LOVE AND POVERTY
_The scene is flooded with a bright, warm light. A large, very
high, and very bare room. The walls, of a light rose-colour,
are perfectly smooth and covered in places with a fantastic
and beautiful lacework of damp lines and spots. In the right
wall are two tall windows, each with eight panes of glass and
without curtains. The night looks in through them. There are
two wretched beds, two chairs, and a table without a spread.
On the table stands a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers and a
half-broken pitcher containing water._
_In one corner, which is darker than the other corners, stands
the BEING IN GREY. The candle in his hand is diminished by one
third, but the white flame is still bright and high and throws
brilliant spots of light on his stony face and chin._
_The NEIGHBOURS enter, dressed in bright, gay garments. Their
hands are filled with flowers and grasses and fresh, green
branches of oak and birch. They move about the room. Their
faces are open, cheerful, and kindly._
CONVERSATION OF THE NEIGHBOURS
How poor they are! Just see, they haven’t a single extra chair!
Nor curtains at the windows——
Nor pictures on the walls——
How poor they are! See, they have nothing to eat but stale bread——
And nothing but water to drink—cold water from a well.
And they have no extra clothing, either. She always wears her
rose-coloured dress with the open neck, which makes her look like a young
girl.
And he always wears his blouse and his fantastic necktie, which makes him
look like an artist and causes all the dogs to bark angrily at him——
And offends all proper people.
Dogs hate shabby people. Only yesterday I saw three dogs attack him,
and as he drove them away with a stick he cried: “Don’t you dare touch
my trousers! They are my only trousers!” Then he laughed, and the dogs
showed their teeth and rushed at him and howled with anger.
And to-day I saw two very respectable-looking people, a gentleman and a
lady, who, frightened by him, crossed to the other side of the street.
“He will ask us for money in a minute,” said the gentleman. “He will kill
us!” piped the lady. So they crossed the road, looking about and holding
their pockets. But he shook his head and laughed.
He is so cheerful.
They are always laughing.
And singing.
It’s he who sings; she dances.
In her rose-coloured dress with the open neck.
It is a delight to look at them. They are so young and radiant.
But I am so sorry for them. They are hungry. Just think of it, hungry!
Yes, that is so. They used to have much furniture and clothing, but they
have sold all and now they have nothing left to sell.
I remember she had beautiful earrings, and she sold them to buy bread.
And he had a handsome, black dress coat—his wedding-coat—and he sold it.
They have nothing left but their wedding-rings. How poor they are!
That’s nothing, that’s nothing! I was young myself once and I know what
it means.
What’s that you say, grandfather?
That’s nothing, that’s nothing!
Just see, merely thinking of them makes grandfather want to sing!
And dance!
_Laughter._
He is so kind. He made my boy a bow and arrows.
And she wept with me when my daughter was sick.
He helped me mend my broken fence. He is a strong young fellow.
It’s a delight to have such good neighbours. Their youth warms our cold
age; their light-heartedness drives away our cares.
But their room is like a prison: it’s so empty.
No, it is like a temple: it’s so bright.
See, they have flowers on the table. She gathered them while she was
walking about the fields in her rose-coloured dress with the open neck.
Here are lilies-of-the-valley. The dew is not yet dry on them.
And here is flaming scarlet lychnis.
And here are violets.
And here is just green grass.
Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers! Don’t drop them on the
floor—her kisses are on them. Don’t breathe on them with your breath—her
breath is on them. Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers!
He will come and see the flowers.
He will take the kisses.
He will drink in her breath——
How poor they are! Yet how happy!
Let’s go. Let’s go away.
But has none of us brought anything for our dear neighbours? That would
be too bad!
I have brought a piece of fragrant, warm bread and a bottle of milk.
[_She puts it on the window-sill._
And I have brought some soft, tender grass. When it is scattered about
the door, the room is like a blossoming meadow and smells like spring.
[_She strews the grass on the floor._
And I have brought flowers. [_Strewing them._
And we have brought branches of birch and oak with green leaves. When the
walls are hung with them the room will look like a cheery, green forest.
They decorate the room, filling the dark windows and covering the bare,
rose-coloured walls with leaves.
I have brought a fine cigar. It is a very cheap one, but it is strong
and fragrant and will bring delightful dreams. [_He lays it on the
window-sill._
I have brought a rose-coloured ribbon. When you tie it in your hair it
makes you gay and beautiful. My lover gave it to me, but I have many
ribbons and she has none at all. [_She lays it on the window-sill._
How about you, grandfather? Haven’t you brought something?
