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 PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 LEONID ANDREYEFF 
 
 THE BLACK MASKERS 
 THE LIFE OF MAN '. 
 THE SABINE WOMEN 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 
 CLARENCE L. HEADER and FRED NEWTON SCOTT 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY 
 
 V. V. BRUSYANIN 
 
 AUTHORISED EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1920 
 
r^ 
 
 
 OOPTBiaHT, 1915, BY 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published February, 1915 
 

 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 scientijSc 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 Arbob, Mich., 
 October, 1914. 
 
 430061 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 The life of Leonid Nikolaivich Andreyeff has been un- 
 eventful. 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 sup- 
 ported himself in part during his university career in Petro- 
 grad 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 in- 
 satiable reader, and at an early age he had read all the 
 Russian classics and such foreign authors as had been trans- 
 lated 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 news- 
 paper 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 8 
 large city too serious an impediment to his literary work, 1 
 
viii BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 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, AndreyefP 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 incom- 
 patible 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 AndreyefiF 
 much encouragement and assistance. In 1901 AndreyefiF 
 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 ex- 
 ceedingly popular. His plays have been enthusiastically re- 
 ceived 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 re- 
 ceived, 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 Rus- 
 sian society are so vivid and the implied censures on society 
 o severe that, although his merits have been fully and 
 
 eerfully acknowledged by the reading public as a whole. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ix 
 
 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 clear- 
 ness of his vision, and as a tribute to his marvellous descrip- 
 tive powers. 
 
 /I 
 
 u 
 
THE SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF 
 ANDREYEFF 
 
 "The Life op Man/* "The Black Maskers," "The 
 Sabine Women"* 
 
 Leonid Andreyeff, as a dramatist, is the most interest- 
 ing product of contemporary Russian literature. Abandon- 
 ing the older traditions that prevailed from Ostrovski'^. to 
 Tolstoi, and passing by the school of Tchekoff,^ 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."^ 
 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."^ 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-ac- 
 
 » 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. 
 
 • Ostrovski is regarded as the founder of the modem realistic drama in Russia. 
 His literary career extended from 1850 to 1886. 
 
 «It is interesting to note that the plays of Andreyeff were staged by the same 
 Moscow theatre which introduced Tchekoff to the public. 
 
 « Republished in 1914 in the Almenakh Shipovnik along with another letter on the 
 same subject. 
 
 •LiteraUy, "all soul," or "aU thought." 
 
 I zi 
 
xii SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 cepted traditions even now generally regarded as essential, 
 asks point-blank the heretical question: "/* action, in the 
 accepted sense of movements and visible achievements on the stage, 
 necessary to the theatre?'* In his opinion it is not neces- 
 sary, inasmuch as modern life itself in its most tragic as- 
 pects 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 de- 
 veloped out of Ostrovski's art.^ In this respect Andreyeff 
 is closely akin to Maeterlinck, in whose plays dramatic col- 
 lisions 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 mediaeval artist and adventurer. *'How many 
 escapes, murders, surprises, losses and unexpected discov- 
 eries, loves and enmities !'* exclaims Andreyeff. "Cellini en- 
 counters 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 man- 
 dolins. In those days interest attached only to a life that 
 
 » All the plays of Ostrovski are marked by conspicuous external action, which is 
 often prejudicial to dramatic truth and inconsistent with the princirle of realism. 
 
SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF xiU 
 
 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, AndreyefiP 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 Prus- 
 sian 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 it- 
 self powerless to represent the drama of Nietzsche. In the 
 presence of the spiritual and intellectual conflict it is speech- 
 less. "Humbly bowing before the immutable law of action, 
 the contemporary drama declines to represent — indeed, can- 
 not represent for us — a Nietzsche, who is so near, so im- 
 portant, 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 ex- 
 plains 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 in- 
 t-ellectual strivings — the struggle of man's thoughts with 
 man — and has never thrown open the door that leads to them. 
 
 ^m 
 
xiv SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 In anticipation of the objections of his critics, Andreyefi 
 asserts that he does not in the least mean that events have 
 ceased to occur, that people have ceased to act, or that his- 
 tory 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 havij 
 fallen in dramatic value. Life has become more psycholog- 
 ical. In the place of the older passions and the traditional 
 heroes of the drama, love and hunger, there has arisen a ne\^ 
 protagonist, the intellect. Not love, nor hunger, nor ambi- 
 tion, but thought in its sufferings, joys, and struggles, is th(^ 
 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," wt 
 shall find in them the same content. 
 
 MaUy who is the hero of "The Life of Man," and Ldrenzo^ 
 the principal character in "The Black Maskers," are^botK 
 victims of the tragedy of their intellect, of their obstinate 
 questionings in the realm of thought, and their disenchant- 
 ments in the sphere of the emotions — the love of life, the lov( 
 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 sorrov 
 Man rises to wealth and happiness, and it would appear that, 
 with such powerful spiritual weapons as the intellect and tlif 
 soul he might easily fortify his position. Howe\er, th< 
 Being in Grey turns out to be stronger than Man, with hi • 
 intellect and soul, with his thoughts and his conduti of life> 
 Herein lies the drama of Many whose life has become ai 
 
SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEV 
 
 xvii 
 "inner" life, while the outward events become non-essentu 
 
 mere unavoidable details. Duke Lorenzo was also strong as 
 far as the external factors of wealth and power were con- 
 cerned. Yet his restless thoughts, and in particular the one 
 persistently recurring thought that he was not Duke Lorenzo, 
 but only the son of his motl\er 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 3id noFcome 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 mask- 
 ers, 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 df 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 
 theofy we see how baseless are the contentions of AndreyeflF'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 
 
 lew puter forms to correspond. These forms, though intelli- 
 gible to the public, were incomprehensible to the critics, 
 reared, as they have been for decades, on the dramatic forms 
 of Oitrovski's school. 
 
 Gsnsistent with the alterations that have taken place in 
 the tirama, Andreyeff calls the old theatre the theatre of 
 "maLKe-believe," as distinguished from the theatre panpsyche, 
 which he calls the theatre of the truth. He goes even farther 
 
xiv r:ymbolic dramas of andreyeff 
 
 ad aflSrms that the motto of all future art will be "truth in 
 art." When the modern "psychological'* novelist or dram- 
 atist brings his heroes on the stage, are they the product 
 of the **play of his fancy"? asks Andreyeff. "No," he re- 
 plies, "he experiences them, lives them, creates them, fash- 
 ions them, any word you choose; only do not use the word 
 *play.'" For play is something entirely different and dis- 
 tinct from the artistic process of creating new beings, which u 
 the basis of the dramatist-psychologist's art. Play is pre- 
 tence; 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 tht* 
 farther it is removed from pretence, so much greater will bo 
 its artistic value. 
 
 "The Life of Man,"^ when staged, was condemned by the 
 critics on the ground of excessive symbolism and allegory.' 
 The author, paying as he did scant heed to the details or 
 daily life that surround the hero of the play and his wife 
 concentrated all his attention on the conception of Men 
 and the life of Man. The symbolism employed is very old 
 and familiar — patent, in fact — and is a minor element in th< 
 drama. As a matter of fact, this method of picturing humai 
 life has long been current among the masses of the Russiar 
 people. They picture life either as a candle which blazer 
 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 
 
 » "The Life of Man," published in 1906, was the first symbolic drama written id 
 Russia. Later followed Andreyeff 's symbolic dramas, "Bling Hunger" (the represen 
 tation 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. 
 
 » To appreciate the force of the above criticism the reader must recall that for about 
 s century the Russian public has been accustomed to read only the most realisti; 
 form of literature. 
 
SYMBOLIC DKaMAS OF ANDREYEFF xvii 
 
 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 com- 
 mon 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 individual- 
 ist whose whole life is centred upon himself and his own in- 
 terests, 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 some- 
 thing entirely different. Professor Reisner, in his work en- 
 titled "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 ex- 
 isting between him and nature disappear. He is not merely 
 left in isolation, but about him is formed a desert — a vast, so- 
 cial chasm, and the great principle called the law of life now 
 has no means of coming into contact with the naked indi- 
 vidual. 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 be- 
 come 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 bom and perishes. 
 But if the individual cannot thus establish a direct bon d 
 betwe en his per^on ^l exist ence and the law of nature, there 
 results the great tragedy: PersonaJUyyenoimces the world.** 
 
 Man, the hero of "T'le Life of Man," failed from the very 
 
xviii SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 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 fire- 
 place "that burned whole logs." In the ball of Man the 
 hero reaches the summit of life. Observe the feeling of dig- 
 nified 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 
 aiid 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 h^L Like evil forebodings on the 
 eve of death, they reveal ^^jie vanity of human life. In 
 the ball of Man, which sums up the entire life of both Men 
 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 burji- 
 
SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF xix 
 
 ing — burning out — the candle that symbolises the meaningV 
 of the life of this man who has failed to establish a bond be- \ 
 tween 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." ^ 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, condi- 
 tioned by the strife between the intellect and the emotions, 
 with its attendant sufferings and joys m the case of a man 
 whose strivings toward harmony and order are doomed to 
 clash with the primeval chaos. ^ 
 
 The tragedy of Lorenzo in "The Black Maskers" is of the y 
 same sort. "My soul is an a^ianted castle. When the ^ 
 sun shines into the lofty wUffws, 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 Lo- 
 renzo.'*" 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. 
 **Many flattered by his hopes, has fallen into a deep and 
 
 ' See Prologue. 
 
 ' Thia definition of life is given by Andreyeff in the study published variously under 
 the titles "My Diary" and "Our Prison." 
 
XX SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 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 emo- 
 tions 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." ^ 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 diflFerence ? Is not the trage iy 
 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 re- 
 mains 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 Minai" fate appears in the form of an objective 
 » "The Life of Man," Act IV, 
 
\ 
 
 SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF xxi 
 
 principle, a power outside of man; in **The Black Maskers'* 
 this same fate has entered, as it were, into the flesh and 
 blood of LorenzOy 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 false- . 
 ness 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 "^ > ju 
 instincts of man. At this point began a new life for Lorenzo, ^'^^V 
 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 firsts 
 appearance of "The Black Maskers" at the theatre of Ko- 
 misarzhevskaia, 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 AndreyeflF 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 
 
xxii SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 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 hear- 
 ing 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 under- 
 standing 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 illumi- 
 nated 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 bis 
 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 Loren. a. 
 
SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF xxiii 
 
 are ordinary people; yet even these are transformed and lose 
 their real semblances and, like the black maskers, they be- 
 come 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 
 checks his resolve to do s^ 
 ' — Lorenzo becomes two 
 double — his horrible, dis 
 with anger he draws his 
 canny scene in which 
 VLorenzo come to bid 
 duke, while the duke 
 shadow at the hes 
 the cold corpse of 
 
 that which he sees within it 
 
 d his soul becomes two souls 
 
 20;?. Before him he sees his 
 
 g, false double — and incensed 
 
 I and slays it. Recall the un- 
 
 servants, friends, and wife of 
 
 well to the remains of the dead 
 
 If — his other half — stands in the 
 
 the bier and observes how they greet 
 
 elf. The duality of soul, the duality 
 
 of personality, has^d to the final tragedy of the duke — 
 insanity. 
 
 But at this poijMthe author willed that a new transforma- 
 tion of Lorenzo mhould occur. When the castle, fired by 
 EccOy the jesteims in flames, Lorenzo, falling upon his knees, 
 calls upon all^resent to pay homage to the being who is 
 now revealed Jo his soul, darkened though it be by insanity. 
 "Uncover, gAtlemen; it is the Lord God, the Ruler of heaven 
 and earth. «3n your knees, knights and ladies!" But one 
 conclusion^n logically be drawn. Lorenzo, passing through 
 this dualiB^ of personality and slaying his double, i. e., re- 
 nouncm^ne dark and evil elements of his soul, has attained 
 to the Aiowledge of God and perishes at the moment of 
 attaini 
 
 the general inference to be drawn from the two 
 pla:^ Man in Audrey eflF's view is in the hands of fate; 
 
xxiv SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 whether it appears as the effect upon him of his environment, 
 or manifests itself in the joys, sorrows, temptations, doubts, 
 an^d 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 y 
 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 in- 
 visible 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 v, hich 
 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 un- 
 reconciled, 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 
 
SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF xxv 
 
 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. Not- 
 withstanding their repute, however, the "Kadets," as they 
 are called for short, being composed of individuals represent- 
 ing both progressive and conservative elements of society, 
 have a mixed character, which serves to distinguish them 
 from both the socialistic and the populistic parties. Natur- 
 ally 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 tKe reader to appreciate the 
 keenness of Andreyeff's satire. /The crude Romans, the ab- 
 ductors 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 back- 
 ward. The two forward steps are designed to indicate "the 
 unquenchable fire of our stormy souls, the firm will, the irre- 
 sistible 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- 
 
xxvi SYMBOLIC DRAMAS OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 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 interpreta- 
 tion 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 contribu- 
 tions to Russian social thought. Above all, the reader 
 should understand that Andreyeff paints Russian life in 
 true colours, and to know his warks is to know contem- 
 porary Russia. 
 
