to go back to our household gods. + +THE SABINE WOMEN. Rubbish about your household gods! We don’t want to go +back to our household gods. We are going to stay here. They are insulting +us! They are getting ready to abduct us! Save us, help, defend us! + + _The ROMANS with clattering weapons take a position between the + WOMEN and the SABINES and gradually crowd the WOMEN into the + background. They cast angry glances at the SABINES._ + +VOICES. To arms, Romans! To the defence of your wives! To arms, Romans! + +MARTIUS. [_Ringing his bell_] What is the matter? There will be a fight +here in a minute. My brain is in a whirl. Sabines, my brain is in a whirl. + +PROSERPINA. [_Coming forward and speaking in a slow, calm voice_] Don’t +get excited, Romans, I will speak with Martius alone. + + _From the ranks of the SABINES comes a quavering voice, a + mournful call of love_: “Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-o-oh!” + +PROSERPINA. [_Coolly_] Ah, my dove! How are you? Come here, Ancus +Martius, and don’t be afraid; your army won’t run away. Do you understand +that neither your wife, Cleopatra, nor we other Sabine women wish to go +home? Do you understand that? + +MARTIUS. I am dazed. How can I live without Cleopatra? I cannot live +without Cleopatra! She is my perfectly legal wife. Do you think she won’t +come back on any terms? + +PROSERPINA. Not on any terms. + +MARTIUS. What am I to do? You see that I love her. How can I live without +her? [_He weeps._ + +PROSERPINA. Cheer up, Martius. [_She whispers_] I am sorry for you, and +I will tell you as a secret that there is only one means, one solitary +means left—abduct her! + +MARTIUS. But will she come? + +PROSERPINA. [_Shrugging her shoulders_] How can she help coming if you +abduct her? + +MARTIUS. But that would be wicked. You are suggesting to me that I commit +violence. What would then become of my legal conscience, or can it be +that you women believe that might is right? Oh, woman, woman! + +PROSERPINA. Oh, we have heard “Woman, woman!” before. It was a leaden day +when the gods made you, Martius. You are unutterably stupid. If I am to +remain faithful, I want a strong man, the strongest man there is. Do you +think we are so fond of being abducted and stolen, and asked back and +returned, and lost and found, and—— + +THE VOICE. Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-oh! + +PROSERPINA. Yes, my dear. How are you—? And to have people deal with us +as if we were things. I no sooner get accustomed to one man than along +comes another and carries me away, and I no sooner get accustomed to the +new man than the old one appears and says: “Come back.” Really, Martius, +if, as you protest, you want your wife to be your own, then all you have +to do is to be the strongest. Give in to no one, struggle for her tooth +and nail. In short, die in her defence. Believe me, Martius, there is no +greater joy for a woman than to die upon the grave of a husband who has +fallen in her defence. And be assured, Martius, that a woman proves false +only after her husband has proved false. + +MARTIUS. But they have swords and we are weaponless. + +PROSERPINA. Get swords! + +MARTIUS. But they have strong muscles and we have not. + +PROSERPINA. Get strong! Oh, Martius, you are an impenetrable fool! + +MARTIUS. [_Springing away from her_] And you are a trifling and silly +woman. Long live the law! Let them take my wife from me by brute +violence; let them ruin my home; let them extinguish my hearth; I +shall never prove false to the law. Let the whole world laugh at the +unfortunate Sabines, they will not prove false to the law. Virtue +commands respect, even in rags. Sabines, retreat! Weep, Sabines, weep +bitter tears! Sob, beat your breasts, and be not ashamed of tears. Let +them stone us, let them mock us, but weep! Let them besmear us with mud! +Weep, Sabines; you are weeping for the scorned and down-trampled law. +Forward, Sabines. Attention! Trumpeters, strike up the march. Two steps +forward, one step backward; two steps forward, one step