Nothing. Nothing. I brought only my cough, and they don’t need that, do
they, neighbour?
No more than my crutches—Say, girls, who needs my crutches?
Do you remember, neighbour——?
And do you remember, neighbour——?
Let’s go to bed, neighbour. It’s already late.
_They sigh and go out, one of them coughing and the other’s
crutches clattering on the floor._
Let’s go! Let’s go!
God grant them happiness. They are such good neighbours.
God grant they may always be healthy and cheerful, and love each other,
and that no ugly black cat may ever run between them.
And that the young man may find work. It is bad when a man has no work.
_They withdraw, and immediately the WIFE OF MAN enters, very
beautiful, graceful, tender, and delicate, with flowers in her
splendid, half-dishevelled hair. She is very sad. She seats
herself in a chair and, laying her hands on her knees, speaks
sorrowfully, her face toward the audience_:
I have just been to town and have been hunting. I don’t know what I was
hunting for. We are so poor. We have nothing. It is very hard for us to
live. We need money, but I don’t know how to get it. If you ask it of
people, they won’t give it; and I haven’t the strength to take it from
them. I was hunting for work, but no one gave me any work. They all said
to me: “There are so many people and so little work.” I kept my eyes on
the road, thinking perhaps some rich people might have dropped a purse,
but either they did not drop one or some one more fortunate than I had
already picked it up. And I am so sad. You see my husband will soon come
back from his hunt for work, tired out and hungry, and what can I give
him except my kisses? He cannot satisfy his hunger with kisses, can he? I
feel so sad. I’d like to cry.
I can go without eating for a long time. I don’t mind it. But he cannot.
He has a large body which demands nourishment, and when he has not eaten
for some time he becomes pitifully pale, and sick, and irritable. He
scolds me, but afterward he kisses me and asks me not to be angry. But I
never get angry, because I love him so. I am only sad.
My husband is a very talented architect; I even think he is a genius. His
parents died very early and left him an orphan. For some time after the
death of his parents his relatives supported him, but since he was always
very independent in character and brusque, and often said unpleasant
things, and did not express his gratitude, they cast him off. But he
continued to study, supporting himself by giving lessons, and often going
hungry. And so he finished his course in the university. He was often
hungry, my poor husband. Now he is an architect and makes designs of
beautiful buildings, but no one will buy them, and lots of stupid folks
even laugh at them. In order to get on one must have either a patron or
a stroke of good fortune. But he has neither patron nor good fortune.
He goes about, hunting for some opportunity or, perhaps, looking on the
ground for money as I did. He is still very young and is simple as a
child.
Of course, fortune will come to us sometime, but when? Meanwhile, it is
very hard to keep alive. When we were married we had a little dowry, but
we quickly used it up. We always went to the theatre and ate candy. He
still is hopeful, but I sometimes lose all hope and weep by myself. My
heart sinks when I think that he may be here at any moment and again find
nothing except my poor kisses.
O God, be a kind and merciful father to us! Thou hast so much of
everything—bread and work and money. Thy earth is so rich. It bears
fruits and grain in the fields and covers the meadows with flowers. From
its dark depths it yields up gold and beautiful precious stones. And thy
sun is so warm, and there is so much quiet joy in thy pensive stars. Give
us a little bread from thy bounty—even a very little—only so much as thou
givest thy birds, that my dear, good husband may not be hungry; a little
warmth, that he may not be cold, and a little work, that he may proudly
hold up his beautiful head. And pray do not be angry with my husband
because he scolds and laughs, or even sings and makes me dance. He is so
young and so light-hearted.
Now that I have prayed I feel better and again I have hope.
Really, why should God not give when we pray like this? I will go out
and hunt a little. Perhaps some one has dropped a purse or a sparkling
diamond.
[_She goes out._
THE BEING IN GREY. She does not know that her wish is already fulfilled.
She does not know that this morning two men, in a costly house, bending
over a design of Man’s, eagerly scanned it and were delighted with it.
All day they have been hunting in vain for Man. Wealth has been seeking
him, as he is seeking wealth, and to-morrow morning when the neighbours
go away to work, an automobile will come to the house and two gentlemen,
bowing low, will enter the bare room and bring wealth and fame. But they
do not know this—neither he nor she. Thus fortune and happiness come to
Man, and thus they leave him.