 V. V. Brusyanin. 
 Petrograd, 
 October. 1914. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VAQS 
 
 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 
 
ses 
 
 THE BLACK MASKERS 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 A luxuriotiSt newly decorated hall in an ancient feudal castle. 
 The walls are adorned with frescoes and hung with paint- 
 ings 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, turn- 
 ing 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 sjmcious, 
 brightly illuminated entrance-hall. Massive double en- 
 trance-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 bril- 
 liant light. 
 
 The final, hasty preparations are going on for a masquerade 
 ball. The room is flooded with light from many chan- 
 deliers and from strikingly beautiful candelabra and 
 3 
 
ttJl: BLACK MASKERS acti. 
 
 SC. I 
 
 'Stohi^, ' '[^evfi^qtl ',9s,r1)ants in rich but uniform livery 
 hurry from place to places lighting fresh candles or 
 moving hack the heavy armchairs to give room for the 
 dancers. Every now and then certain of them^ as if 
 recalling something left undone, rush upstairs or to the 
 entry doors, the firm, business-like voice of the overseer, 
 SiGNOR Petruccio, redoubling their haste and their emii- 
 lation. 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, 
 hut 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 gu£sts, others, 
 under cover of the happy confusion, exchanging fond 
 glances, slyly pressing one another's hands, and whisper- 
 ing boldly and quickly into blushing ears. In an upper 
 room somewhere musicians are milking ready for the 
 hall, 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 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 5 
 
 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 fright- 
 ens 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 win-/ 
 dow of our cathedral. Your divine beauty fills me with ^ 
 adoration. 
 
 Lorenzo. You are a delicate blossom, Francesca. You 
 are a delicate blossom, and the si^n . when it kisses you, is 
 overbold. [He kisses her hand with profound respect and ten- 
 derness, but suddenly, in mock terror, ccdls to the overseer] But 
 the tower, Petruccio, the tower! If you have forgotten to 
 
 / 
 
6 THE BLACK MASKERS acti. sc. i 
 
 ^ illuminate the tower I will have you impaled like an un- 
 baptised 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 
 1 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 he 
 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. 
 
ACT I. SC. I 
 
 THE BLACK MASKERS 
 
 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 illumi- 
 nate 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 
 
 encigh left to keep him warm. 
 
 \ 
 
8 THE BLACK MASKERS acti. sc.i 
 
 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 im- 
 patience. 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 wfll 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. 
 S Another Servant. [Running in] I was watching from the 
 ^ Jtower, and I saw a dragon crawling toward us. I saw red 
 vp ^ fire gleaming from its eyes, and I was frightened, Signor. 
 ji^ Or Lorenzo. [Joyfully] They're coming. They're coming. 
 f Do you hear, Petruccio ? 
 ?f 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-mor- 
 row I discharge you, if you 
 
 Petruccio. Pardon me, sir. I will run. [Runs out. 
 
 Lorenzo. They have come! Smile, Francesca! They 
 have come ! 
 
 N 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 9 
 
 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 direc- 
 tions ? 
 
 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 ! 
 ^jj^ Commotion in the hall. Several Maskers appear. The 
 
/ 
 
 10 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 costumes are such as are common at masquerades — 
 
 harlequins, pierrots, Saracens, Turkish m£n and 
 
 j women, and animals and flowers. But all the faces 
 
 V are concealed under heavy, closely fitting masks. The 
 
 I 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. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 11 
 
 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, gen- 
 tlemen, on your extremely interesting jest. Still, I should 
 like to know who you are — Ah, here come others ! Greet- 
 ings, 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 .J* 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 
 
12 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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 wel- 
 come. 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 ser- 
 pent. But you, of course, are not the devil. You are only 
 a mock serpent, only a mock serpent. [IlastUy] But, gen- 
 tlemen, is it not time to dance? The musicians, I pre- 
 sume, 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 
 
ACT I. 8c. I THE BLACK MASKERS 13 
 
 me — But where are you ? Petruccio! Petruccio! Really, 
 I shall have to impale this fat rascal. Hello, there, some- 
 body ! 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 fel- 
 lows, 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 ser- 
 vants. 
 
 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 
 
14 THE BLACK MASKERS acti. sc. i 
 
 at your charming jest. But I should be deeply offended if 
 you really took my servants' place — Mario ! 
 
 Other Maskers coTne 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 proces- 
 sion! 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 amaz- 
 ing 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. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 15 
 
 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, Pe- 
 truccio ! Lazybones ! 
 
 Several Maskers, alike in appearancey 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 tally 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 
 
16 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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. Cristo- 
 foro — ! 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 bril- 
 r liantly. Did you notice as we rode along that something 
 \ was moving in the shadows of the cypresses? 
 \ — I saw nothing but darkness. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 17 
 
 — 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 arnong 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 de- 
 forms 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 som£ one's low, sad plaining. The dance of the 
 Maskers is also strange and wild. 
 
18 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 Lorenzo. I am glad that j^ou 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. 
 
 I 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 bride- 
 groom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bride- 
 groom 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 mu^ic continues. The old women with 
 the castanets run forward. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 19 
 
 The Old Women. The bridegroom is coming. The bride- 
 groom. The bridgroom is coming. 
 
 Lorenzo. [Bowing low] I crave your pardon, my dear sir, 
 for not greeting you as I should, but there are so many per- 
 sons 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 beautifid 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! Crusa- 
 ders ! Out of the way ! Drive them oflF, 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. 
 
20 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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 timorotisly, 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 redognise 
 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 
 
ACTi. 8C.I THE BLACK MASKERS 21 
 
 and respectfully kisses her handy then rises] I see only the 
 graceful outline of your figure and your little foot, but per- 
 mit 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 
 legSy creeps up. It speaks with many voices. 
 
 The Thing. We are your thoughts, Lorenzo. 
 
 Lorenzo. A bold jest! Still, you are my guests. I in- 
 vited 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 re- 
 member 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 mdody. After the first two 
 measures^ however y he takes up the air that the mumeians are 
 playing and breaks off in alarm] How absurd ! You put me 
 out, gentlemen. My head is somewhat dizzy. Really, some- 
 
 ( 
 
22 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 thing was wrong with the wine. How absurd, gentlemen! 
 My brain seems to have turned to melted lead. 
 Lovd 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 lohisper] 
 My dear, I am so weary, and my heart pains me as if a ser- 
 pent 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, Fran- 
 cesca, my dear, my beloved, that is not true, is it? 
 
 The Masker. It is only a mask, Lorenzo. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 23 
 
 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 for- 
 gotten, 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 ap- 
 proaches 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! Lo- 
 renzo ! 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 ? 
 
 J 
 
U THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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 in- 
 quiry ^ 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 mon- 
 sters. 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 be- 
 hind 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 terri- 
 fied voice: "Save me, Lorenzo, I am here." Loud 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 25 
 
 laughter. The seven old women, tviih the air of coy 
 and embarrassed brides^ seem about to throw them- 
 selves 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 vnld strains remotely resembling 
 
 wedding music, but the mu^ic 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 en- 
 tangled 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, gentle- 
 men. It is rare that these earthly ears of mine are ravished 
 by celestial melodies. But you will not criticise me too 
 
26 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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 
 ray 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, shrink- 
 ing 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 ? 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 27 
 
 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 
 cw the eyes of a child ; but with each successive mea- 
 sure which the nuisked artist sings the music becomes 
 more fragiaentary and Tnore restless and soon parses 
 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. 
 
28 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. i 
 
 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 chm-ch if you want to repent. We are the masters 
 \ here. Continue, singer. 
 
 Lorenzo. [Smiling feebly] Pardon me, gentlemen, I had 
 f6r 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 
 lliasks. Go on with your jest, singer. 
 
ACT I. sc. I THE BLACK MASKERS 29 
 
 The Masked Sinqhr. [Singing] "In the black depths of 
 my heart I shall erect a throjie 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 happ>ened, 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 armSy tries to say 
 something, but his words are inaudible. Pressing his 
 hands to his head, he runs smiftly up the staircase. 
 Cries: "Way for the queen*s son!" Tvx) Black 
 Maskers appear, one after the other. 
 A Voice. Who is this.'^ Our numbers increase. 
 A Frightened Voice. Uninvited guests are coming. Un- 
 invited guests are coming. 
 
30 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. ii 
 
 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 coTne sounds of mu^ic, which, 
 mingling with the howling and whistling of the wind that 
 rages about the castle, fill the air with a wild, tremulous 
 
 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 ceil- 
 ing 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 itsed 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 urrought-iron lantern lohich, 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. Lo- 
 renzo is dressed as at the ball. 
 
ACT I. 8c. n THE BLACK MASKERS 31 
 
 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 fright- 
 ened 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 hor- 
 rible truth of things human and divine, has bowed his youth- 
 ful back. Poor Lorenzo ! Poor Lorenzo ! [He reads. Break' 
 ing 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, return- 
 ing from Palestine to die in his ancestral home, learned of 
 this and pardoned you, and bore the terrible secret with i 
 him to his grave. Whose son am I, O my saintly mother — I 
 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. 
 
32 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. n 
 
 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. Re- 
 move 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. Tfie two Lorenzos engage 
 each other savagely, though the First Lorenzo is ob- 
 viously the inferior. There are brief, muffled excla- 
 mations : 
 
ACT I. sc. m THE BLACK MASKERS 35 
 
 "In God's name!" 
 "OflF 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 ha^ 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 
 
32 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. in 
 
 jor 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 
 \fhe night-time fly toward the light, they move along the walls 
 wiih a guilty, embarrassed, and somewhat absent air and 
 hide in the corners. But curiosity overcomes their shyness, 
 and, creeping cautiously about, they examine various ob- 
 jects, holding them close to their eyes. They touch the white 
 marble columns with their hairy black fingers. They take 
 in tJieir 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 ac- 
 cord 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. 
 
ACT I. sc. in THE BLACK MASKERS 35 
 
 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, hut the latter shrinks 
 from him. 
 The Masker. Keep your hands from me, sir, or I will 
 hew ofiF 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 Lo- 
 renzo. Call Lorenzo. 
 
 The Old Women. [Running up with castanets] The bride- 
 
 
36 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. m 
 
 groom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bride- 
 groom is coming. 
 
 Voices. Lorenzo ! Lorenzo ! Ix)renzo ! 
 
 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, gentle- 
 men? 
 
 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]y I have lost 
 
ACT I, sc.m THE BLACK MASKERS 37 
 
 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 BiiACK 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 unin- 
 vited. 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 trans- 
 formed into living creatures, and from every side they are 
 coming hither. Bar the doors. 
 
 A Masker. [From belmo] 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 
 
38 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. m 
 
 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 be- 
 coming 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 Mask- 
 ers, 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 ensu£s 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 ex- 
 tinguished 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 dark- 
 ness it has never been my good fortune to witness. A thou- 
 sand thanks to him who devised it. I am his devoted, life- 
 long servant. 
 
ACT I. sc. m THE BLACK MASKERS 89 
 
 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 tcmmrd 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 or- 
 chestra 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 Tnothers sing when they lull their children, and 
 strangely, with low and tender harmonies, the strains of 
 the orchestra answer to the song. AU else is silent. 
 The Black Maskers, in awkward and ungainly atti- 
 tudes, listen to the mu^ic, 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. Lo- 
 renzo, closing his eyes and swaying slightly, sings in 
 a low voice. Suddenly, behind him, along the stair- 
 way, 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. 
 
40 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. m 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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 an- 
 other 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, gentle- 
 men .'' [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 unbe- 
 coming 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 
 
 JT 
 
ACT I. 8c. m THE BLACK MASKERS 41 
 
 masks that I see on you, gentlemen. A mask cannot smile 
 as I smile in answer to your daring jests. 
 