backward. + + _The WOMEN begin to weep._ + +CLEOPATRA. Martius, wait! + +MARTIUS. Avaunt, woman, I know thee not! Slow march! + + _The trumpets set up a mournful wail. The WOMEN, weeping and + wailing loudly, are drawn toward their former husbands, but + the ROMANS hold them back by force. Laughter on the part of + the victors. Paying no attention either to the tears or the + laughter, but bending under the weight of the laws, the SABINES + slowly withdraw; two steps forward, one step backward._ + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF + + +I. EDITIONS OF COLLECTED WORKS + +L. Andreev, Razskazy. Moskva, 1901. _Contains_: Bezdna, V podvalě, Směkh, +Stěna. + +L. Andreev i S. S. Glagol′, Pod Vpechatleniem khudozhestvennago +teatra. Moskva, 1902. (_Published under the pseudonym_ “James Lynch.”) +_Contains_: Dissonans, Kogda my, mertvye, probuzhdaemsi͡a?; Tri sestry; +Dikai͡a utka; Esli zhizn′ ne udastsi͡a tebě, to udastsi͡a smert′; Li͡udi +teneboĭ storony. + +L. Andreev, Razskasy i p′esy, vols. I-IV. Petrograd, Znanie Co., +1906-1907. + +L. Andreev, Sobranïe sochinenïĭ, vols. V-VII. Petrograd, Shipovnik Co., +1909. _Supplement to the preceding edition; contains a portrait of A._ + +L. Andreeva i A. I. Kuprin, I͡Umoristicheskïe razskazy, 2 vols. +Petrograd, Kornfel′d, 1909. + +L. Andreev, Sobranïe sochinenïĭ, vols. I-XIV. Petrograd, Prosvěshchenie +Co., 1911-18. _With a portrait of the author and an Introduction by +Professor Reisner. The most complete edition as yet published._ + +L. Andreev, Polnoe sobranïe sochinenïĭ. Prilozhenĭe “Nivě.” Petrograd, +1913. + + +II. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF ANDREYEFF’S WRITINGS + +NOTE.—In case special editions, translations, commentaries, or reviews of +separate works exist, they are indicated under the title of each work. +An * after a title indicates that a separate edition of the given work +is published by Ladyschnikow in Berlin. An Arabic numeral after a title +indicates that a translation of the given work is published in the volume +bearing that number in list III of this bibliography. + + +1898 + +Bargamot i Garas′ka.¹², ¹⁴ + +Zashchita: istorïi͡a odnago dni͡a. The Defence: One Day of My Life. + +Iz zhizni shtabs-kapitana Kablukova.¹⁴ From the Life of Captain Kablukov. + +Molodezh′. Youth. + + +1899 + +Pervyĭ gonorar. My First Fee. + +Drug. A Friend. + +U okna. At the Window. + +Petka na dachě.¹³ Little Peter in the Country. + +Vali͡a. Little Valia. + +Mel′kom. An Incident. + +Angelochek.¹³ The Little Wax Angel. + +Bol′shoĭ shlem. A Grand Slam. + + +1900 + +_During the years 1900-1902_ Andreyeff _wrote the 22 sketches and 5 +fragments published in_ I͡Umoristicheskïe razskazy. Petrograd, 1909. _The +titles of these are not included in this list._ + +Lozh′.¹, ² The Lie. + +Na rěkě. On the River. + +Prazdnik. A Holiday. + +Razskaz (_or_ Pověst′) o Sergěě Petrovichě. The Story of Sergius +Petrovich. + +Mat′. Mother. + +Prekrasna zhizn′ dli͡a voskresshikh. Life is Beautiful for the +Resurrected. + + Life is so Beautiful for the Resurrected; trans. (_with + prefatory note_) by Geo. E. Haendelmann, _in Current Lit._, 49 + (1910): 344-5. + +Molchanïe.², ¹² Silence. + + Silence; trans. from the Russian by J. Cournos. 2d ed. + (Modern Authors’ Series.) Philadelphia, 1910. _Reviewed in: + Independent_, 65: 615; _Nation_, 87: 494. + + Silence; _trans. with Introductory Note entitled: The Apostle + of the Terrible, in Lippincott’s_, 90 (Aug. 12, 1912): 235-51. + +V temnui͡u dal′. In the Dim Distance. + + +1901 + +Směkh.² Laughter. + +Gostinets.¹⁴ A Gift. + +Zhili-byli.² Once upon a Time. _Discussed in_: _Birzh. Věd._, April 9, +1901 (A. Izmaĭlov). + +Kusaka.¹³, ¹⁴ A Homeless Cur. + +Kniga. The Book. + +Stěna. The Wall. + +Sluchaĭ. An Incident. + +Nabat.¹³ The Alarm. + + L’Epouvante; trad. du russe par T. de Wyzewa et S. Persky. + Paris, 1903. + +V podvalě.⁵, ¹² In a Basement. + +Im Erdgeschoss und Anderes. Berlin, 1903. + + +1902 + +Bezdna.