_MAN and his WIFE enter. MAN has a handsome, proud head, with
flashing eyes and high forehead. His dark brows divide above
his nose and spread like two bold wings. His wavy, black hair
is carelessly thrown back. His low, soft, white collar displays
a shapely neck and part of his chest. His movements are light
and swift like those of a young animal, but the attitudes he
takes are peculiar to MAN alone; they are masterful, free, and
proud._
MAN. Again nothing. Pretty soon I shall go to bed and lie there all day
long. The people that need me can come and find me. I shall not go to
find them. To-morrow I am going to lie abed.
WIFE. Are you tired?
MAN. Yes, I am tired and hungry. Like Homer’s hero, I could eat a whole
bull, and here I have to be satisfied with a crust of stale bread. Do you
know that a man cannot always live on bread alone? I want to gnaw, tear,
bite!
WIFE. I am so sorry for you, dear.
MAN. Yes, I am sorry for myself, but that doesn’t satisfy my hunger.
To-day I stood for a whole hour in front of a lunch-room and gazed on the
chickens and the tarts and the sausages, just as people view works of
art. And oh, the signs! They can paint ham so exquisitely that one could
eat it, iron and all.
WIFE. I like ham, too.
MAN. Is there anybody who doesn’t like ham? Do you like lobsters?
WIFE. Yes, I do.
MAN. Oh, what a lobster I saw! Though he was only a painted lobster, he
was more handsome than a live one. Red as a cardinal, majestic, severe.
One might kneel to him for a blessing. I think that I could eat two such
cardinals and a carp thrown in.
WIFE. [_Sadly_] Didn’t you notice my flowers?
MAN. Flowers! Can you eat flowers?
WIFE. You don’t love me.
_MAN kisses her._
MAN. Forgive me, but really I am so hungry. See how my hands shake. I
haven’t strength enough to throw a stone at a dog.
_WIFE kisses his hand._
WIFE. Poor dear!
MAN. How did these leaves come to be on the floor? How sweet they smell!
Did you put them there, too?
WIFE. No; probably it was our neighbours.
MAN. Our neighbours are dear people. Strange that with so many good
people in the world a man can die of hunger. Why is it?
WIFE. You have become gloomy; you frown. Do you see anything?
MAN. Yes, before me, across my humorous fancies, a hideous image of
poverty glided stealthily and rose up yonder in the corner. Do you see
her? The pitiful, outstretched hands—like those of a child lost in the
woods—the voice appealing to the silence of the human desert: “Help me!”
No one hears. “Help me, I am dying!” No one hears. Look, Wife, look!
Look! The black shadows, trembling, float apart like wraiths of black
smoke from the long, dreadful chimney that leads down to hell. Look! I,
too, am in the midst of them!
WIFE. You terrify me. I cannot look in that dark corner. Did you see all
this on the street?
MAN. Yes, I saw it all on the street, and soon it will be here.
WIFE. No, God will not let it come to us.
MAN. Why does he let it come to others?
WIFE. We are better than others. We are good people. We do not anger him
in any way.
MAN. Do you think so? But I often scold.
WIFE. You are not wicked.
MAN. Yes, I am wicked, I am wicked. When I walk along the street and look
at the things that are not ours, I grow boar’s tusks. Oh, how much money
there is that is not mine! Listen, my dear little Wife. This evening
I was walking in the park, in that lovely park where the roads are
straight as arrows and the beautiful beech-trees are like crowned kings——
WIFE. And I was walking along the city streets, where there were stores
and stores, such beautiful stores——
MAN. Well-dressed people with canes passed me, and I thought: “I have
none of that.”
WIFE. Handsomely gowned women in well-fitting boots which make the foot
charming, in rustling silk skirts, and in elegant hats from beneath which
their eyes sparkled mysteriously, passed by me, and I thought: “I have no
fine hat, I have no silk skirt.”
MAN. One awkward fellow shouldered me aside, but I showed him my tusks
and he slunk cowardly behind the others.
WIFE. A finely dressed lady jostled me, but I was so embarrassed that I
did not even look at her.
MAN. Riders swept by me on proud and fiery horses, but I have no horse.
WIFE. And such diamonds were in her ears! I wanted to kiss them.