 He triesio smiley hut his lips only twitch convulsively. 
 For a moment, with teeth bared, he presents the appear- 
 ance of a frightful, laughing mask, hut instantly his face 
 hecomes 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: "OfiF with your mask, mur- 
 derer ! Look, look ! Lorenzo is turning to stone.'* 
 Lorenzo. [His face turned to stone] A\\ 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 Lo- 
 renzo. Bring your consecrated sword, Cristoforo. Save your 
 master, whom God has abandoned. One moment, gentle- 
 men, one moment — I will 
 
 Be Htters a wild cry and falls. At the same instant there 
 is a crash of breaking window-frames, the windows are 
 hurst open, and through them pour in the Black 
 Maskers. The hall is dark save for th: 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 Mask- 
 ers mount the musicians' balcony, seize the horns, and 
 trumpet vnldly. 
 
 J 
 
42 THE BLACK MASKERS act i. sc. m 
 
 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 Mask- 
 ers 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 comer 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 cojffln, 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 Lo- 
 renzo, 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 
 care 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 neigh- 
 bourhood has by now been informed of your death, Duke 
 Lorenzo, and in tears is calling for vengeance on your mur- 
 derer. Lie still, Signor. Those who loved you are now com- 
 ing 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 
 
 43 
 
44 THE BLACK MASKERS acth. sc.iv 
 
 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 com- 
 pelled 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 ven- 
 turing 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 for- 
 
ACT n. sc. IV THE BLACK MASKERS 45 
 
 give 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 coffi,n] 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 j^our service. A poor service you rendered 
 to the Lord, Duke Lorenzo, and you shall have no forgive- 
 ness 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. 
 
/; 
 
 46 THE BLACK MASKERS act n. sc. iv 
 
 Lorenzo. He is listening. Signer Cristoforo. 
 
 Cristoforo. [Swaying to and fro] Duke di Spadaro ! Lo- 
 renzo ! 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 ac- 
 cursed 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, Cristo- 
 foro. 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 
 
Acrn. sc.iv THE BLACK MASKERS 47 
 
 when you were playing with me you touched me with your 
 sword, and now I am just as much a knight as you are, Lo- 
 renzo. 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 sanc- 
 tified our swords — Oh, oh, Lorenzo, there come your ruf- 
 fians! I am afraid; I will hide myself. 
 
 He conceals himself. A hand of drunken, boisterous 
 Servants com£ 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. Who- 
 ever 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 ? 
 
48 THE BLACK MASKERS actu. sc. iv 
 
 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 cofin, contempttumsly] 
 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 eva- 
 sions 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 hearty awaits the appear- 
 ance 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 
 
ACTH. sc.iv THE BLACK MASKERS 49 
 
 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 im- 
 plore 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 Lo- 
 renzo. 
 
 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 L orenzo. 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 the dais, kneels again, and 
 
50 THE BLACK MASKERS act n. sc. v 
 
 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 fire- 
 place. A number of candles are burning, but two Ser- 
 vants, 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 noth- 
 ing 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. 
 
 PiETRp. I don't care to hear. Only tell me, why so many 
 lights? 
 
 
ACT II. sc. V THE BLACK MASKERS 51 
 
 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 un- 
 derstand, 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 aflFair. 
 
 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 hows low heffore him, 
 
 Petruccio. Good evening, Signor. 
 
 Cristoforo. Ah, Petruccio, Petruccio, when will you be- 
 come thin po that you may contain less wine? 
 
52 THE BLACK MASKERS act ii. sc. v 
 
 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 Lo- 
 renzo, 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 hor- 
 rible 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 Sepul- 
 chre. Do masks have such scars .f' " 
 
 Mario. Really, really ! Holy Virgin ! 
 
 Cristoforo. And Lorenzo put his finger on the scar and 
 
 said: " Wha^t 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, 
 
ACT II. sc. V THE BLACK MASKERS 53 
 
 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 can- 
 dles 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. 
 
^' 
 
 54 THE BLACK MASKERS act ii. sc. v 
 
 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 
 
 holly 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. 
 
ACT n. sc. V THE BLACK MASKERS 55 
 
 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 Lo- 
 
 renzo 
 
 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 coTnes 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 re- 
 move 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. 
 
56 THE BLACK MASKERS act ii. sc. v 
 
 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 gentle- 
 man with the red nose ? What a comical mask ! 
 
 Petruccio. I have just had the honour, sir — I am Pe- 
 truccio, 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 gentle- 
 men 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 cap- 
 ital 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 treach- 
 erous, stroke. My heart was pierced straight through, 
 
ACT II. 8c. V THE BLACK MASKERS 57 
 
 Francesca. [Endeavouring to distract honE^zo' a attention 
 from the woundy which, throwing open his doublet, fie 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 j'our 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 brmvs] 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 
 
58 THE BLACK MASKERS act ii. sc. v 
 
 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 ter- 
 ror, tries to cover the wound, hut 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 charm- 
 
ACT n. 8c. V THE BLACK MASKERS 69 
 
 ing 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 per- 
 mit 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 re veilings 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 flam- 
 ing spirit ascended to heaven. And on wings of fancy my 
 flaming spirit ascended to heaven." 
 
60 THE BLACK MASKERS actu. sc. v 
 
 Lorenzo. [Rising and halting 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. Atten- 
 tion, 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 
 coTnes the wild music that was played at the ball, but no one 
 hears it] Right, right, Luigi. [Singing] "I, the insane Lo- 
 irenzo, have lighted up my tower and hither will come those 
 whom I invited not. And the lights in the tower wOl go 
 out, and my soul will be shrouded in darkness and will re- 
 joice 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 cru- 
 sader. 
 
 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 
 V 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 
 
ACT II. sc. V THE BLACK MASKERS 61 
 
 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 fes- 
 tival. 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 vnth 
 elation] That is the beginning of my holiday, my friends. 
 To our joyful banquet will come one more guest. I com- 
 mend 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 
 
62 THE BLACK MASKERS act ii. sc. v 
 
 charming masks beget so many ridiculous misunderstand- 
 ings. 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 fes- 
 tival 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 burn- 
 ing 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. 
 
ACT n. sc. V THE BLACK MASKERS 63 
 
 Ecco. [Tremhling] 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, biUy encountering the point 
 of his sword, steps back. i* 
 
 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 Al- 
 mighty 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 fare- 
 well. 
 
 I^TiANCESCA. Farewell. 
 
64 THE BLACK MASKEKb act ii. sc. ^ 
 
 Cristoforo. Cpme ! Away ! Away ! 
 
 Jlle takes Donna Francesca in his arms and, making 
 his way through the clouds of smoke, carries her out. 
 There remxiin- 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, hut the jester falls lifeless from him. The flames now 
 completely surround them. The Black Maskers have dis- 
 appeared. 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 con- 
 secrated me a Knight of the Holy Ghost. Do thou touch 
 me, O Ix)rd, 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 
 
THE LIFE OF MAN 
 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, dif- 
 fused light, which, also grey, is monotonous, unifcrrm, and 
 unreal, casting neither shadows nor spots of light. The 
 Being in Grey comes gradually into view against the back- 
 ground 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 Jiewnfrom 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-ex- 
 istent, 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 a«- 
 
 67 
 
68 THE LIFE OF MAN 
 
 nounce 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 al- 
 ready 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 appre- 
 hension, harassed by hopes and fears, he will complete sub- 
 mfsHvelyifehe iron reurfd'df (ffestiny. 
 
 "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, how- 
 ever, burns clearly and brightly, though the wax is melting, 
 consumed by the fire. The wax is melting. 
 
 **Lo, he is a ^ppy h usband and father. Yet look ! How 
 dim and strange the candle glimmeTs, 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 noV the dark abyss has 
 taken its place, but he still pres ;es 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 re- 
 
THE LIFE OF MAN 60 
 
 turn to the night. Bereft of thought, bereft of feeling, un- f 
 known to all, he will perish utterly, vanishing without trace I 
 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 j 
 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 ^t | soiy wsrand its ioys, . 
 
 like a far-off, thn^*efl«c±io».'' dO^UL^ pU-iX#Vo*^-i-^ 
 The Being in Grey ceases, and in the silence the light goes oui 
 and darkness envelops him and the grey, empty room. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
ACT I 
 
 THE BIRTH OF MAN AND THE SUF- 
 FERINGS OF THE MOTHER 
 
 A profound darkness within which nothing moves. Then there 
 can he dimly perceived the outlines of a large, high room 
 and the grey silhouettes of Old Women in strange gar- 
 ments who resemble a troop of grey, hiding mice. In low 
 voices and with laughter to and fro the Old Women con- 
 verse. 
 
 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. 
 
 70 
 
ACT I THE LIFE OF MAN 71 
 
 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. 
 3 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. 
 \L And again bear children. 
 
 They laugh. The low cry of the suffering woman is 
 .^.----r: 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. 
 
72 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 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 F They are like having the entrails torn out. 
 
 We have all borne children. 
 
 How strimge her voice is ! I don't recognise the voice of 
 our friend* It is usually soft and gentle. 
 
 But ihk 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 
 
ACT I THE LIFE OF MAN 7S 
 
 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 pic- 
 ture 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. J 
 
 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. 
 
74 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 "" Who ever saw Him laugh ? You are simply repeating ru- 
 mours. 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 glunmess. 
 
 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 
 
ACT I THE LIFE OF MAN 75 
 
 her own way. One will wash the child when it is bom, an- 
 other 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. A^^^y^^J ^^ 
 They don't think, i It is the stomach thalf msists.") 
 
 They are alway^msislmg ' * Q 
 
 Because no one gives them what they need. 
 
 Subdued laughter. The cries in the next room are re- 
 newed. 
 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. 
 \ Tfif cri^? qrfi nidden^j-h^Jceji ^' 
 
 '—^ I tell you 
 
 The Being in Grey. [Syeaks 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 
 
76 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 I tall candle burns with a feeble, uncertain light , but grad- 
 \ vxdly 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 some- 
 what larger than an ordinary man. 
 The candle, long and thick, is set in a candlestick of an- 
 tique 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 dark- 
 ness 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 windoivs with eight panes of glass 
 each and without curtains. The night looks in through 
 L ^ the windows. Along the wall stand chairs with tall, 
 ^\rj^ straight backs. 
 V 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! 
 
 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. 
 
 
ACTi THE LIFE OF MAN 77 
 
 Enter the Doctor, in a white surgeon's coaty and the 
 Father ot, 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 di- 
 shevelled. 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 under- 
 stand. 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 comer where He stands motionless] 
 O God, I thank thee for fulfilling my desire and giving me a 
 
78 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 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 un- 
 usually tall, elderly lady with double chin and smaH, 
 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 goafs, 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 eoctremely uncomfortable 
 and sour expression. She holds in her hands a hand- 
 kerchief with which she frequently wipes her mouth. 
 Two Young Men, exactly alike, display unu^uxilly 
 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 
 n the birth of your son. 
 
 [They kiss him. The Doctor withdraws. 
 
ACT I THE LIFE OF MAN 79 
 
 Father. [Deeply moved] I thank you, I thank you. You 
 are all so very good. You are such kind and aflfectionate 
 people. I love you dearly. Heretofore I had my doubts,; 
 and I thought that you, dear sister, were somewhat absorbed\j,^^^^^i{^ 
 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.i 
 
 [They kiss. 
 
 Young Gibl. 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 kins- 
 men. 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 
 
80 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 my son to torture animals. Even after I was grown up, I 
 frequently made mistakes in friendship and love. I selected 
 im worthy friends and perfidious women. I will explain to 
 
 my son 
 
 The Doctor enters and speaks in a lovd 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 
 
 som^ time maintain an impressive silence. In the 
 
 corner the Being in Grey stands motionless with his 
 
 stony fa^e 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 my- 
 self 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? 
 
ACT I THE LIFE OF MAN 81 
 
 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 Eld- 
 erly Lady looks at them severely for a long time. 
 
 You should understand that this is a superstition. Chil- 
 dren are born in a perfectly natural manner, on strictly scien- 
 tific 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. 
 
 Li my opinion a small, warm flat is better than a large, 
 damp one. Li 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. Y^ "^^^^ 
 
 Cries of the child in the other room. ^^ LAy^ 
 
 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. 
 
82 THE LIFE OF MAN acti 
 
 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 bom. 
 
 Nor I. How strange ! At funerals I know it is quite im- 
 proper 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 "i 
 
 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 diminishM \ 
 by one third, but the white flame is still bright and high j 
 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 h*v« nothinf to eat but 
 
 stale bread 
 
 S8 
 
/ 
 
 84 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 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. 
 I And to-day I saw two very respectable-looking people, a 
 I gentleman and a lady, who, frightened by him, crossed to 
 Vthe other side of the street. "He will ask us for money in 
 /a minute," said the gentleman. "He will kill us!" piped 
 ji the lady. So they crossed the road, looking about and hold- 
 ing 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. 
 