⁹ The Abyss. + + Bezdna, s stat′eĭ L. Tolstogo i polemicheakoĭ literaturoĭ. + Berlin, 1903. + + Le Gouffre; trad. du russe par S. Persky. Paris, 1903. + + B. Rebikov _has composed an opera on the basis of_ “Bezdna.” + +Vesnoĭ. In Spring. + +Gorod. The City. + +Mysl′.⁴ Thought. + + A Dilemma: A Story of Mental Perplexity; trans. from the + Russian by J. Cournos. Philadelphia, 1909. _Reviewed in: Review + of Rev._, 42: 123; _Independent_, 69: 705. + + _Discussed in_: _Pravda_, 1904 (A. Vol′skïĭ). _See also_: A. + i͡anishevskïĭ, Geroĭ razskaza “Mysl′,” Kazan, 1903. + +Original′nyĭ chelověk. An Original Character. + +Inostranets.³, ¹⁴ The Stranger. + +V tumaně.⁶ In the Fog. + + Im Nebel, Erzählung. (Russ. Text.) Berlin, Steinets, 1903. + + Im Nebel; übersetzt von S. Wermer. Vienna, 1903. (Bibliotek + berühmter Authoren.) + + Im Nebel; aus dem Russ. von L. A. Hauff. Berlin, 1905. + + _Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1903 (A. Boktrom); _Pravda_, 1904 (A. + Vol′skïĭ). _See also_: Ieromonakh Mikhail, Otsam i děti͡am. + Moskva, 1904. + +Predstoi͡ala krazha.¹² A Burglary was Planned. + + The Burglar; trans. from the Russ. by Thomas Seltzer, _in + Current Lit._, 39: 109-111. + + +1903 + +Iz moeĭ zhizni. From My Life. + +Marsel′eza. The Marseillaise. + +Vesennïi͡a oběshchanïi͡a.⁹ The Promise of Spring. + +Na Stantsïi.¹⁴ At a Way Station. + +Ben-Tovit. Ben Tobit. + +Zhizn′ o. Basili͡a Fiveĭskago.* The Life of Father Fiveiski. + + Zhizn′ ... (Russian Text). Munich, Etzold & Co., 1904. + + Das Leben Vater Wassili Fiweiskis; Deutsch von G. Polonski. + Berlin, 1906. + + _French transl._, _see under_ Razskaz o semi.... + + _Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1904, No. 5 (N. Asheshev); _Rus′_, 1904 + (V. Botsi͡anovskïĭ); _Golos I͡Uga_, Dec. 14, 1904 (Volshskïĭ); + _Odessk. Nov._, July 20, 1904 (I. Gekker); _Věst. Evropy_, + 1904 (Evg. L); _Věsy_, 1904, No. 5 (Ivanov Vi͡acheslav). + + Son o. Vas. Fiv.: neizdannyĭ otryvok iz “Zhizn′ o. V. F.” + Father Basil’s Dream: An Unpublished Fragment from “The Life + of....” + + +1904 + +Nět proshchenii͡a. It Cannot be Pardoned. + +Vor. The Thief. + + _Discussed in_: _I͡Uzhn. Zap._, April 17, 1905 (Th. + Bati͡ushkov). + +Prizraki. Phantoms. + + _Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1905, No. 3 (V. L′vov). + +Krasnyĭ Směkh: otryvki iz naidennago rukopisi.* The Red Laugh: Fragments +of a Discovered Manuscript. + + Das Rothe Lachen; aus dem Russ. von A. Scholz. Berlin, 1905. + + The Red Laugh. Fragments of a Discovered Manuscript; trans. + from the Russ. by Alexandra Linden. London, 1905. + + Le Rire Rouge. La Guerre en Mandchourie; trad. du russe par S. + Persky. Paris, 1905. + + _Discussed in_: _Independent_, 58 (May 11, 1905): 1043-46 + (Sophie Witte); _Nizh. List._, 1905 (Ch. Vetrinskïĭ); _Obr._, + 1905, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Obraz._, 1905, No. 10 (O. Mirtov). + + +1905 + +Gubernator.*, ¹⁴, ¹⁶ The Governor. + + His Excellency, the Governor; trans. by ——. _Illustrated by_ G. + W. Peters, _in Harper’s Weekly_, 51 (1907): 196-198, 236-239, + 270-275, 310-313. + + Der Gouverneur: Novelle; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, + 1906. _Also contains_ Tak bylo. + + Le Gouverneur; trad. de J. Ferenczy. Paris, 1909. + +Tak bylo.* Thus It Was. + + _See_ Der Gouverneur; übersetzt von Scholz. + +K svězdam.* To the Stars. + + Zu den Sternen; Deutsch von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1906. + _Reviewed in: Der Türmer_ (Stuttgart), March, 1906, pp. 862-864 + (F. Poppenberg). + + To the Stars; trans. by A. Goudiss, _in Poet Lore_, Winter No., + 1907. + + _Plot outlined in Current Lit._, 40 (March, 1906): 312. + + _Discussed in_: _Str._, May, 1906 (E. Anichkov); _Mïr Bozh._, + 1906, No. 7 (Th. Bati͡ushkov); _Nov. Slovo_, Jan., 1910 (A. + Izmaĭlov); _I͡Uzh. Kraĭ_, Nov. 1, 1906 (N. Karavaev); _Ros._, + No. 464, 1907 (N. Lnd.). + +Khristïane.* Christians. + + Christen: Novelle. (_Russ. Text._) Stuttgart, 1905. + + +1906 + +Savva.