MAN. Red and green automobiles glided by noiselessly like phantoms with
blazing eyes, and people were sitting in them laughing and listlessly
glancing from side to side, but I have no automobile.
WIFE. And I have neither diamonds nor emeralds—not even a pure white
pearl.
MAN. On the shore of the lake glittered a luxurious restaurant with
lights like the kingdom of heaven, and people were eating there. There
were high officials in dress suits, and angels with white wings who
distributed beer and bread and butter, and people were eating and
drinking. Oh, I want to eat, little Wife, I want to eat!
WIFE. My dear boy, if you keep running about you will increase your
hunger. Come, sit down, and I will sit on your knees. Now, take a paper
and draw a beautiful, beautiful building.
MAN. But my genius is hungry, too, and it won’t sketch anything but
edible landscapes. For a long time my palaces have looked like big
dumplings stuffed with fat and my churches like sausages. But there are
tears in your eyes. What is the matter, little Wife?
WIFE. I am sad because I cannot help you.
MAN. You make me ashamed. Though I am a strong man, intelligent,
talented, and healthy, I can do nothing, while my little wife, my fairy,
weeps because she is not strong enough to help me. When woman weeps, man
is disgraced. I am ashamed of myself.
WIFE. You are not to blame if people cannot appreciate you.
MAN. I am blushing to the tips of my ears. I feel like a child whose ears
have been pulled. You, too, are hungry, and I, selfish creature that I
am, had not noticed it. I’m a brute.
WIFE. But, my dear, I am not hungry.
MAN. It is disgraceful, cowardly. That rude fellow who jostled me was
right. He saw that I was nothing but a fat pig, a boar with sharp tusks
and a stupid head.
WIFE. If you are going to scold yourself so unfairly, I shall begin to
cry again.
MAN. No, no. Don’t cry. When I see tears in your eyes I am always
terrified. I am afraid of those bright crystal drops. It is as if they
were shed not by you but by some one else, some frightful being. I won’t
let you cry. True, we have nothing, we are miserably poor; but I will
tell you what we are going to have. I will charm you with a beautiful
story. I will enwreath you, my queen, with rose-coloured dreams.
WIFE. You need not fear. You are strong and talented and you will
succeed. The moment of depression will pass, and a divine inspiration
will again throw its halo over your proud head.
MAN. [_Assumes an attitude of bold and proud defiance, and, throwing
an oak spray into the corner where the UNKNOWN stands, he cries_] Ho,
you, whatever your name may be—Destiny, the Devil, Life—I throw down
the gauntlet to you. I challenge you to battle. The faint-hearted bend
their knees before your mysterious power. Your stony face fills them with
horror. In your silence they hear the coming to birth of misfortune and
its ominous approach. But I am bold and strong, and I challenge you to
battle. Let our swords flash, let our shields ring, let the blows fall on
our heads—blows that will shake the earth. Come forth to battle!
WIFE. [_Approaching and standing close behind his left shoulder, speaks
earnestly_] Bolder, my dear, still bolder!
MAN. To your inertness, sinister being, I oppose my bold, living
strength. To your gloom I oppose my clear and ringing laughter. Parry the
blows! Against your stony face, in which there is no light of reason, I
hurl the projectile of my glowing thought. You have a heart of stone that
knows no pity. Stand aside! or I will pour into it the seething poison of
rebellion. The black cloud of your fierce wrath has darkened the sun. We
will light up the darkness with our swords. Ho! Parry the blows!
WIFE. Bolder, still bolder! Behind you stands your armour-bearer, my
proud knight.
MAN. If I conquer, I shall sing songs which all the world will echo; and
if I fall dumbly under your blows, then I shall think only of how I may
rise again and rush to battle. There are weak spots in my armour, I
know, but, though covered with wounds and dripping with crimson blood, I
shall yet gather strength to cry: “You have not yet conquered, malicious
enemy of mankind!”
WIFE. Bolder, my knight! I will wash your wounds with my tears. With my
kisses I will stanch the flow of your crimson blood.
MAN. And dying on the field of battle as brave men do, I shall mar your
brute pleasure with one last cry: “I have conquered!” I have conquered,
malicious foe, for with my last breath I shall refuse to acknowledge your
supremacy.
WIFE. Bolder, my knight, bolder! I will die with you.
MAN. Ho! Come forth to battle! Let our swords flash, let our shields
ring, let the blows fall on our heads, blows that will shake the earth.