ACT n THE LIFE OF MAN 85 
 
 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 ! 
 i 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 nfeck. 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. 
 
86 THE LIFE OF MAN acth 
 
 ^ 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 neigh- 
 bours ? That would be too bad ! 
 
 I have brought a piece of fragrant, warm bread and a bot- 
 tle of milk. [She puts it on the window-sill. 
 
 And I have brought some soft, tender grass. When it is 
 scattered about the floor, 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 cov- 
 ering 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 ? 
 
ACT II THE LIFE OF MAN 87 
 
 Let's go to bed, neighbour. It's already late. 
 
 They sigh and go out, one of them coughing and the other* a 
 crutches clattering on the floor. 
 
 Let's go ! Let's go ! 
 
 God grant them happiness. They are such good neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 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 en- 
 ters, very beautiful, graceful, tender, and delicate, with 
 flowers in her splendid, half-dishevelled hair. She vt 
 very sad. She seats herself in a chair and, laying her 
 hands on her knees, speaks sor^ov fully, 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 nour- 
 
88 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 ishment, and when he has riot eaten for some time he be- 
 comes 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. 
 
 3^y 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 un- / 
 pleasant things, and did not express his gratitude, they fcasi/ 
 him off. But he continued to study, supporting himself 
 by giving lessons, and often going, hungry. And so he fin- 
 ished 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 mone^ 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 
 
ACTH THE LIFE OF MAN M 
 
 up gold and beautiful precious stones. And thy sun is 
 warm, and there is so much quiet joy in thyrpcnsire stars. 
 Give us a little bread from thy bounty-^even a very little 
 — only so much as thou givest thy birds, piat 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 hus- 
 band 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, j \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 seek- 
 ing 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, rvith flashing eyes and high forehead. His dark 
 brows divide above his nose and spread like two bold 
 toings. His wavy, black hair i^ 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 take^ 
 are peculiar to Man alone; they are masterful, free, 
 and proud. 
 
THE LIFE OF MAN acth 
 
 88 
 
 Aas. Again nothing. Pretty soon I shall go to bed and 
 le 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 .f^ 
 
 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 doac 
 
 VfiFEkisses his hand. 
 
ACTH THE LIFE OF MAN 91 
 
 Wipe. 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, dread- 
 ful 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 
 
92 THE LIFE OF MAN actu 
 
 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 
 
 :here were stores and stores, sych 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 mys- 
 teriously, passed by me, and I thoUght: "I h^-ve no fine hat, 
 I have no silk skirt." 
 cO Man. One awkward fellow shouldered me aside, but I 
 \S showed him my tusks and he slunk cowardly behind the 
 ^ others. 
 
 ,/ Wife. A finely dressed lady jostled me, but I was so em- 
 barrassed 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 res- 
 taurant with lights like the kingdom of heaven, and people 
 I were eating there. There were high officials in dress suits, 
 I and angels with white wings who distributed beer and b;;ead 
 \^ and butter, and people were eating and drinking. ,/Oh, I 
 wiant to eat, little Wife, I want to eat ! 
 
ACT II THE LIFE OF MAN 93 
 
 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, beau- 
 tiful 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 hvvLi^y^ 
 
 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. Jr 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 
 
94 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 a beautiful story. I will enwreath you, my queen, with rose- 
 coloured dreams. v^ 
 
 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 
 standsy he cries] Ho, you, whatever your name may be — Des- 
 tiny, 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 ! 
 
 ^VIFE. [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 projec- 
 tile of my glowing thought. You have a heart of stone that 
 knows no pity. Stand aside ! or I will pour into it the seeth- 
 ing 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 ! 
 
 Wi^lAjBolder, still bolder! Behind you stands your 
 armour-bearer, my proud knight. 
 
 MA^f/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 
 

 Acrn THE LIFE OF MAN 96 ^ 
 
 are weak spots in my armour, I know, but, though covered ij ( , 
 with wounds and dripping with crimson blood, I shall yet j ♦^ 
 gather strength to cry: "You have not yet conquered, ma- '. ^ 
 licious 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 sun- 
 shine, we will force her to smile. 
 
 Wife. And to danpe to our songs — we two together ! 
 
 Man. We tw^«^iou 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. 
 
y 
 
 96 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 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 
 j 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 
 y J^ architect I am ! 
 
 »r jK^ Wife. I want to live in Italy, right by the sea, in a white- 
 jy j' marble villa set in a grove of lemon-trees and cypresses; 
 w 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 ! 
 t Man. Oh, but I'll have thick stone walls, and there will 
 
ACT II THE LIFE OF MAN 97 
 
 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. Her^-^ve me my an- 
 cestral beaker. No, not that one, the gold one that the vi- 
 kings 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 ^re 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. 
 
98 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 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 whisper- 
 ing about us. They are pointing at us. See that respect- 
 able-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 be- 
 comes you, but a laurel wreath would be even better. y' 
 
 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. Oht - 
 
 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 
 
ACTH THE LIFE OF MAN 99 
 
 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. Th^t-^as 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 con- 
 tentment. 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 viola- 
 tion 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. 
 
100 THE LIFE OF MAN actii 
 
 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 hall is going on in the great hall of the spaciotis 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 harmxyny in the paHs, the doors, 
 for example, being disproportionately small as compared 
 with the windows. In consequence of this the hall pro- 
 duces a strange and soinewhut irritating impression, an 
 impression of something inharmonious, soTnething incom- 
 prehensible, 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 a/re 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 
 IVL\.N 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 chan- 
 deliers in circular form, with electric lights set at wide in- 
 tervals 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 resem- 
 101 
 
10. 
 
 kE'XWl&'OF MAN 
 
 ACT in 
 
 blance tj their instruments. Thus, the one with a fiddle 
 res^-mhles a fiddle, having a very thin neck and a small 
 head with a topknot drooping to one side. His body is 
 somewhat bent. Over hi^ shoulder, underneath the fiddle, 
 a handkerchief is carefully spread. The flutist resembles 
 a flute. He i.s very long and very thin, with a long-drawn- 
 out fa^e and long-stretched-out thin legs. The one with 
 the bass viol resembles a bass viol. He is short, has droop- 
 ing 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 
 hut 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. 
 
 The young girls and young nien, all of them very handsome, 
 well-form^, and elegant, are dancing a dreamy dance. 
 
ACT in THE LIFE OF MAN 103 
 
 In contrast to the loud and jerky sounds of the musicy 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 he 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 sod- 
 den reverence for the loealth of Man. 
 
 The girls who are dancing wear white gowns : the men are dressed 
 in black. The Guests wear black, while, and bright 
 yellow. 
 
 In the corner nearest the spectators, which is darker than the 
 other corners, the Being in Grey, called He, stands mo- 
 tionless. 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 op 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 w^ole city tried to get invitations, but very few 
 leceived 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 the\ will 
 
 ) 
 
104 THE LIFE OF MAN act-hi 
 
 slander us and tell how people are bored at the balls of 
 Man. 
 
 They have never seen this brilliancy. 
 t You might add, this amazing wealth and luxury. 
 
 j Precisely what I mean: this charming, care-free joy. If 
 
 this is not joy, then I should like to know where joy is. 
 1 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 cor- 
 nices 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 
 
 I should not forget that this is the best orchestra in the city 
 
 \ and that it plays on the most elite occasions. 
 
 This music runs in your head for a long time. It cer- 
 tainly 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 pains- 
 
ACTin THE LIFE OF MAN 105 
 
 taking manner in which the musicians play. They under- 
 stand 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 
 repealed abruptly with a sound resembling a hark. 
 
 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 beau- 
 tiful, 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 agahi ! 
 
 Man loves his son passionately. For horseback riding 
 he has bought him a pony, a cunning, snow-white pony. 
 My children 
 
106 THE LIFE OF MAN actiii 
 
 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 li- 
 brary 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 .J* 
 
 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. 
 
ACT III THE LIFE OF MAN 107 
 
 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 m^. 
 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. Tliey cross 
 the hall diagonally , going toward the door at the left. 
 The dancers, continuing to dance, divide their ranks 
 and make ivay for them. The musicians play with 
 desperate loudness and discordancy. 
 Man has grmon much older. In his long hair and his 
 heard are traces of grey, hut his face i? manly and hand- 
 some, and he walks with a calm dignity and a certain 
 reserve. He looks straight ahead, apparently not ob- 
 serving those about him. His Wife, leaning on his 
 
108 THE LIFE OF MAN actiii 
 
 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 for- 
 ward 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 de- 
 praved faces, low foreheads, and long, monkey-like 
 arms. They walk restlessly, jostling each other, crouch- 
 ing, hiding behind each other, and casting sidewise 
 under their brows keen, sneaking, envious glances. In 
 their buttonholes are yelloiv 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 ! W^hat an honour ! 
 
ACTin THE LIFE OF MAN 109 
 
 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! [Th^ laugh. 
 
110 THE LIFE OF MAN actui 
 
 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. 
 
\ 
 
 ACT III THE LIFE OF MAN 111 
 
 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. v 
 
 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 
 
 y 
 
 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 han- 
 dling 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 be- 
 lieve 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. v q7^ 
 
 You only imagined it. No one called us, and, to speak V^ 
 
 frankly, I don't understand why we have come to a house J^ 
 
 with such a reputation. One should be careful in the selec- ^pl' 
 
 tion of one's associates. ^-^ * J"^ 
 
 A Servant in Livery appears at the door. 
 
112 THE LIFE OF MAN acthi 
 
 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 aftenoard 
 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 il- 
 luminates his stony face and chin with a brighty yel- 
 Urwish light. 
 
ACTin THE LIFE OF MAN 118 
 
 Without raising his heady he turns andy illuminated by 
 the flame of the candle, walks with calm and silent foot- 
 steps 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, ceil- 
 ing, 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 windmvs, 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 i^ pierced by a single low door leading into the inner 
 apartments. Against this wall stands a broad divan cov- 
 ered 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 vmkes 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 windmvs is a shabby old book- 
 case, 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. 
 
 114 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 115 
 
 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 car- 
 riage 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 plact; 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 
 th^=»y 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 sam^ to me. 
 
116 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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 eye- 
 sight 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 mis- 
 fortune 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 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 117 
 
 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 pov- 
 erty 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 sin- 
 cerely. 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. 
 
118 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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, arid 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 an- 
 other? One threw a stoile 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 ac^ed, 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 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 119 
 
 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 ovt. 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 apprehen- 
 sions. 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 lik? 
 
r 
 
 120 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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, 
 
 hich 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 yyith 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? 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 121 
 
 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 
 comer 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. I^t him live, 
 if only a little while, only a little while ! He is only a child. 
 
122 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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 presump- 
 tuous and overbold, that I have demanded instead of be- 
 seeching, and that I have often reproached you for your 
 acts. Pardon me. If you desire, if such is your will, pun- 
 ish 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 under- 
 stand 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 impor- 
 tuned you.f* 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 indiffer- 
 ence to the prayer of the father and the mother. 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 123 
 
 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 cheer- 
 ful. 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 comer 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 oflFended 
 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 imtil 
 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. 
 
124 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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 crea- 
 tions 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 study- 
 ing 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. 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 125 
 
 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 harsh- 
 ness. 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 wUh 
 his head toward the comer where the Being in Grey 
 
126 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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 suffer=_j/ 
 ings, 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 beau- 
 tiful day and that he sees the blue sky and the transparent, 
 crystal water. He hears the reeds rustle as they part be- 
 fore 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 slip- 
 ping away! Hold me!" Man's sleep is deep and joyous, and 
 in his mysterious and deceiving visions an impossible happi- 
 ness rises before him. 
 
 Awake, Man ! Your son is dead ! 
 
ACT IV THE LIFE OF MAN 127 
 
 Man. [Terrified, raises his head and gets up] Ah! Did 
 soDoe 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, lie is dead. 
 Man. Did he call me ? 
 
 Wife. No, he did not wake. He called no one. He is 
 dead, my son, mj^ 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 comer 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 t^ 
 quietly smooths her hair] Don't weep, my dear, don't weep. I 
 He will laugh at our tears, as he laughed at our prayers. I 
 But you (I know not who you are, God, the Devil, Fate, or / 
 Life) — I curse you. 
 