* Savva. + + Ignis Sanat (Savva): Drama; Deutsch von O. D. Potthof. Berlin, + 1906. + + Savva and the Life of Man; trans. with an Introduction by T. + Seltzer. New York, 1914. + + _Reviewed in: Ind._, 79 (July 13, 1914): 72. + + _Discussed in_: _Rus′_, Oct., 1908 (V. Botsi͡anovskïĭ); _Rus′_, + 1907, No. 182 (A. Legri); _Obr._, 1906, No. 11 (A. Smirnov). + +Eleazar.*, ¹¹, ¹⁴ Lazarus. + + _Trans. in Current Lit._, 42 (May, 1907): 577-584. + + _Discussed in_: _Zakavk._, 1907, No. 136 (N. Derzhavin); + _Obraz._, 1907, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Sovr. Mïr_, 1907, Nos. 7, + 8 (Evg. Li͡atskïĭ); _Rus′_, 1906, No. 47 (M. Voloshin). _See + also_: Valentinov, N., My eshche pridem. Moskva, 1908. + +Zhizn′ Chelověka: Predstavlenïe v pi͡ati kartinakh s prologom.* The Life +of Man: A Drama in Five Scenes with a Prolog. + + _Abstract by_ M. Baring, _in Oxford and Camb. Rev._, 1908, + No. 4, pp. 46-59; _reprinted in Litt. Liv. Age_, 258 (1908): + 786-792. + + Das Leben des Menschen; Deutsch von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1908. + + _Trans. by_ Seltzer. _See above under_ “Savva.” + + _Discussed in_: _Russ. Bogat._, 1907, No. 7 (A. E. R.); _Stol. + Utr._, 1907, Nos. 11, 12 (V. Arnol′d); _Věsy_, 1908, No. 1 + (Avrelïĭ); _Mosk. Věd._, July 14, 1908 (Basargin); _Slovo_, + Dec. 19, 1907 (P. Boborykin); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, Aug. 24, 1907 + (V. Burenin); _Liter-khud. Neděli͡a_, Sept. 17, 1907 (Andreĭ + Bělyĭ); _Mosk. Věd._, 1907 (Ben); _Sovr. Mïr_, 1909, No. 11, + p. 65 (N. Efros); _Rěch′_, April 2, 1908 (D. V. Filosofov); + _Věsy_, 1907, No. 5 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z. Gippius); _Slovo_, + April 30, 1907 (L. Gurevich); _Russ. Slovo_, March 6, 1907 + (V. Doroshevich); _Golos Pravdy_, 1907, No. 531 (Literaturnyĭ + Starověr); _Obraz._, 1907, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Sbornik + Zarnitza_, 1909, No. 2, Pt. I (Ovsi͡aniko-Kulikovskïĭ); _Russ. + Zn._, April 20, 1907 (Rynda); _Birzh. Věd._, April 7, 1907 + (“S”); _Kiev. Gazeta_, 1907, No. 92 (“S”); _Volga_, Jan. 28, + 1908 (Sergěĭ Glagol′); _Sěver_ (Vologda), July 27, 1907 (L. + T-tskïĭ); _Rus′_, Feb., 1907 (M. Voloshin). + + +1907 + +Iuda Iskariot i drugïe.*, ¹¹, ¹⁴ Judas Iscariot and the Others. + + Judas Iscariot and the Others; trans. into English by Archibald + J. Wolfe, _in Sewanee Rev._, April, 1908. _Reviewed in: Current + Lit._, 44 (April, 1908): 401-404. + + Judas Iscariot; trans. by W. J. Lowe. London, 1910. + + _Discussed in_: _Věsy_, 1907, No. 7 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z. + Gippius); _Věk_, Feb. 17, 1907 (S. Askol′dov); _Svobod. Mysl′_, + 1908, No. 1 (Chukovski); _Russ. Věd._, 1907, No. 106 (“I.”); + _Sovr. Mïr_, 1907, Nos. 7, 8 (Evg. Li͡atskïĭ); _Nasha Gazeta_, + Jan., 1908 (N. Minskïĭ); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, July, 1907 (V. + Rozanov); _Russ. Zn._, July 15, 1907 (A. Trishatnyĭ); _Slovo_, + June 1, 1907 (D. Shestakov); _Rus′_, July, 1907 (M. Voloshin). + _See also_: L. Burgov, Pověst′ L. A. “Iud. Isk. i dr.,” + Kharkov, 1911; N. Valentinov, My eshche pridem, Moskva, 1908. + +T′ma.*, ⁸ Darkness. + + Der Spion; aus dem Russ, von S. Wermer. Vienna, Wiener, 1905. + + _Discussed in_: _Odess. Nov._, Dec. 2, 1907 (I. Gekker); + _Věsy_, 1908, No. 2 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z. Gippius); _Tovar._, + Dec. 2, 1907 (A. Kornfel′d); _Russ. Věd._, Dec. 1, 1907 (“I.”); + _Golos Pravdy_, Jan. 11, 1908 (Literaturnyĭ Starověr); _Nasha + Gazeta_, March, 1908 (N. Minskïĭ); _Slovo_, Nov. 30, 1907 + (Neblagosklonnyĭ Chitatel′); _Nash Den′_, 1908, No. 13 (G. + Polonskïĭ); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, 1907 (V. Rozanov). _See also_: E. + Anichkov, Literaturnye obrazy i mněnïi͡a, Petrograd, 1907; A. + Kornfel′d, Knigi i li͡udi, Petrograd, 1908. + +Proklatïe Zvěri͡a.* The Curse of the Beast. + + _Discussed in_: _Kiev. M._, March 11, 1908 (A. Achkasov); + _Nasha Gazeta_, March, 1908 (N. Minskïĭ). _See also_: B. + Lebedev, Proklatïe zvěri͡a, Petrograd, 1908. + +Tsar′ Golod.