Ho! Come forth!
_For some time MAN and his WIFE remain in the same attitudes,
and then they turn to each other and kiss._
MAN. Thus we shall share life together, my little Wife, shall we not?
Let life blink like an owl blinded by the sunshine, we will force her to
smile.
WIFE. And to dance to our songs—we two together!
MAN. We two. You are a good wife and a faithful friend. You are a brave
little woman, and as long as you and I are together nothing can terrify
us. What is poverty? To-day we are poor, and to-morrow we are rich.
WIFE. And what is hunger? To-day we are hungry, to-morrow we are filled.
MAN. Oh, you think so, do you? Perhaps, but it will take a great deal
to fill me. My hunger isn’t easily satisfied. Do you think this will be
plenty? In the morning, tea, coffee, chocolate—take your choice—and then,
after that, breakfast—three courses—then lunch, then dinner, then——
WIFE. Lots of fruit. I am so fond of fruit.
MAN. All right. I will buy it in baskets in the market. It is cheaper
there and fresher; though, to be sure, we shall have our own orchard.
WIFE. But we have no land.
MAN. I’ll buy some. For a long time I have wanted a little plat of my
own, and, by the way, I’ll build a house on it after my own design. I’ll
show the rascals what sort of architect I am!
WIFE. I want to live in Italy, right by the sea, in a white-marble
villa set in a grove of lemon-trees and cypresses; and I’d like some
white-marble steps leading straight down to the blue water.
MAN. I see. Good! But besides that I mean to build a castle in Norway
among the mountains: far below, the fiord; high up on the steep cliff,
the castle.—Haven’t we any paper? No matter, the wall will do. Here is
the fiord. Do you see it?
WIFE. Yes—how lovely!
MAN. The water is sparkling and deep. Here it reflects the tender, green
grass and there the red and black and brown stone. And see, here in the
opening, right where this spot is, a touch of deep-blue sky and a quiet,
white cloud——
WIFE. Look! A white boat is reflected in the water. It is like two white
swans, breast to breast.
MAN. And see, here the mountain rises from the cheerful green meadows and
forests, and, as it mounts, becomes more and more gloomy, more and more
severe. There are sharp cliffs, black shadows, precipices, ragged clouds——
WIFE. It is like a ruined fortress.
MAN. And see, on this fortress, right on this spot here in the centre, I
will build a castle fit for an emperor.
WIFE. How cold it is there, and how the wind blows!
MAN. Oh, but I’ll have thick stone walls, and there will be huge windows
of one large pane, and on winter nights, when the blizzard rages and the
fiord is roaring below, we will draw the curtains and kindle a fire in
the huge fireplace. There will be great andirons on which will burn whole
logs—whole forests of pitchy pine.
WIFE. Oh! How warm!
MAN. And see, how still! Everywhere rugs, and lots and lots of books
which radiate silent yet living warmth and comfort, and we two together.
Outside roars the storm, but here we are together in front of the
fireplace on a white bear’s skin. You say, “Shall we take a peek at
what’s going on outside?” and I say, “Very well,” and we go to the
largest window and draw the curtain. Heavens! What’s that?
WIFE. Whirling snow!
MAN. It sweeps by like white horses. Look, myriads of little frightened
spirits, white with terror, seeking refuge from the night! And the
whistling and the roaring——
WIFE. Oh, it’s cold! I am shivering.
MAN. Quick! Back to the fire. Here, give me my ancestral beaker. No, not
that one, the gold one that the vikings drank from. Fill it with golden
wine—more—let the fiery liquid rise to the very brim. There’s a chamois
roasting on the spit. Bring it here; I will eat it. Quick, or I will eat
you instead! I’m starved! I’m hungry as the devil!
WIFE. There, now; they’ve brought it. What are you going to do next?
MAN. What next? Why, eat it, of course. What else could be next? But what
are you doing with my head, little Wife?
WIFE. I am the Goddess of Fame. I have twined for you a wreath of the
oak leaves which our neighbours strewed, and I am crowning you. Fame has
come—glorious fame!
[_She puts the wreath on his head._
MAN. Yes, fame, loud-voiced, echoing fame. Look at the wall. See, here I
go, and do you know who is by my side?
WIFE. Why, that’s me.