 He speaks thefollovnng with a loud, strong voice, vrith 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 
 
128 THE LIFE OF MAN activ 
 
 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 re- 
 peat 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 toith his hand raised in a threaten- 
 ing attitude. The Being in Grey listens with in- 
 difference 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 accus- 
 tomed to the gloom, the foUotoing 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 en- 
 trance, somewhere above. The walls are snwoth, gloomy, 
 and dirty, like the coarse, spotted hide of some huge beast. 
 The rear wall, as far a^ 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. Be- 
 hind a low counter sits the Bartender, perfectly motion- 
 less, vjith 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 unldly, almost 
 bursting from their sockets, or are nearly closed so that they 
 are reduced to scarcely visible slits and points. There art 
 129 
 
130 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 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 ex- 
 pose 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 un- 
 steady, 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, 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN LSI 
 
 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 wn- 
 steady steps, stumbling among the tables. 
 
 See what it is doing! For two hours it has been trying 
 
132 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 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 wiih 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. 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 1S3 
 
 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. c- 
 
 But his wife ? 'j. 
 
 He has nobody. Probably his wife is dead. e 
 
 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 vnih' 
 drawing Drunkards. They mingle in the conversa- 
 tion, hut 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 imevcnly and 
 feebly it beats. It will soon stop. 
 
134 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 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 fright- 
 ful 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 dis- 
 turbance. I have been robbed. I am coifipletely 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 dj^ing. My God ! My God ! 
 
 Who will carry me to the grave .f* Who will bury me.'' I 
 
 \ ( shall lie about like a dog in the street. People will w^alk over 
 
 me. Carriages will ride over me. They will crush me. My 
 
 God ! My God ! [Ee weeps. 
 
 Old Woman. Allow me to congratulate you, my dear kins- 
 man, 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. 
 
 i^f 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 135 
 
 Drunkard. I will prove it to you in a jiffy. \ 
 
 Drunkard. You are quite right. j 
 
 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 oc- 
 cupied 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. 
 
136 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 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 win- 
 dows 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 ! 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 187 
 
 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 beau- 
 tiful palace. 
 
 Call the musicians ! You cannot have a good dance with- 
 out 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 handker- 
 chief over his shoulder, and all three begin to play unth 
 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 ! 
 
138 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 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 grace- 
 fully 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 sing- 
 ing there glide strange, tvhimpering 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 motion- 
 less. The musicians become rigid, with their instru- 
 ments in their haiids. The dancing women are motion- 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 13d 
 
 less in the same attitudes in which the oncoming of 
 silence found them. 
 
 Man rises, straightens himself y thrcrws back threaten- 
 ingly his beautiful grey head, and cries out in a chal- 
 lenging 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 wiih 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 ia 
 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, indiffer- 
 ent voice repeats the words from the far distance like 
 an echo: "Silence! Man is dead." Profound si- 
 lence. 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 be- 
 comes 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 iciih 
 continuous, wild laughter. Absolute darkness ensues. 
 The face of the dead is still illumined, hut preserUly 
 that also vanishes. Black, impenetrable darkness. 
 
140 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 In the darkness one can hear the inovements of the wild 
 dancers J the shrieking, the laughter, and the discordant 
 and desperately loud sounds of the orchestra. Having 
 attained their greatest intensity, all these sounds quickly 
 toithdraw somewhere and die away. Silence, 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT V 
 
 THE DEATH OF MAN 
 
 (vakiant) 
 
 [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 funda- 
 mental meaning of the play. 
 
 As for the form, I could be content to leave the play un- 
 changed. 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 
 
 141 
 
142 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 my critics quite erroneously drew the following series of in- 
 ferences: "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 succes- 
 sors, not only urge him to die, but aqtually 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 explana- 
 tions (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 
 
 i though by the steady and persistent pressure of the infinitude 
 of darkness which surrounds the house of Man. Should 
 
\ 
 
 ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 143 
 
 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 upvmrd 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 ad 
 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 \ ^ 
 
 I hands are hooked stifily like the claws of birds of prey. 
 
 f 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^ 
 
144 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 ruyw bending to one side and nmv 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 
 Jglad 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? 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 145 
 
 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 insig- 
 nificant creature ! 
 
 You had better add, "who deceived him." 
 
 Sh! 
 
 Who had a dozen paramours. 
 
 Sh! Sh! 
 
146 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 Who lived with a lackey, yes, with her own lackey. I my- 
 self 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 inter- 
 change 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 ex- 
 pensive 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 hut do not find any. 
 Voices in a tone of irritation and alarm : 
 Water ! 
 He is asking for water. 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 147 
 
 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 sleep- 
 ing so soundly. Dear kinsman, can't you wait a bit? The 
 Sister is very tired and is sleepin g. 
 
 '"^ Man does not answer y and they all sit down again on their 
 chairs in a semicircle. The feeble light which illumi- 
 nates 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 fire- 
 place for a long time yet — weeks, perhaps months — then I. 
 feel like seizing him by his thin neck and strangling him. I 
 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. 
 
V 
 
 148 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 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- 
 feom-the-Street is left alone. With a contemptuous 
 glance at silent Man and the Sister of Merct, he 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 149 
 
 swiftly and vyith 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 ofiF. 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 comer 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 sick- 
 ness 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 
 
150 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 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 in- 
 creasing 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. Rais- 
 ing 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. 
 
p- 
 
 ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 151 
 
 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 harmoni- 
 ous but very sad and strange sound. Originating some- 
 where 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 i9 
 
152 THE LIFE OF MAN act v 
 
 the wind. The window-glass is broken and the wind is play- 
 ing 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 gentte, 
 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 ten- 
 derly, 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 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 153 
 
 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 ivas 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 mu^ic 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 mu^ic, they begin to circle 
 about Man, posturing and repeating with wild dis- 
 tortions 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 ? 
 
154 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 Do you remember ? 
 Do you remember ? 
 
 You will soon die, but do you remember ? 
 , Do you remember ? 
 
 The dance hecomes 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 soul4— 
 ^ vDo 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 motion- 
 less. The musicians are petrified with their instru- 
 ments in their hands ; the dancing women stand tro- 
 tionless 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 
 
ACTv THE LIFE OF MAN 155 
 
 Old Women watching and mischievously sporting 
 with death. He sees the ruin and darkness and de- 
 struction 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 
 heady 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 
 quuvering, 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 in- 
 stant tJie flame of the candle with one Ixist 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 dark- 
 ness had flooded everything with a dense, black, tri- 
 umphant wave. Only the face of Man is iUumined. 
 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 re- 
 peats the words from the far distance like an echo: 
 "Silence! Man is dead." Prof ound silence. Slowly 
 
156 THE LIFE OF MAN actv 
 
 the gloom becomes denser, though the miceMke 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 musi- 
 cians start playing. The gloom becomes still more 
 dense, the mv^ic 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 laugh- 
 ter. 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 at- 
 taining their highest pitch, all these sounds swiftly re- 
 cede somewhere and die away. Silence. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
THE SABINE WOMEN 
 
 A BIT OF ROMAN HISTORY 
 In Three Acts 
 
THE SABINE WOMEN 
 ACT I 
 
 A toUdj rugged spot, at daybreak. As the sun rises, armed 
 Romans enter from the hills, dragging with them the beau- 
 tiful 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. 
 
 FmsT 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 
 159 
 
160 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 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 arm- 
 pits so that I laughed the whole way. 
 
 A loWy 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, con- 
 / fiding little heart told her that I loved her truly and re- 
 l^ spected 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 excla- 
 mation: "What a disgusting comparison!" 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 161 
 
 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 go- 
 ing 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 con- 
 
162 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 fusion, 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 hus- 
 band. 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 loWy 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 re- 
 turn 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 q 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 163 
 
 disorderly crowd, hut, after a moment of silent strug- 
 gling, retreat hastily. Silence. The Romans all rub 
 their noses. 
 
 SciPio. [Speaking through his nose] Did you notice, gentle- 
 men, that they didn't even scream ? A bad omen ! I pre- 
 fer 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 be- 
 come 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 con- 
 clusion 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, gentle- 
 men, 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. 
 
164 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 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 /oi/ into a 
 state of gloomy meditation. The Women listen atten- 
 
 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 mxtdus 
 
 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 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 165 
 
 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 get- 
 ting 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 thou- 
 sand eyes before I will be disloyal for one instant to my un- 
 happy husband. Sleep sweetly, my beloved. In the keep- 
 ing 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. Al- 
 though 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 ! 
 
166 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 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 remem- 
 ber a soldier boy came to our house and said he was from a 
 far-oflF 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 in- 
 terrupts 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 in- 
 sufferably 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. 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 167 
 
 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 j 
 may do to us, we will not betray our husbands. '^ 
 
 Cleopatra. There ! My mind is at rest so far as the hus- 
 bands 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. ^tOirlrer'T' 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. Nevermind. 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 limid yesterday 
 night when you broke into our peaceful home and rudely 
 
168 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 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 mur- 
 derer, 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, hut, unable to hold him- 
 self 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. 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 169 
 
 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 found- 
 ing 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 shmn 
 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 un- 
 worthy 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 
 
170 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 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 hand- 
 some, 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.f^ 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, 
 
ACTi THE SABINE WOMEN 171 
 
 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 avmy. 
 
 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, / 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 handker- 
 chief ? 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. 
 
172 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 Cleopatra. I ? Why, I never thought of such a thing. 
 
 SciPio. Begging your pardon, madam, what are we talk- 
 ing about ? 
 
 Cleopatra. How should I know ? That's your afiPair, not 
 line. 
 
 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 co^npanions] 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. [Weepirig] You insult me. 
 
 SciPio. Good Lord ! She's crying. Madam, what dc 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. 
 
ACti THE SABINE WOMEN 178 
 
 Fat Roman. Yes, let them go. We'll fetch some wives 
 from Etruria. 
 SciPio. All right. These creatures are not women. They 
 
 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 vrith 
 anger y casts frenzied glances abouty 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 dur- 
 ing 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 per- 
 fectly 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 ! 
 
174 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 Third Sabine Woman. Say, do you know the way back ? 
 
 Fourth Sabine Woman. You doo'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 hus- 
 band. The old one is sick of my menu, but this gawk will 
 enjoy it. 
 
 Cleopatra. For shame, Proserpina! History will con- 
 demn 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 shat- 
 tered ! 
 
 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, 
 
 r 
 
ACT I THE SABINE WOMEN 175 
 
 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 jnarch in file behind him.] Left, right; left, right! 
 One, two; one, two! 
 
 Paulus Emilius. [Left dreaming alone upon the stage, rushes 
 
176 THE SABINE WOMEN acti 
 
 ahouty 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 on'?- Oh, 
 oh, oh, save me ! She has captured me ! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT II 
 
 A scene shrouded in gloom, symbolising the sad plight of the be- 
 reaved 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.^ 
 
 As the curtain rises the disposition of the characters is as fol- 
 lows : 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. Ea^h 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 Angus 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 ad- 
 dress! We have the address! 
 
 Angus Martius quickly takes from his pocket a little 
 bell and jingles it. 
 VoiGES. Silence! Silence! 
 
 «The mite en tchne should suggest that the husbands are plunged in grieland would 
 like to be relieved of it. 
 
 177 
 
178 THE SABINE WOMEN actii 
 
 Martius. Gentlemen, Sabines, history will not reproach 
 us either for dilatoriness or indecision. Neither dilatoriness 
 nor indecision are traits of the Sabine, whose stormy, im- 
 petuous 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 ob- 
 stacles, and filling the land with din. Come, recall, gen- 
 tlemen ! 
 
 The Sabines maintain a timid silence. 
 
 Martius. Come, come, recall, gentlemen ! 
 
 A Timid Voice. Proserpina, Proserpina, my darling! 
 Where art thou ? 0-o-o-oh ! 
 
 The Sabines, in rapt silence, gaze at the mouth of the 
 speaker. 
 
 Angus Martius. [Without waiting for an answer, cries im- 
 pressively] 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 previ- 
 ous 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 
 
ACTH THE SAB'^NE WOMEN 179 
 
 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 eflForts have 
 been frustrated! Recall, Sabines — However, it's not nec- 
 essary. I will only add that neither experimental nor 
 theoretical science has given us an answer. Even the con- 
 stellations, to which our gaze was turned with sorrowful in- 
 quiry, 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, gentle- 
 men, 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 speak- 
 ing. 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. 
 
180 THE SABI^E WOMEN actu 
 
 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 genu- 
 ine example of a legal conscience in the world! "To fight 
 with!" lam 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, in- 
 deed ! 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 enact- 
 ments 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 ille- 
 gality 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, stand- 
 ing on tiptoe, peek at it] Here is a registered letter signed "A 
 
ACTu THE SABINE WOMEN 181 
 
 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 pres- , 
 ently — 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 wtich your right 
 foot is, you must stand still and look at me. Now place your- 
 self 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; noth- 
 ing that pricks or cuts. Our weapons are a clear conscience 
 and the justice of our cause. Now each ohe of you take up a 
 volume of the laws and investigations. Good J They ought 
 
182 THE SABINE WOMEN acth 
 
 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 remem- 
 ber how to march ? 
 
