[_A grand ball is in progress in the salon of the mansion which the Man
has built for himself. The scene is a large, square, lofty room with
smooth, white walls and ceiling and a polished floor. Yet a certain
discrepancy in the proportions of some of the minor features of the
apartment conveys to the beholder a sort of vague, unsatisfactory
impression, as though something were wanting, or discordant, or
superfluous, or bizarre--one cannot exactly tell which. For instance,
the doors are small as compared with the windows, and constitute, with
the latter, the only features breaking the monotony of the apartment's
outline. The windows, too, are of immense size. Reaching almost to
the ceiling, they are placed only in the rear wall, and in close
juxtaposition to one another, while their panes show black with the
darkness of the outer night, and neither spot nor speck breaks the wall
spaces between them. Eloquent testimony to the wealth of the Man is
afforded by the superabundance of gilding on the cornices, chairs, and
picture-frames; yet the pictures are but few in number, and confined
to the side walls, of which they form the sole adornment. Light is
furnished by hoop-shaped lustres and a few scattered electric globes.
Nevertheless, though the ceiling is in brilliant relief, the rest of the
room is in slight shadow--a circumstance which imparts a kind of greyish
tinge to the walls. In general, the scene has about it an air of pallor
and chill._
[_The ball is in full swing--the music being furnished by an orchestra
of three players, each of whom bears a certain resemblance to his
instrument. The fiddler has a long, thin neck and a small head
ornamented on both sides with little tufts of hair. His body is
grotesquely curved in outline, and he has a handkerchief neatly
folded on his shoulder, to form a pad for his fiddle. The flute player
resembles his flute in that he is exceedingly tall and thin, with long,
lean face and taper legs; while the man with the double-bass is short,
with broad, rounded shoulders, a fat body, and baggy trousers. All three
executants play with an energy which is manifested even in their faces
as they grind out the tune and sway their heads and bodies to and fro to
the rhythm. The tune in question (which is never once changed throughout
the ball) consists of a short, polka-like air, made up of two separate
parts, and charged with a sort of vapid, jaunty, staccato lilt. All
the instruments are slightly out of tune with one another, and this
sometimes causes the discrepancies in pitch and tempo to give rise to
an extraordinary series of dissonances and gaps in the melody. The
following is the tune:--_
[Illustration: 0080]
_To these strains a number of young men and girls are dancing a legato
measure in a graceful, refined manner. To the first phrase of the tune
they advance and meet; to the second phrase they retire; to the third
and fourth they advance and retire as before--all with a rather stately,
old-fashioned demeanour._
[_Along the walls are seated a number of chaperons and other guests, in
a variety of studiedly affected attitudes. Their movements are stiff
and angular, and their remarks stilted and spasmodic. Never is the
correctness of their tone lowered by, for instance, light laughter or
whispering. Gazing straight in front of them, with their hands primly
folded on their laps and their wrists stuck out so sharply as to convey
the impression that those members have been fractured, these onlookers
mouth their sentences in the sententious fashion of copybooks, and
express, in their whole bearing, a sort of disdainful weariness. Indeed,
so absolutely monotonous and uniform in expression are their fades
that the latter would seem to have been turned out of one and the same
mould--a mould which has stamped them with a stereotyped air of conceit
and arrogance, coupled with a certain dull respect for the Man's wealth.
The dancers are dressed in white, the musicians in black, and the
remaining guests in white, black, or yellow. In the right-hand front
corner of the stage (a corner in deeper shadow than the rest of the
scene') stands the motionless figure of the Being in Grey. The candle in
his hand is now burnt away for two-thirds of its length, yet its flame
is still strong and yellow, and continues to throw lurid gleams over the
statuesque face and chin of the Being._]
~Dialogue of the Guests.~~
I feel it my bounden duty to remark that to be numbered among the guests
at any ball given by the Man is indeed an honour!
Yes; and to that you might have added that only a very limited circle of
persons are permitted to attain to that honour. My husband, my sons, my
daughters, and myself are profoundly sensible of the privilege which has
been accorded us.
I am truly sorry for those who have not had the good fortune to receive
an invitation to the ball. Never this night, I fear, will they be able
to close their eyes in sleep, by reason of the pangs of envy. Yet on the
morrow they will not hesitate to speak in disparaging terms of the fêtes
which the Man periodically gives.
Ah, but never have they looked upon such brilliancy as we see here
to-night!
No, never! Nor, you might have added, upon such luxury and wealth!
Nor upon such enchanting, such soul-emancipating gaiety! If this be
not gaiety, then I know not what gaiety is. But let that pass. 'Tis ill
quarrelling with persons who writhe in the pangs of envy. Yet I will
venture to foretell that those same persons will presumptuously assert
that these were not gilded chairs upon which we are now sitting--not
gilded chairs!
No; mere deteriorated articles, purchased, for a trifling sum, from some
secondhand dealer!
They will say, too, that those beautiful electric globes were tallow
candles of the commonest quality!
Yes--mere farthing dips!
Or trashy oil lamps! Oh, tongues of envy!
Peradventure they will have the effrontery to deny that the mansion has
gilded cornices?
Or that to the pictures on the walls there are the massive gilded frames
which we see before us? For my part, I seem to hear the veritable chink
of gold in this palace.
Well, at all events we behold its glitter: and that, in my opinion, is
as good.
Seldom has it fallen to my lot to enjoy such ravishing strains as those
which always greet our ears at balls given by the Man. They constitute
the veritable music of the spheres, and waft the soul from earth to
higher regions.