* King Hunger. + + Tsar′ Golod: predstavlenïe v pi͡ati kartinakh s prologom. + Risunki E. Landsere. Petrograd, 1908. + + King Hunger; trans. by Eugene M. Kayden, _in Poet Lore_, Winter + No., 1911. + + _Discussed in_: _Russ. Mys._, 1908, No. 3 (I͡U. Aĭkhenwal′d); + _Rul′_, March 9, 1908 (A. Vergezhskïĭ); _Sbornik_ “_Literat. + Raspad_,” 1908 (Lunacharskïĭ); _Nash Den′_, 1908, No. 16 (G. + Polonskïĭ). _See also_: N. Valentinov, My eshche Pridem, + Moskva, 1908. + + +1908 + +Smert Chelověka: novyĭ variant pi͡atoĭ kartiny “Zhizni chelověka.” (_With +a prefatory note by the author._) The Death of Man: A variation of the +fifth act of the “Life of Man.” + +Razskaz o semi pověshennykh.* The Story of the Seven Who were Hanged. +(_In some editions a dedication to Leo Tolstoi is added._) + + Die Geschichte der Sieben Gehenkten; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz. + Berlin, 1908. + + The Seven Who were Hanged: A Story; authorized trans. from the + Russian by Herman Bernstein. New York, 1909. + + The Seven Who were Hanged; trans. by Edwin C. Walker. (Tucker + Series.) New York, 1909. + + Same. London, 1909. + + Die Geschichte der Sieben Gehenkten: Novelle, mit der + Selbstbiographie des Verfassers; übersetzt von Lully Wiebeck. + 2d ed. Munich, 1909. + + Les Sept Pendus: L’histoire d’un pope; trad. de S. Persky en + collaboration avec A. Tauchard. Paris, 1909. + + _Discussed in_: _Grazhdan._, July 22, 1908 (Vol′nyĭ); _Sovr. + Mïr_, 1908, No. 4 (V. Kranikhfel′d); _Rěch′_, July 19, 1908 + (D. Merezhkovskïĭ); _Nov. Slovo_, 1909, No. 2 (Smolenskïĭ); + _Slovo_, May 18, 1908 (G. Chulkov). + +Iz razskaza, kotoryĭ nikogda ne budet okonchen. A Story that will Never +be Finished: A Fragment. + + A Story which will Never be Finished; trans. by Herman + Bernstein with a Brief Biographical Sketch, _in Independent_, + 65 (Nov., 1908): 1031-34. + +Chernyi͡a Maski.* The Black Maskers. + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, Dec. 7, 1909 (L. Andreev). _See also_: + S. Strumilin, Aristocratïi͡a dukha i profany. Petrograd, 1910. + +Velikan. The Giant. + +Dni nasheĭ zhizni.* Days of Our Life. + + Studentenliebe: Drama in Fünf Aufzügen; Deutsch von Karl + Ritter. Berlin, 1909. + + Iz strany (A song from act I of “Days of O. L.”). Petrograd, + 1910. + + _Discussed in_: _Novoe Vremi͡a_, Nov. 6, 1908 (I͡U. Běli͡aev); + _Der Kunstwart_, Jan. 24, 1911 (F. Düsel); _Slovo_, 1909, No. + 811 (Gr. Petrov); _Birzh. Věd._, Nov. 6, 1908 (A. Izmaĭlov); + _Rěch′_, Dec. 6, 1908, No. 299 (A. Kosorotov) + +Li͡ubov′ k blizhnemu.* Love for One’s Neighbor. + + Love of One’s Neighbor; trans. by Thomas Seltzer. New York, + 1914. + + In _Rěch′_, No. 85, Andreyeff calls attention to the fact that + a certain “K.,” in his volume of “Miscellanies,” had published + this story (first published in the _Gazeta Kur′era_) without + complying with Andreyeff’s conditions to date it and state that + it was _reprinted_. Andreyeff adds that “K.” also plagiarized + two other stories. + +Li͡ubov′, věra, nadezhda: Eti͡ud. Love, Faith and Hope. + +Moi zapiski: pověst′.* My Memoirs. + + _Discussed in_: _Mïr_, 1909, No. 4 (K. Arabazhin); _Russ. + Bogat._, 1909, No. 1 (A. Kornfel′d); _Russ. Slovo_, Oct. 11, + 1908 (A. i͡ablonovskïĭ); _Rěch′_, 1908, No. 278 (D. Levin); + _Vecher_, Oct. 16, 1908 (V. Morov). _See also_: A. Al′man, Moi + zapiski, Saratov, 1908. + +Derzhite vora. Stop, Thief! + +Lětushchai͡a mysh′. The Bat. (A Farce.) + +Kli͡atva. The Oath. + + Trans. into Lettish. Riga, 1908. + + +1909 + +Syn chelověcheskïĭ: razskaz.* A Son of Man. + +Anfisa.* Anfisa. + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 280 (VI. Azov); _Rěch′_, + 1909, Nos. 296, 335. + +Anatema: Tragedïi͡a.