 The Sabines remain silent. 
 
 f 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. His- 
 
 \ tory 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 sway- 
 V- ing backward, carries with it the whole army of plun- 
 dered 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. 
 
 iThe 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. 
 
 V 
 
ACT III 
 
 The same wild scene as in the first act, though there are mm some 
 traces of orderliness. Near one of the huts stands a Roman 
 in a lazy attitude^ blissfully picking his nose. In the back- 
 groundy at the lefty the army of husbands is seen marching 
 with concentrated attention in the same manner as before: 
 two steps fonvard, 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 good- 
 natured curiosity. The slowness of their movements, how- 
 ever, apparently makes him drowsy. He yawns, stretches 
 languidly, and seats himself leisurely on a stone. At a 
 signal from Angus 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 Sctpio), waking 
 up, apparently becomes interested and inquires in a 
 183 
 
184 THE SABINE WOMEN actiu 
 
 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 jBnished." 
 Martius. [Calmly] Silence, base kidnapper! [To the Sa- 
 BiNBs] And now, Sabines, we have reached the wished-for 
 goal. Behind us is the long path of privation, hunger, soli- 
 tude, and canned fruit. Before us a struggle such as history 
 has never known. Be inspired, Sabines, but control your- 
 selves; be tranquil. Maintaining a spirit of natural indigna- 
 tion, 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 1 
 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 under- 
 stand that, but as for these fellows 
 
 From the ranks of the Sabines comes a tremulous voice : 
 "Oh, Proserpina, my darling, where art thou? 
 0-o-o-oh!" 
 Scipio. [Puzzled] He must be recalling. 
 Martius. [Contemptuously] Oh, he is always recalling. 
 
ACT III THE SABINE WOMEN 185 
 
 [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 com- 
 panions and prepare for the dire penalty! 
 SciPio. I will call my wife at once. 
 
 He goes into the huty calling : "Cleopatra ! Come out, 
 
 please; some one wants to see you on business !" 
 Paulus Emious peeks from around the comer and, rec- 
 ognising the Sabines, shouts joyfully: "The hus- 
 bands have come ! The husbands have come ! An- 
 cient 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 assem- 
 hied. 
 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 ! 0-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 
 
186 THE SABINE WOMEN acthi 
 
 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 sud- 
 denly 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 w ill 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 looTc 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? 
 
 V Remarks by the Romans : "No, I can't remember any- 
 thing." "I must have lost my memory while I was 
 
ACT III THE SABINE WOMEN 187 
 
 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 Apnl 
 there was committed the greatest crime known to history. 
 Certain individuals — I will disclose their identity later — vil- 
 lainously abducted our wives, the beautiful Sabine women. 
 The Romans, rememberingy 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 dis- 
 tort 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. Pro- 
 fessors, begin ! 
 
 The Professor at the end of the line begins speaking in 
 a mxmotonou^ voice that seems to come from beyond the 
 bounds 'of space and time: "Concerning Crimes 
 against Property; volume one, division one, chapter 
 one, page on^ 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 aSH 
 no violations of justice entered into their conscious- 
 ness, inasmuch as there was no consciousness — in 
 
 those remote times " 
 
 Martius. Attention, Romans, attention ! 
 SciPio. Can't you make it shorter? 
 
188 THE SABINE WOMEN act in 
 
 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 ab- 
 ductors ? 
 
 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 .f* Are you not quite ready to 
 
 SciPio. Oh, no ! You mustn't. We are thoroughly con- 
 vinced. 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, 
 
ACTiu THE SABINE WOMEN 189 
 
 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 conscious- 
 ness 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 ! Main- 
 tain 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, digni- 
 fied 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 Mar- 
 tius, 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 
 
190 THE SABINE WOMEN actiii 
 
 scold us, but we have become accustomed to this location. 
 Don't you like these hills, Martins ? 
 
 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, Mar- 
 tins, and now I cannot understand at all what you want. 
 More tears 1 Oh, as many as j^ou 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 mis- 
 understanding here. Apparently you do not understand 
 that you are abducted. 
 I ^Cleopatra. [Weeping] There, I told you you were going 
 ' to scold ! Bcipio, deary, have you my handkerchief? 
 
 SciPio. Here it is, precious. 
 
 Martius. But I should like to know what the handker- 
 chief has to do with it. 
 
 Cleopatra. [Weeping] What a fuss to make about a hand- 
 kerchief ! I cannot get on without a handkerchief when I 
 ^m 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 ! 0-o-o-oh ! 
 
 Martius. [In a sonorous voice] Calm yourselves, Sabines. 
 
ACT III THE SABINE WOMEN 191 
 
 Control yourselves. Don't move; I'll settle everything in a 
 jiflFy. There apparently is some misunderstanding of a legal 
 nature. This unhappy woman thinks she is accused of steal- 
 ing a handkerchief and does not even dream that she herself 
 is stolen. We will prove this to her. Professors, begin. 
 
 The Professors rnake 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 j 
 opening his mouth! He will have it open in a minute t^ 
 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 over- 
 slept. 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 [weep^ 
 ing] of the encyclopedia. 
 
 \ 
 
192 THE SABINE WOMEN acthi 
 
 SciPio. [Shouting] Come, shut your mouth. Professor ! 
 But the Professor's mouth remains open. The Romans 
 are thrown into a panicy and some rush off the stage. 
 Martius. Romans, Sabines, attention ! I will remove the 
 diflSculty 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 be- 
 tween 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 ! " 
 
ACT III THE SABINE WOMEN 193 
 
 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!" be- 
 fore. 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, 
 
194 THE SABINE WOMEN actiii 
 
 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 im- 
 penetrable 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 unfortu- 
 nate 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 for- 
 mer husbands, but the Romans hold them back by force. 
 
ACTui THE SABINE WOMEN 195 
 
 Laughter on the part of the victors. Paying no atten- 
 tion either to the tears or the laughter ^ bid bending under 
 the weight of the laws, the SABmES slowly withdraw; 
 two steps forward, one step backward. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF 
 ANDREYEFF 
 
 I. EDITIONS OF COLLECTED WORKS 
 
 L. Andreev, Razskazy. Moskva, 1901. Contains: Bezdna, 
 V podvale, SmSkh, Stfina. 
 
 L. Andreev i S. S. Glagol', Pod Vpechatleniem khudozhest- 
 vennago teatra. Moskva, 1902. {Published under the 
 pseudonym "James Lynch.") Contains: Dissonans, 
 Kogda my, mertvye, probuzhdaemsia ? ; Tri sestry ; 
 Dikaia utka; Esli zhizn' ne udastsia teb6, to udastsia 
 smert' ; Liudi tenebol storony. 
 
 L. Andreev, Razskasy i p'esy, vols. I-IV. Petrograd, Znanie 
 Co., 1906-1907. 
 
 L. Andreev, Sobranle sochinenll, vols. V-VII. Petrograd, 
 Shipovnik Co., 1909. Supplement to the preceding edi- 
 tion; contains a portrait of A. 
 
 L. Andreeva i A. I. Kuprin, lumoristicheskTe razskazy, 2 vols. 
 Petrograd, Kornfel'd, 1909. 
 
 L. Andreev, SobranYe sochinenH, vols. I-XIV. Petrogratl, 
 ProsvSshehenie Co., 1911-13. With a portrait of the 
 author and an Introduction by Professor Reisner. The 
 most complete edition as yet published. 
 
 L. Andreev, Polnoe sobranle sochinenll. Prilozhenle "Nivi." 
 Petrograd, 1913. 
 
 II. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF ANDREYEFF'S 
 WRITINGS 
 
 Note. — In case special editions, translations, commen- 
 taries, or reviews of separate works exist, they are indicated 
 under the title of each work. An * after a title indicates that 
 
 197 
 
198 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 a separate edition of the given work is published by Ladysch- 
 nikow in Berhn. An Arabic numeral after a title indicates 
 that a translation of the given work is published in the vol- 
 ume bearing that number in list III of this bibliography. 
 
 1898 
 Bargamot i Garas'ka.^^, 14 
 Zashchita : istori'ia odnago dnia. The Defence : One Day of 
 
 My Life. 
 Iz zhizni shtabs-kapitana Kablukova.^* From the Life of 
 
 Captain Kablukov. 
 Molodezh'. Youth. 
 
 1899 
 
 Pervyl gonorar. My First Fee. 
 
 Drug. A Friend. 
 
 U okna. At the Window. 
 
 Petka na dache.^^ Little Peter in the Country. 
 
 Valia. Little Valia. 
 
 Mel'kom. An Incident. 
 
 Angelochek.13 The Little Wax Angel. 
 
 Bol'shol shlem. A Grand Slam. 
 
 1900 
 
 During the years 1900-1902 Andreyeff wrote the 22 sketches 
 
 and 5 fragments 'published in lUmoristichesk'ie razskazy. 
 
 Petrograd, 1909. The titles of these are not included in 
 
 this list. 
 Lozh'.i-2 The Lie. 
 Na rek§. On the River. 
 Prazdnik. A Holiday. 
 Razskaz {or Povest') o Sergee PetrovichS. The Story of 
 
 Sergius Petrovich. 
 Mat'. Mother. 
 Prekrasna zliizn' dlia voskresshikh. Life is Beautiful for the 
 
 Resurrected. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 199 
 
 Life is so Beautiful for the Resurrected ; trans, (vnih pref- 
 atory note) by Geo. E. Haendelmann, in Current Lit., 
 49 (1910): 344-5. 
 Molchanie.2' " Silence. 
 
 Silence; trans, from the Russian by J. G)urnos. 2d ed. 
 (Modern Authors' Series.) Philadelphia, 1910. Re- 
 viewed 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 temnuiu dal'. In the Dim Distance. 
 
 1901 
 
 Sm6kh.* Laughter. 
 
 Gostinets." A Gift. 
 
 Zhili-byli.2 Once upon a Time. Discussed in: Birzh, Vid., 
 
 April 9, 1901 (A. Izmaflov). 
 Kusaka."' ^'* A Homeless Cur. 
 Kniga. The Book. 
 StSna. The WaU. 
 Sluchal. An Incident. 
 Nabat.i3 The Alarm. 
 L' Epouvante; trad, du russe par T. de Wyzewa et S. 
 Persky. Paris, 1903. 
 
 V podval^. ^' ^^ In a Basement. 
 
 Im Erdgeschoss und Anderes. Berlin, 1903. 
 
 1902 
 
 Bezdna.* The Abyss. 
 
 Bezdna, s stat'el L. Tolstogo i polemicheskol litcraturol. 
 Berlin, 1903. 
 
 Le GouflFre ; trad, du russe par S. Persky. Paris, 190S. 
 
 B. Ribikov has composed an opera on the basis of " Berdn*. 
 VesnoX. In Spring. 
 Gorod. The City. 
 Mysl'.< Thought. 
 
200 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 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'skii). See also: A. 
 
 lAnishevskil, Gerol razskaza "Mysl'," Kazan, 1903. 
 Originarnyi chelovek. An Original Character. 
 Inostranets.^' ^^ The Stranger. 
 V tumane.'' In the Fog. 
 
 Im Nebel, Erzahlung. (Russ. Text.) Berlin, Steinets, 
 
 1903. 
 Im Nebel; ubersetzt von S. Wermer. Vienna, 1903. 
 
 (Bibliotek beriihmter Authoren.) 
 Im Nebel ; aus dem Russ. von L. A. Hauff. Berlin, 1905. 
 Discussed in : Obr., 1903 (A. Boktrom) ; Pravda, 1904 (A. 
 
 Vol'skn). See also: leromonakh Mikhail, Otsam i 
 
 dfitiam. Moskva, 1904. 
 Predstoiala krazha.^^ A Burglary was Planned. 
 
 The Burglar; trans, from the Russ. by Thomas Seltzer, 
 
 in Current Lit., 39 : 109-111. 
 
 1903 
 
 Iz moe! zhizni. From My Life. 
 Marsel'eza. The Marseillaise. 
 Vesenniia obSshchan!ia.^ The Promise of Spring. 
 Na Stantsii.^^ At a Way Station. 
 Ben-Tovit. Ben Tobit. 
 