MAN. See, people are bowing to us. They are whispering about us. They
are pointing at us. See that respectable-looking old gentleman who falls
a-weeping and says: “Blessed is our native land to have such children!”
See that pale young man who is looking at us. Fame has smiled upon him,
also. By this time I have built the People’s Palace of which our whole
country is so proud.
WIFE. You are my glorious hero! The oak wreath becomes you, but a laurel
wreath would be even better.
MAN. Look! look! Here are representatives of the city where I was born
coming to me. They bow low and say: “Our city is proud of the honour——”
WIFE. Oh!
MAN. What’s the matter?
WIFE. I have found a bottle of milk!
MAN. Impossible!
WIFE. And bread—soft, fragrant bread—and a cigar!
MAN. Impossible! You have made a mistake. What you think is milk is only
the dampness from this accursed wall.
WIFE. No, indeed!
MAN. A cigar! Cigars don’t grow on window-sills. They sell them at
ridiculously high prices in the stores. This is probably just a black,
broken twig.
WIFE. But, do look! Ah, now I understand! Our dear neighbours brought it.
MAN. Neighbours! Upon my word, they are angels. And even if the devil
himself had brought these things—bring them here quick, my little wife.
[_The WIFE of MAN sits on his knees and they eat, she breaking the pieces
of bread and putting them in his mouth while he gives her milk from the
bottle_] It looks like cream.
WIFE. No, it’s milk. Chew your bread more slowly or you’ll choke yourself.
MAN. Give me the crust. It is so nicely browned.
WIFE. There, didn’t I tell you you would choke yourself?
MAN. It’s all right; got it down.
WIFE. The milk’s running down my neck and my chin—oh, it tickles!
MAN. Here, let me drink it up. [_He drinks it off her neck and chin_] We
mustn’t waste a drop.
WIFE. What a mischief you are!
MAN. There, everything’s eaten up. That was quick work. Everything that
is good comes soon to an end. This bottle must have a double bottom.
To look at it you would think it was deeper. What cheats these bottle
makers are! [_He lights the cigar, and assumes an attitude of supreme
contentment. She ties the rose-coloured ribbon in her hair, using the
black window for a mirror_] This seems to be an expensive cigar. It is
very fragrant and strong. I am always going to smoke that kind.
WIFE. You’re not looking at me.
MAN. Yes, I am. I see everything. I see the ribbon, and I see that you
want me to kiss your throat.
WIFE. I won’t let you, you silly man. You can smoke your cigar if you
like, but as for my throat——
MAN. What, isn’t it mine? The deuce! That is a violation of property
rights. [_She runs away. He catches her and kisses her_] There, the right
is restored, and now, my little Wife, dance for me. Just imagine that
this is a magnificent, luxurious, astounding, miraculously beautiful
palace.
WIFE. I’ve imagined it.
MAN. Now imagine that you are the queen of the ball.
WIFE. It’s done.
MAN. And that marquises and counts and lord mayors are asking you to
dance with them, but you decline them all and select the—what do you call
him—the fellow in tights? Oh, yes, the prince. Why! What’s the matter?
WIFE. I don’t like princes.
MAN. Oh, that’s it! Well, what sort do you like?
WIFE. I like talented artists.
MAN. Good! Here’s your artist. Oh, heavens! Look at you there flirting
with empty space! Oh, woman!
WIFE. But I was just imagining.
MAN. Oh, all right. Now imagine a wonderful orchestra. See, here’s a big
Turkish drum—boom, boom, boom!
[_He pounds his fist on the table in imitation of a drum._
WIFE. My dear, it is only in a circus that they call the crowd together
with a drum; in a palace——
MAN. Oh, the deuce! Stop the picture. Now imagine again. Listen! The
singing violins are pouring forth their melody, and here sounds the
tender voice of a flute. Listen! The fat bass viol is booming like a
beetle— [_MAN, wearing the oak wreath, sits and strikes up the tune of
the dance, beating time with the palms of his hands. The tune is the same
as that which is played in the following act, at the ball of MAN. The
WIFE dances gracefully_] Ah, my little gazelle!
WIFE. I am the queen of the ball.
_The song and dance become more and more lively. Presently MAN
gets up, begins to dance where he stands, and finally seizes
his WIFE and dances with her, the oak wreath slipping to one
side._
_The BEING IN GREY watches them with indifference, holding in
his stony hand the brightly blazing candle._
_Curtain._