* Anatema: A Tragedy. + + Anatema: A Tragedy in Seven Scenes; authorized trans. by Herman + Bernstein. New York, 1910. + + _Reviewed in: Nation_, 91 (Oct. 27, 1910): 397; _The Dial_, + 49 (1910): 523 (Richard Burton); _N. Y. Times_, 16 (Jan. 29, + 1911): 43; _N. Amer. Rev._, 194 (1911): 882-887 (O. R. Howard + Thompson, _under the title_: “Andreyev’s Anatema and the Faust + Legend”). + + _A parody entitled_ “Anatema Andeĭ Leonidov” _was staged in the + Ekaterinskïĭ Theatre in Petrograd in 1910._ + + Anatema: Ein tragischer Spiel in Sieben Bildern; Deutsch von + Karl Ritter. Berlin, 1911. + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 328 (Vl. Azov); _Novoe + Vremi͡a_, 1909, Nov. 29 (I͡U. B.); _Russ. Mysl′_, 1909, + No. 12 (L. Gurevich); _Russ. Mysl′_, 1909, No. 1 (A. + Kizevetter); _Sovrem. Mïr_, 1910, No. 1 (V. Kranikhfel′d); + _Rěch′_, 1911, No. 254 (M. B.); _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 352 + (Ovsi͡aniko-Kulikovskïĭ); _Russ. Bogat._, 1909, No. 12 (A. + Rědko); _Rěch′_, Oct., 1909 (N. Efros); _Rěch′_, 1909, Nos. + 324, 325. _See also_: L. Bri͡antsev, Idei͡a tragedïi L. + Andreeva “Anatema” i ei͡a razvitïe, Kharkov, 1910; K. Fisher, + “Anatema” v. postanovskě Mosk. khudozh. teatra, Moscow, 1910; + I. V. Churinov, “Tragedïi͡a Mysli” po povodu “Anatemy” L. + Andreeva, Petrograd, 1910. + + +1910 + +“Gaudeamus”: Komedïi͡a v chetyrekh děĭstvïi͡akh.* “Gaudeamus”: A Comedy +in Four Acts. + + Gaudeamus: Komödie in 4 Akten. (_In russ. Sprache._) Berlin, + Bong & Co., 1910. + + L. Gebek _published (1910) a waltz composed for this drama._ + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1910, No. 256 (Vl. Azov). + +Iskrennïĭ Směkh: razskaz veselago chelověka. A Real Laugh: The Story of a +Jolly Man. + +Den′ gněva: razskaz. Dies Irae: A Tale. + +Razskaz zmeĭ o tom, kak poi͡avilis′ u nei͡a i͡adovitye zuby. A Snake’s +Story of how She got Her Poisoned Teeth. + +NOTE.—On Oct. 31, 1910, Andreyeff published in several Petrograd papers +an open letter in which he announced that he had been forbidden to +publish any further works during the academic year 1910-1911. + + +1911 + +Pokoĭ. Rest. + +Smert′ Gullivera (poslě smerti L. N. Tolstogo). The Death of Gulliver (On +the Death of Leo Tolstoi). + +Ipatov. Ipatov. + +Okean. The Ocean. + + Okean: tragedïi͡a v 7mi kartinakh s risunkami B. Anisfel′da. + Petrograd, 1911. + + Der Ocean: Tragödie. (_In russ. Sprache._) Berlin, Bong & Co., + 1911. + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1910, No. 265 (S. Li͡ubosh—_contains + Andreev’s interpretation of the drama_); _Russ. Bogats._, 1911, + No. 5 (A. Rědko); _Rěch′_, 1911, No. 77 (Chukovskïĭ). + +Sashka Zhigulov:* roman v 2 chasti͡akh. Alec Zhigulov: A Novel in Two +Parts. + + Ssaschka Shigulov: Roman in 2 Teilen. (_In russ. Sprache._) + Berlin, Bong & Co., 1911. + + _Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1912, No. 7 (I͡Ur. Aĭkhenval′d). + +Skazochki ne sovsěm dli͡a děteĭ: Orěshek, Negodaĭ, Fal′shivyĭ rubl′ i +dobryĭ di͡adi͡a. + + Tales not exclusively for Children: The Nut, The Rascal, The + Counterfeit Ruble and the Goodnatured Uncle. + + +1912 + +Prekrasnyi͡a Sabini͡anki: istoricheskoe proisshestvïe v trekh chastiakh.* +The Beautiful Sabine Women: An Historical Event in Three Parts. + + The Lovely Sabine Women; trans. from the Russian by Thomas + Seltzer, _in The Drama_, Feb., 1914. + +Chest′ (Staryĭ Graf): Drama-parodïi͡a. Honor (The Old Count): A Dramatic +Parody. + +Preface to the Russian translation of Jack London’s Works. Petrograd, +1912. + +Ekaterina Ivanovna.* Catherine Ivanovna. + +Professor Storitsyn.* Professor Storitsyn. + + _Discussed in_: _Peterb. Gaz._, 1912, No. 345. + + +1913-1914 + +Pis′ma o teatrě. (Two) Letters on the Theatre. + +Ne ubïĭ: drama.* Do not kill: A Drama. + +Mysl′: drama:* Thought: A Drama. + +Nadsmertnoe.* Beyond Death. + +Vozvrat.* The Return. + +Proisshestvïe.* An Event. (_A dramatic scene._) + +Popugaĭ: simvolicheskoe predstavlenïe v odnom děĭstvïi. The Parrot: A +Symbolic Drama in one Act. + +_An interview giving Andreev’s views on the effects which the present war +will have on the government of Russia was published on_ Sept. 16 _in the +London Daily Chronicle and the New York Times._ + +_In December, 1914, the Alexandrinskïĭ Theatre presented Andreev’s latest +drama_, Karol′, Zakon i Svoboda, _dealing with the Belgian situation._ + + A Tragedy of Belgium; Act IV; trans. by Herman Bernstein, _in + New York Sun_, Dec. 20, 1914. + + +III. TRANSLATIONS, CONTAINING TWO OR MORE DIFFERENT WORKS IN THE SAME +VOLUME + +1. Die Lüge. Ausgewählte