 Zliizn' o. Basilia Fivelskago.* The Life of Father Fiveiski. 
 Zhizn' . . . (Russian Text). Munich, Etzold & Co., 1904. 
 Das Leben Vater Wassili Fiweiskis ; Deutsch von G. Po- 
 
 lonski. Berlin, 1906. 
 French transl., see under Razskaz o semi. . . . 
 Discussed in:J)hr.y 1904, No. 5 (N. Asheshev) ; Rus\ 1904 
 (V. Botsianovskn) ; Gohs ftga, Dec. 14, 1904 (Volsh- 
 sfeff) ; Odessk. Nov., July 20, 1904 (I. Gekker) ; Vest. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 201 
 
 Evropy, 1904 (Evg. L) ; Vi^y, 1904, No. 5 (Ivanov 
 Viacheslav). 
 Son o. Vas. Fiv. : neizdannyl otryvok iz "Zhizn' o. V. F.** 
 Father Basil's Dream: An Unpublished Fragment 
 from "The Life of . . .'* 
 
 1904 
 
 NSt proshcheniia. It Cannot be Pardoned. 
 Vor. The Thief. 
 Discussed in: lUzhn. Zap., April 17, 1905 (Th. Batiush- 
 kov). 
 Prizraki. Phantoms. 
 
 Discussed in : Obr., 1905, No. 3 (V. L'vov). 
 Krasnyl Sm^kh : 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. Vetrinskn) ; 
 Obr., 1905, No. 3 (V. LVov) ; Obraz., 1905, No. 10 (O. 
 Mirtov). 
 
 1905 
 
 Gubernator.*' "• " The Governor. 
 
 His Excellency, the Governor; trans, by . lUuS' 
 
 trated by G. W. Peters, in Harper's Weekly, 51 (1907) : 
 
 196-198, 236-239, 270-275, 310-313. 
 Der Gouverneur: Novelle; Ubersetzt von Aug. SchoU. 
 
 Berlin, 1906. Also contains Tak bylo. 
 Le Gouverneur ; trad, de J. Ferenczy. Paris, 1900. 
 
202 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Tak bylo.* Thus It Was. 
 
 See Der Gouverneur ; ubersetzt von Scholz. 
 KTzvSzdam.* To the Stars. 
 Zu den Sternen ; Deutsch von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1906. 
 Reviewed in: Der Tiirmer (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) ; Mir Bozh., 
 
 1906, No. 7 (Th. Batiushkov) ; Nov. Slovo, Jan., 1910 
 (A. Izmaflov) ; ftfzh. Krai, Nov. 1, 1906 (N. Kara- 
 vaev) ; Ros., No. 464, 1907 (N. Lnd.). 
 
 Khristlane. * 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: lnd., 79 (July 13, 1914) : 72^ 
 Discussed in : Rus', Oct., 19^08 (V. Botsianovskil) ; Rus\ 
 
 1907, No. 182 (A. Legri) ; Obr., 1906, No. 11 (A. 
 Smirnov). 
 
 Eleazar.*' "• " 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. Mir, 1907, Nos. 
 7, 8 (Evg. Liatskn) ; Rus', 1906, No. 47 (M. Voloshin). 
 See also : Valentinov, N., My eshche pridem. Moskva, 
 1908. 
 Zhizn' Cheloveka: Predstavlenie v piati kartinakh s pro- 
 logom.* The Life of Man: A Drama in Five Scenes 
 with a Prolog. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 20S 
 
 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. Arnord) ; Vhy, 1908, No. 
 1 (Avreln) ; Mosk. VH., July 14, 1908 (Basargin) ; 
 SUwOy Dec. 19, 1907 (P. Boborykin) ; Noooe Vremta, 
 Aug. 24, 1907 (V. Burenin); Liter-khud. NedUta, 
 Sept. 17, 1907 (Andrei B%I) ; Mosk. VH., 1907 
 (Ben); Sowr. Mir, 1909, No. 11, p. 65 (N. Efros) ; 
 mch\ April 2, 1908 (D. V. Filosofov) ; Vhsy, 1907, 
 No. 5 (Anton Kralnnil = Z. Gippius) ; Slovo, April 80, 
 1907 (L. Gurevich) ; Russ. Slovo, March 6, 1907 (V. 
 Doroshevich) ; Golos Pravdy, 1907, No. 531 (Litera- 
 turnyl Starovgr) ; Obraz., 1907, No. 3 (V. I/vov) ; 
 Sbcrrnik Zarnitza, 1909, No. 2, Pt. I (Ovslaniko- 
 Kulikovskil) ; Russ. Zn., April 20, 1907 (Rynda) ; 
 Birzh. Ved., April 7, 1907 ("S"); Kiev. Gazeta, 1907, 
 No. 92 ("S") ; Volga, Jan. 28, 1908 (Sergei Glagol') ; 
 Sher (Vologda), July 27, 1907 (L. T-tskH) ; Ru8\ 
 Feb., 1907 (M. Voloshin). 
 
 1907 
 
 luda Iskariot i drugte.*' "• " Judas Iscariot and the Others. 
 
 Judas Iscariot and the Others; trans, into English by 
 Archibald J. Wolfe, in Sewanee Rev., April, 1908. Re- 
 viewed in: Current Ut., 44 (April, 1908) : 401-404. 
 
 Judas Iscariot ; trans, by W. J. Lowe. London, 1910. 
 
 Discussed in: Vhsy, 1907, No. 7 (Anton KraInnn=Z. 
 Gippius) ; Vbk, Feb. 17, 1907 (S. Askol'dov) ; Svobod. 
 MysV, 1908, No. 1 (Chukovski) ; Russ. Vid., 1907, 
 No. 106 ("I."); Sovr. Mir, 1907, Nos. 7, 8 (Evg. 
 
204 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Liatskil); Nasha Gazeta, Jan., 1908 (N. Minskn) ; 
 Novoe Vremia, July, 1907 (V. Rozanov) ; Russ. Zn., 
 July 15, 1907 (A. Trishatnyl) ; Slovo, June 1, 1907 
 (D. Shestakov); Rus\ July, 1907 (M. Voloshin). 
 See also: L. Burgov, Povgst' L. A. "lud. Isk. i dr.," 
 Kharkov, 1911 ; N. Valentino v. 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); 
 Vhy, 1908, No. 2 (Anton Kralnnfl = Z. Gippius) ; 
 Tovar., Dec. 2, 1907 (A. Kornfel'd) ; Russ. Ved,, Dec. 
 1, 1907 ("I."); Golos Pravdy, Jan. 11, 1908 (Litera- 
 turnyl Starovgr) ; Nasha Gazeta, March, 1908 (N. 
 Minskn) ; Slovo, Nov. 30, 1907 (Neblagosklonnyl 
 Chitatel') ; Nash Den', 1908, No. 13 (G. Polonskil) ; 
 Novoe Vremia, 1907 (V. Rozanov). See also: E. 
 Anichkov, Literaturnye obrazy i mnSniia, Petrograd, 
 1907 ; A Kornfel'd, Knigi i liudi, Petrograd, 1908. 
 Proklatie Zv^ria.* The Curse of the Beast. 
 
 Discussed in: Kiev. M., March 11, 1908 (A. Achkasov) ; 
 Nasha Gazeta, March, 1908^ (N. Minskn). See also: 
 B. Lebedev, Proklatie zvSria, Petrograd, 1908. 
 Tsar' Golod.* King Hunger. 
 
 Tsar' Golod : predstavlenie v piati 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 (HI. Alkhenwal'd) ; 
 RuV, March 9, 1908 (A. Vergezhskn); Sbornik 
 "Literal. Raspad," 1908 (Lunacharskil) ; Nash Den', 
 1908, No. 16 (G. Polonskn). See also : N. Valentinov, 
 My eshche Pridem, Moskva, 1908. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 205 
 
 1908 
 
 Smert Chelov6ka : novyl variant piatol kartiny "Zhizni che- 
 lov^ka." {With a prefatory note by the authm.) The 
 Death of Man : A variation of the fifth act of the " Life 
 of Man." 
 Razskaz o semi povSshennykh.* The Story of the Seven 
 Who were Hanged. {In some editions a dedication to 
 Leo Tolstoi is added.) 
 Die Geschichte der Sieben Gehenkten ; Ubersetzt 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 ; ubersetzt von LuUy 
 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'nyl) ; Sovr. 
 Mir, 1908, No. 4 (V. Kranikhferd) ; Rech', July 19, 
 1908 (D. Merezhkovskil) ; Nov. Slow, 1909, No. 2 
 (Smolenskn) ; Slovo, May 18, 1908 (G. Chulkov). 
 Iz razskaza, kotoryl nikogda ne budet okonchen. A Story 
 that will Never be Finished : A Fragment. 
 A Story which will Never be Fmished ; trans, by Herman 
 Bernstein with a Brief Biographical Sketch, in Inde- 
 pendent, 65 (Nov., 1908) : 1031-34. 
 Chernyia Maski.* The Black Maskers. 
 
 Discussed in: Rkh', Dec. 7, 1909 (L. Andreev). See also: 
 S. Strumilin, Aristocratlia dukha i profany. Petro- 
 grad, 1910. 
 Velikan. The Giant. 
 
206 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Dni nashel zhizni.* Days of Our Life. 
 
 Studentenliebe : Drama in Fiinf Aufzugen ; Deutsch von 
 
 Karl Ritter. Berlin, 1909. 
 Iz strany (A song from act I of "Days of O. L."). Petro- 
 
 grad, 1910. 
 Discussed in : Novoe Vremia, Nov. 6, 1908 (lU. Beliaev) ; 
 Der Kunstwarty Jan. 24, 1911 (F. Dusel) ; Slovo, 1909, 
 No. 811 (Gr. Petrov) ; Birzh. Ved., Nov. 6, 1908 (A. 
 Izmailov) ; Rech\ Dec. 6, 1908, No. 299 (A. Kosorotov) 
 Liubov' k blizhnemu.* Love for One's Neighbor.^ 
 
 Love of One's Neighbor ; trans, by Thomas Seltzer. New 
 York, 1914. 
 Liubov', vera, nadezhda : Etiud. Love, Faith and Hope. 
 Moi zapiski: povest'.* My Memoirs. 
 
 Discussed in : Mir, 1909, No. 4 (K. Arabazhin) ; Russ. 
 Bogat, 1909, No. 1 (A. Kornfel'd) ; Russ. Slovo, Oct. 
 11, 1908 (A. lAblonovskil) ; Rech', 1908, No. 278 (D. 
 Levin) ; Vecher, Oct. 16, 1908 (V. Morov). See also: 
 A. Al'man, Moi zapiski, Saratov, 1908. 
 Derzhite vora. Stop, Thief ! 
 L^tushchaia mysh'. The Bat. (A Farce.) 
 Kliatva. The Oath. 
 
 Trans, into Lettish. Riga, 1908. 
 
 1909 
 Syn chelovScheskiJ : razskaz.* A Son of Man. 
 Anfisa.* Anfisa. 
 
 Discussed in : Reck', 1909, No. 280 (VI. Azov) ; Rech', 1909, 
 Nos. 296, 335. 
 Anatema: Tragediia.* Anatema : A Tragedy. 
 
 ^ In Rhh'y 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 com- 
 plying with Andreyeff's conditions to date it and state that 
 it was reprinted. Andreyeff adds that "K." also plagiarized 
 two other stories. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 207 
 
 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: "An- 
 dreyev's Anatema and the Faust Legend"). 
 
 A parody entitled "Anatema Andel Leonidov" was staged in 
 the Ekaterinsk'il Theatre in Petrograd in 1910. 
 
 Anatema : Ein tragischer Spiel in Sieben Bildern ; Deutsch 
 von Karl Ritter. Berlin, 1911. 
 
 Discussed in: R^ch', 1909, No. 328 (VI. Azov); Novoe 
 Vremia, 1909, Nov. 29 (lU. B.) ; Russ. MysV, 1909, 
 No. 12 (L. Gurevich) ; Russ. MysV, 1909, No. 1 (A. 
 Kizevetter) ; Sovrem. Mir, 1910, No. 1 (V. Kranikh- 
 fel'd); Rech',J9n, No. 254 (M. B.) ; mch', 1909, 
 No. 352 (Ovsianiko-KulikovskiK) ; Russ. Bogat., 1909, 
 No. 12 (A. R^ko); Rech', Oct., 1909 (N. Jlfros) ; 
 Rech', 1909, Nos. 324, 325. See also: L. Briantsev, 
 Ideia traged'ii L. Andreeva "Anatema" i eia razvitle, 
 Kharkov, 1910; K. Fisher, "Anatema" v. posta- 
 novskg Mosk. khudozh. teatra, Moscow, 1910; I. V. 
 Churinov, "Tragediia Mysli" po povodu "Anatemy" 
 L. Andreeva, Petrograd, 1910. 
 