Erzählungen. Deutsch von N. Hornstein. Dresden, +H. Minden, 1902. + + _Reviewed in: Litt. Echo_, No. 5. + +2. Novellen. Deutsch von Stefania Goldenring. Berlin, Neufeld & Henius, +1902. + + _Contains_: Zhili-byli, Molchanïe, Směkh, Lozh′, Bezdna, + Vali͡a, Petka na dachě, Bol′shoĭ shlem, Nabat. + +3. Der Ausländer und andere Geschichten. Deutsch von Anna Lubinov. +Berlin, Steinetz, 1903. + +4. Gedanke und andere Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Eliz. und Jorik +Georg. Munich, A. Langen, 1903. + +5. Im Erdgeschoss und Anderes. Berlin, Globus Verl., 1903. + +6. Im Nebel und andere Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Eliz. und Jorik +Georg. Stuttgart, Deut. Verl.-Anst., 1903. + + _Reviewed in: Litt. Echo_, 1903, No. 5, p. 1036. + +7. Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Alexis von Krusenstjerna. Leipzig, +1903. + +8. Der Spion. Aus dem Russischen von S. Wermer. Wien, Wiener, 1903. + +9. Der Abgrund und andere Novellen. Deutsch von Th. Kroczek. Halle, 1905. + +10. M. Gorki, M. Weressajeff, L. Andrejew, Jung Russland. Neue Novellen. +Aus dem Russ. (= Internal. Novel.-Bibl., No. 13). Berlin, Globus Verl., +1904. + +11. Judas Ischariot und die Anderen und Lazarus. Übersetzt von Otto Bük. +Berlin, Ladyschnikow, 1908. + +12. Frühlingsversprechen und andere Geschichten. Autorizierte Übersetzung +von Sonja Wermer. Leipzig, Wiener, 1908. + +13. Silence and Other Stories. Trans. from the Russ. by W. H. Lowe. +London, Griffith, 1908. + + _Contains_: Petka na dachě, Angelochek, Molchanïe, Kusaka, + Nabat, V podvalě. + +14. Nouvelles. Traduites du russe par Serge Persky. Paris, 1908. + + _Contains_: Le Gouverneur, Kusaka, Zhizn′ shtabskapitan + Kablukova, Inostranets, Bargamot i Garas′ka, Gostinets, Na + stantzïi, Prekrasna Zhizn′.... + +15. Judas Ischariot und Lazarus. Deutsch von R. Meckelein. Berlin, 1909. + +16. Korolenko, Le musicien aveugle. Le Gouverneur, etc., par Leonid +Andreief. Trad. de J. Ferenczy. Paris, Ferenczy, 1909. + +17. Savva and The Life of Man. Trans. with an introd. by T. Seltzer. New +York, Kennerley, 1914. + +18. Der Gouverneur; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1906. + + +IV. BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL BOOKS, ESSAYS, ETC., ON ANDREYEFF + + +A. BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS + +Arabazhin, K., L. Andreev. Itogi tvorchestva. Petrograd, 1910. + +Baranov, N. P., L. Andreev kak khudozhnik, psikholog i myslitel′. Kiev, +1907. + +Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., L. Andreev. Kritiko-bïograficheskïĭ eti͡ud. +Petrograd, 1904. + +Brusi͡anin, V. V., L. Andreev. Zhizn′ i tvorchestvo. Moscow, 1912. + +Chukovskïĭ, K., Leonid Andreev bol′shoĭ i malen′kïĭ. Petrograd, 1908. + +Chukovskïĭ, K., O Leonidě Andreevě. Petrograd, 1911. + +Churinov, I., Tragedïi͡a Mysli. Petrograd, 1910. + +Dobrokhotov, A., Kar′era L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909. + +Etinger, E., Někto v sěrom i někto v krasnom u L. Andreeva. Kiev, 1908. + +Friche, W., L. Andreev. Opyt kharakteristiki. Moscow, 1909. + +Ganzhulevich, T., Russkai͡a zhizn′ i ei͡a techenïe v tvorchestvě L. A-a. +2d ed. Petrograd, 1908. + +Ivanov, P., Vagram L. Andreeva! Psikhologicheskïĭ eti͡ud. Moscow, 1904. + +M. K., Leonid Andreev. S bïografïeĭ i portretom. Moscow, 1906. + +Muromtsev, Dr. M., Psikhopaticheskïe cherty v geroi͡akh L. Andreeva. +Petrograd, 1910. + +Orlovskïĭ, Iz istorïi nověĭsheĭ russkoĭ literatury. Petrograd, 1910. + +Reisner, Prof. M. A., L. Andreev i ego sotsi͡alnai͡a ideologïi͡a. +Petrograd, 1909. + +Smolenskïĭ, N., Zashchitnikam L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909. + +Stomi͡arov-Sukhanov, Simvolizm i L. Andreev kak ego predstavitel′. Kiev, +1903. + +Urusov, kn. H. Bezsil′nye li͡udi v izobrazhenïe L. Andreeva. Petrograd, +1903. + +Varton, V., L. N. Tolstoĭ i L. Andreev. Baku, 1909. + +Zhurakovskïĭ, E., Simptomy literaturnoĭ evolutsïĭ. Moscow, 1903. + +Zhurakovskïĭ, E., Tragikomedĭi͡a sovremennoĭ zhizni. Moscow, 1907. + + +B. ARTICLES CONTAINED IN