 1910 
 
 " Gaudeamus " : Komediia v chetyrekh d^lstvliakh * " Gau- 
 deamus" : A Comedy in Four Acts. 
 Gaudeamus : Komodie in 4 Akten. {In russ. Sprache.) 
 
 Berlin, Bong & Co., 1910. 
 L. Gebek publisfied (1910) a waltz composed for this drama. 
 Discussed in: RJtch', 1910, No. 256 (VI. Azov). 
 Iskrenml Sm6kh : razskaz veselago chelov6ka. A Real 
 
 Laugh : The Story of a Jolly Man. 
 Den' gnfiva : razskaz. Dies Irae : A Tale. 
 
208 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Razskaz zmel o torn, kak poiavilis' u neia iadovitye 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 
 
 Pokol. Rest. 
 
 Smert' Gullivera (posl6 smerti L. N. Tolstogo). The Death 
 
 of Gulliver (On the Death of Leo Tolstoi). 
 Ipatov. Ipatov. 
 Okean. The Ocean. 
 
 Okean : tragediia v 7mi kartinakh s risunkami B. Anisfel'da. 
 
 Petrograd, 1911. 
 Der Ocean : Tragodie. {In russ. Sprache.) Berlin, Bong 
 
 & Co., 1911. 
 Discussed in: Rech', 1910, No. 265 (S. Liubosh — contains 
 Andreevs interpretation of the drama) ; Russ. Bogats., 
 1911, No. 5 (A. R6dko) ; Rech\ 1911, No. 77 (Chukov- 
 skil). 
 Sashka Zhigulov :* roman v 2 chastiakh. Alec Zhigulov : A 
 Novel in Two Parts. 
 Ssaschka Shigulov : Roman in 2 Teilen. {In russ. Sprache.) 
 
 Berlin, Bong & Co., 1911. 
 Discussed in: Rech', 191^, No. 7 (lUr. Alkhenval'd). 
 Skazochki ne sovsem dlia detel : Oreshek, Negodal, Fal'shivyl 
 rubl' i dobryJ diadia. 
 Tales not exclusively for Children : The Nut, The Rascal, 
 The Counterfeit Ruble and the Goodnatured Uncle. 
 
 1912 
 
 Prekrasnyia Sabinianki : istoricheskoe proisshestvie v trekh 
 chastiakh.* The Beautiful Sabine Women: An His- 
 torical Event in Three Parts. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 209 
 
 The Lovely Sabine Women ; trans, from the Russian by 
 Thomas Seltzer, in The Drama, Feb., 1914. 
 Chest' (StaryX Graf) : Drama -parodlia. 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 teatrg. (Two) Letters on the Theatre. 
 
 Ne ubil: drama.* Do not kill : A Drama. 
 
 Mysl' : drama :* Thought : A Drama. 
 
 Nadsmertnoe.* Beyond Death. ^ 
 
 Vozvrat.* The Return. 
 
 Proisshestvle.* An Event. {A dramatic scene.) 
 
 PopugaJ: simvolicheskoe predstavlenie v odnom dSIstviL 
 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 pub- 
 lished on Sept. 16 in the London Daily Chronicle and the 
 New York Times. 
 
 In DecembeTy 1914, the Alexandrinshl Theatre presented An- 
 dreev's latest drama, Karol', Zakon i Svoboda, dealing vnih 
 the Belgian sitvution. 
 A Tragedy of Belgium ; Act IV; trans, by Herman Bern- 
 stein, in New York Sun, Dec. 20, 1914. 
 
 III. TRANSLATIONS, CONTAINING TWO OR MORE 
 DIFFERENT WORKS IN THE SAME VOLUME 
 
 1. Die Llige. Ausgewahlte ErzShlungen. Deutsch von 
 
 N. Homstein. Dresden, H. Minden, 1902. 
 Reviewed in : Litt. Echo, No. 5. 
 
 2. Novellen. Deutsch von Stefania Goldenring. Berlin, 
 
 Neufeld & Henius, 1902. 
 
210 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Contains : Zhili-byli, Molchanie, Sm6kh, Lozh', Bezdna, 
 Valia, Petka na dachg, Bol'shol shlem, Nabat. 
 
 3. Der Auslander 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, Dent. Verl.- 
 Anst., 1903. 
 Reviewed in: Lift. Echo, 1903, No. 5, p. 1036. 
 
 7. Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Alexis von Kru- 
 
 senstjerna. 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. Uber- 
 
 setzt von Otto Biik. Berlin, Ladyschnikow, 1908. 
 
 12. Friihlingsversprechen und andere Geschichten. Autori- 
 
 zierte Ubersetzung 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 dachS, Angelochek, Molchanie, 
 Kusaka, Nabat, V podvale. 
 
 14. Nouvelles. Traduites du russe par Serge Persky. Paris, 
 
 1908. 
 Contains: Le Gouverneur, Kusaka, Zhizn' shtabs- 
 kapitan Kablukova, Inostranets, Bargamot i 
 Garas'ka, Gostinets, Na stantzii, Prekrasna 
 Zhizn'. . . . 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 211 
 
 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. Sawa and The Life of Man. Trans, with an introd. by 
 
 T. Seltzer. New York, Kennerley, 1914. 
 
 18. Der Gouverneur; Ubersetzt 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. 
 
 Botsianovskn, V., L. Andreev. Kritiko-biograficheskll etiud. 
 Petrograd, 1904. 
 
 Bnisianin, V. V., L. Andreev. Zhizn' i tvorchestvo. Mos- 
 cow, 1912. 
 
 ChukovskH, K., Leonid Andreev bol'shol i malen'kn. Petro- 
 grad, 1908. 
 
 Chukovskn, K., O Leonids AndreevS. Petrograd, 1911. 
 
 Churinov, I., Tragedlia Mysli. Petrograd, 1910. 
 
 Dobrokhotov, A., Kar'era L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909. 
 
 Etinger, E., Ngkto v s6rom i nekto v krasnom u L. Andreeva. 
 Kiev, 1908. 
 
 Friche, W., L. Andreev. Opyt kharakteristiki. Moscow, 
 1909. 
 
 Ganzhulevich, T., Russkaia zhizn' i eia techenle v tvorche»tv« 
 L. A-a. 2d ed. Petrograd, 1908. 
 
 Ivanov, P., Vagram L. Andreeva! Psikhologicheskn etiud. 
 Moscow, 1904. 
 
 M. K., Leonid Andreev. S biograficl i portreiom. Moscow. 
 1903. 
 
212 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 Murom tsev. Dr. M., Psikhopaticheskie cherty v geroiakh L. 
 
 Andreeva. Petrograd, 1910. 
 Orlovskn, Iz istorii novelshei russkoi literatury. Petrograd, 
 
 1910. 
 Reisner, Prof. M. A., L. Andreev i ego sotsialnaia ideologiia. 
 
 Petrograd, 1909. 
 Smolenskn, N., Zashchitnikam L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909. 
 Stomiarov-Sukhanov, Simvolizm i L. Andreev kak ego pred- 
 
 stavitel'. Kiev, 1903. 
 Urusov, kn. H. Bezsil'nye liudi v izobrazhenie L. Andreeva. 
 
 Petrograd, 1903. 
 Varton, V., L. N. Tolstoi i L. Andreev. Baku, 1909. 
 Zhurakovskil, E., Simptomy literaturnol evolutsil. Moscow, 
 
 1903. 
 Zhurakovskil, E., Tragikomediia sovremennol zhizni. Mos- 
 cow, 1907. 
 
 B. Articles Contained in Books, Magazines, Etc. 
 
 Aleksandrov, P., Maksim Gorki! i L. Andreev. Ikh zhizn' i 
 
 proizvedeniia. Riga, 1903. 
 Aleksandrovich, lU., Posle Chekhova. Moscow, 1908, 236- 
 
 289. 
 Andreev, Autobiography, in Zhur. dlia Vsekh, Jan., 1903. 
 Anonymousy see Current Lit., 45 (Sept., 1908) : 182-286 ; 
 
 Samar. Gazeta, Feb., 1902. 
 Antid-Oto, in Vostoch. Ohozr., June, 1902 ; Lv. Aurich, in Das 
 
 Wissenfur Alle, 1912, No. 47; Balte, F. M., in Morgen 
 
 (Berlin), 1908, No. 47; Allg. Zeitung, Oct. 4, 1909; 
 
 Avrelil, in Vesy, 1908, No. 1. 
 B(ogdanovich), A., in M'ir Bozhii, 1901, No. 11 ; Abramov, 
 
 lA., and Granitov, in Pr'iaz. Krai, Jan. and Sept., 1902; 
 
 borel, a satirical poem on A., in Novoe Vremia, Nov. 28, 
 
 1909 j^ Botsianovskil, V., Bogobortsy. Petrograd, 1911. 
 
 Botsianovskn, V., in LU. Vestn., Jan., 1902; Bruckner, 
 
 A., Geschichte der russ. Lit. (Leipzig, 1905), pp. 501/.; 
 
 Bruck, R., in MasJcen, 1908; Burenin, V., in Nome 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 213 
 
 Vremia, Jan., 1902; Chagovets, V., in Ktevsk. Gaz., 
 Nov., 1903 ; ChukovskH, K., in TUch\ 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 symsiS zhizni (Petrograd, 1908) and 
 Tvorchestvo i kritika (Petrograd, 1911). 
 
 Izmallov, A., Literatur. Olimp. (Petrograd, 1911) ; samey in 
 Birzh. VM., April 9, 1901. 
 
 Kogan, P., Ocherki po istorii nov^Ishel 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 Dnia, May, 1907; LunacharskH, in 
 Sbornik " Liter aturn. Raspad" (Petrograd, 1908); L'vov, 
 v., in Odessk. Novosti, 1903 ; Merezhkovskn, D. S., in 
 Svobod. MysV, Jan., 1908, and in Russk. MysV, Jan., 1908 ; 
 Mikhaflovskn, N. K., in Russk. Bogat., 1901, No. 11; 
 
 Morozov, M., Ocherki novelshel lit. Petrograd, 1911, pp. 1-70. 
 
 Nev^domskil, V., in Sovremennyl Mir, 1908, No. 2 ; Obolen- 
 skil, in Odessk. Listok, April, 1902. 
 
 Persky, Serge, Les Maltres du Roman Russe Contemporain. 
 Paris, 1912, pp. 245-285. 
 
 Phelps, Wm. L., Essays on Russian Novelists. New York, 
 1911, pp. 262-277. 
 
 Pil'skn, P., O L. AndreevS, Sologubg, KuprinS, etc. Petro- 
 grad, 1909. 
 
 P-n, P., in Sovrem. M'ir, April, 1908 ; Protopopov, M. A., in 
 Russ. MysV, 1902, No. 3 ; Rodef, in Wiener Fremden- 
 blatt, June 6, 1903; Rozanov, V. V., in Novoe Vremta, 
 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 ; Shuliatikov. V., in Moak, 
 Kur'er, Oct. 9, 1901 ; Simchowitz, in Die Kultur, March, 
 190S; same, in Landeszeitung ; Beiblatt. Badi^t^h. Mum., 
 
214 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF 
 
 1903, No. 23; Skabichevskil, A. M., in Novosti, Jan., 
 1902 ; L. N. Tolstoi, in Sbornik Italiia, 1909 ; Wolshsky, 
 N., in Nation (Berlin), 1903, No. 50; same, in Die Zeit 
 (Berlin), 1903, No. 50; Wyzewa, T. de, m Rev. d. deux 
 Mondes, May 15, 1909. 
 
 :^*^ Additional references to articles in the Russian period- 
 ical press treating Andreyeff's literary work as a whole and 
 also dealing with the following separate works: Bezdna, 
 V tumane, Zhizn' Vas. Fiv., Krasnyl smekh, K zvezdam, 
 Savva, Tak bylo, Vor, Gubernator, luda Iskariot, Zhizn' 
 cheloveka, T'ma, Tsar' Golod, Razskaz o semi poveshennykh, 
 Moi zapiski, Chernyia maski, Anfisa, Gaudeamus, Anatema, 
 Prekrasnyia Sabinianki, Professor Storitsyn, Ekaterina Iva- 
 novna and Pis'ma o teatre, will be found in 
 
 V. L'vov-Rogachevskn, Dve pravdy: Khiga o Leonide 
 Andreeve s portretami, Petrograd, Prometei C°, 1914. Price, 
 1)4 rubles. 
 
 But few of these references are included in the present 
 Bibliography, since the book of L'vov-Rogachevsk'fl is readily 
 obtainable. 
 
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