BOOKS, MAGAZINES, ETC. + +Aleksandrov, P., Maksim Gorkïĭ i L. Andreev. Ikh zhizn′ i proizvedenïi͡a. +Riga, 1903. + +Aleksandrovich, I͡U., Poslě Chekhova. Moscow, 1908, 236-289. + +Andreev, Autobiography, _in Zhur. dli͡a Vsěkh_, Jan., 1903. + +_Anonymous_, _see Current Lit._, 45 (Sept., 1908): 182-286; _Samar. +Gazeta_, Feb., 1902. + +Antid-Oto, _in Vostoch. Obozr._, June, 1902; Lv. Aurich, _in Das Wissen +für Alle_, 1912, No. 47; Balte, F. M., _in Morgen_ (Berlin), 1908, No. +47; _Allg. Zeitung_, Oct. 4, 1909; Avrelïĭ, _in Věsy_, 1908, No. 1. + +B(ogdanovich), A., _in Mïr Bozhïĭ_, 1901, No. 11; Abramov, IA., and +Granitov, _in Prïaz. Kraĭ_, Jan. and Sept., 1902; boreĭ, a satirical poem +on A., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, Nov. 28, 1909; Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., Bogobortsy. +Petrograd, 1911. Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., _in Lit. Věstn._, Jan., 1902; +Brückner, A., Geschichte der russ. Lit. (Leipzig, 1905), pp. 501 _f._; +Bruck, R., _in Masken_, 1908; Burenin, V., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, Jan., +1902; Chagovets, V., _in Kïevsk. Gaz._, Nov., 1903; Chukovskïĭ, K., _in +Rěch′_, 1911, No. 85. + +Fidler, F. F., Pervye literatur. shagi. Moscow, 1911, pp. 27-31. + +Goldenring, St., _in Norddeut. Allg. Zeit._ (Berlin), No. 260. + +Ivanov-Razumnik, O symslě zhizni (Petrograd, 1908) _and_ Tvorchestvo i +kritika (Petrograd, 1911). + +Izmaĭlov, A., Literatur. Olimp. (Petrograd, 1911); _same, in Birzh. +Věd._, April 9, 1901. + +Kogan, P., Ocherki po istorïi nověĭsheĭ russ. lit., vol. I, pt. 2, pp. +1-61. + +Kube, O., Koshmary Zhizni. Petrograd, 1909. + +Lavretsky, I., _in Independent_, 67 (July 29, 1909): 242-245; Linden, +S., _in Indep. Rev._, 8 (Feb., 1907): 215-227; Lolo, _in Novosti Dni͡a_, +May, 1907; Lunacharskïĭ, _in Sbornik_ “_Literaturn. Raspad_” (Petrograd, +1908); L′vov, V., _in Odessk. Novosti_, 1903; Merezhkovskïĭ, D. S., +_in Svobod. Mysl′_, Jan., 1908, _and in Russk. Mysl′_, Jan., 1908; +Mikhaĭlovskïĭ, N. K., _in Russk. Bogat._, 1901, No. 11. + +Morozov, M., Ocherki nověĭsheĭ lit. Petrograd, 1911, pp. 1-70. + +Nevědomskïĭ, V., _in Sovremennyĭ Mïr_, 1908, No. 2; Obolenskïĭ, _in +Odessk. Listok_, April, 1902. + +Persky, Serge, Les Maîtres du Roman Russe Contemporain. Paris, 1912, pp. +245-285. + +Phelps, Wm. L., Essays on Russian Novelists. New York, 1911, pp. 262-277. + +Pil′skïĭ, P., O L. Andreevě, Sologubě, Kuprině, etc. Petrograd, 1909. + +P-ïĭ, P., _in Sovrem. Mïr_, April, 1908; Protopopov, M. A., _in_ _Russ. +Mysl′_, 1902, No. 3; Rodef, _in Wiener Fremdenblatt_, June 6, 1903; +Rozanov, V. V., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, June 2, 1903; Sarakhanov, K., _in +Sarat. List._, April, 1904; Scholz, A., _in Zeit_ (Vienna), 1906, No. +411; Seltzer, Th., _in The Drama_, Feb., 1914; Shuli͡atikov, V., _in +Mosk. Kur′er_, Oct. 9, 1901; Simchowitz, _in Die Kultur_, March, 1903; +_same, in Landeszeitung_; _Beiblatt. Badisch. Mus._, 1903, No. 23; +Skabichevskïĭ, A. M., _in Novosti_, Jan., 1902; L. N. Tolstoĭ, _in +Sbornik Italïi͡a_, 1909; Wolshsky, N., _in Nation_ (Berlin), 1903, No. +50; _same, in Die Zeit_ (Berlin), 1903, No. 50; Wyzewa, T. de, _in Rev. +d. deux Mondes_, May 15, 1909. + +⁂ Additional references to articles in the Russian periodical press +treating Andreyeff’s literary work as a whole and also dealing with the +following separate works: Bezdna, V tumaně, Zhizn′ Vas. Fiv., Krasnyĭ +směkh, K zvězdam, Savva, Tak bylo, Vor, Gubernator, Ïuda Iskarïot, Zhizn′ +chelověka, T′ma, Tsar′ Golod, Razskaz o semi pověshennykh, Moi zapiski, +Chernyi͡a maski, Anfisa, Gaudeamus, Anatema, Prekrasnyi͡a Sabini͡anki, +Professor Storitsyn, Ekaterina Ivanovna and Pis′ma o teatrě, will be +found in + +V. L′vov-Rogachevskïĭ, Dvě pravdy: Khiga o Leonidě Andreevě s portretami, +Petrograd, Prometeĭ Cᵒ, 1914. Price, 1½ rubles. + +But few of these references are included in the present Bibliography, +since the book of L′vov-Rogachevskïĭ is readily obtainable. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78247 *** |