Yes, in truth do they! Yet we have some reason to expect that the music
should be of the finest quality, seeing that the Man is in a position to
pay the immense fees demanded by the musicians. You must recollect that
this is the most distinguished orchestra of the day, and plays at all
the most _recherché_ functions.
Ah, one could listen to such strains for ever! They simply _enchant_
one's sense of hearing! I may inform you that, for days and nights after
one of these balls given by the Man, my sons and daughters never cease
to hum the tunes which they have heard there.
At times I seem to hear such divine music when I am walking in the
streets. I gaze around me, but neither instrument nor player is to be
seen.
And _I_ hear it in my dreams.
What appears to me so especially excellent about these musicians is that
they play with such _abandon_. Though aware of the immense fees which
they are entitled to demand for their services, they are yet good enough
to refrain from giving nothing in return. That seems to me particularly
right and proper.
Yes. 'Tis as though the musicians completely-identified themselves
with their instruments, so great is the verve with which they surrender
themselves to their playing.
Or, rather, as though their instruments identified themselves with them.
How rich it all is!
Flow sumptuous!
How brilliant!
How luxurious!
[_And so on, for a considerable time, like a pack of dogs barking one
against the other._]
I would have you to know that, in addition to this _salon_, the mansion
contains no fewer than fifteen magnificent apartments. I have seen them
all. The dining-room is fitted with a fireplace which can accommodate
whole trunks of trees. The drawing-room, too, and boudoir are simply
_gorgeous_, while the state bedroom is not only an apartment of the most
gigantic dimensions, but is actually furnished with bedsteads to which
baldaquins are attached!
Indeed? You surprise me! Baldaquins?
Yes, I said _baldaquins_. Pray permit me to continue what I was saying.
The son of the house lives in a beautiful, bright nursery, lined
throughout with yellow wood and gilding, so that the sun seems for ever
to be shining there. And the little fellow is so charming! He has curls
like the rays of the sun himself.
Yes, indeed! When one looks upon him one involuntarily exclaims, "The
sun has just come out."
And when one gazes into his eyes one involuntarily thinks, "Ah! Now are
the chill autumn and winter passed, for there is blue sky to be seen."
The Man loves the boy to distraction. He has just bought him a pony--a
beautiful, pure white pony--to ride on. Now, _my_ children----
Well, as we were saying. Have I yet told you of the bathroom?
No, you have not.
It is a truly marvellous apartment.
Ah! Is it indeed?
Yes; with hot water always laid on. Then there is the Man's study,
replete with books--endless books. He is said to be immensely
clever--and of a truth you could tell that from the number of the books
alone.
I have seen the gardens. Have _you?_
Indeed? No, I have not.
And I am not ashamed to confess that they simply astounded me. In them
I saw the most marvellous lawns--all of an emerald green, and mown with
surprising neatness, with little paths intersecting them, lined with the
finest of red sand. And the flowers, too! And the palm-trees!
_Palm-trees?_
Yes, I said _palm-trees_. Every shrub is pruned into a shape of some
kind, such as a pyramid or a column of green foliage. Then there is a
fountain with huge globes of glass, and, in the centre of the main lawn,
a number of plaster gnomes and sirens.
How splendid!
How brilliant!
How luxurious!
[_And so on, as before._]
The Man also did me the honour to show me his coach-houses and stables,
until I found myself wholly unable to repress the admiration evoked in
me by the spectacle of the horses and carriages which they contained.
His motor-car, too, made a great impression upon me.
And, to think of it, he has no fewer than _seventeen_ attendants for his
person alone, in addition to the general staff of cooks, kitchen-maids,
housemaids, gardeners, and so forth!
And grooms, surely?
Yes, and grooms.
Of course, it is only right and proper that the Man and his Wife should
have everything done for them, seeing that they are personages of such
high degree.
Yes; and for the same reason it is all the more an honour for us to be
included among the number of their guests.
But do you not find the music just a trifle--well, _monotonous?_
No, I do not, and I am surprised that _you_ should do so. Surely you
know who the musicians are?
Yes; I was but jesting. I could listen to such strains for ever. There
is something in them which especially appeals to me.
And to me also.
It is delightful to be able to surrender oneself to their influence, and
to become absorbed in dreams of ecstatic bliss.
It is not too much to say that they waft one's soul to the very
empyrean.
How delightful it all is!
How splendid!
How luxurious!
[_And so on, as before._]
But I see a movement at that door. Probably the Man and his Wife are
making their entry into the _salon_.
See how the musicians are redoubling their efforts!
There they come! There they come!
Yes, there they come! There they come!
[_The Man and his Wife appear at a low door on the right, accompanied by
the Man's Friends and Enemies. They cross the salon obliquely to a door
on the left, walking in solemn procession, and causing the dancers to
divide and leave a clear space for them. The musicians play more loudly,
and more extravagantly out of tune, than ever._
[_The Man looks much older than he did in Act II, and a sprinkling of
grey is noticeable in his long hair and beard. Yet his face is still
handsome and vigorous. He walks with a sort of calm dignity and
aloofness, and gazes straight in front of him, as though he were not
aware of the presence of the surrounding company. His Wife, too, looks
older, but still beautiful, as she leans upon his arm. Like her husband,
she seems to see none of the surrounding company, but gazes in front of
her with a strange, half-apprehensive expression. They are both of them
magnificently dressed._
[_Behind the Man and his Wife come the Man's Friends. The latter
are uniformly like one another, with aristocratic faces, high, open
foreheads, and candid eyes. They move with dignity--expanding their
chests, setting down their feet with firmness and assurance, and gazing
from side to side with faintly condescending smiles. They wear white
buttonholes._
[_Following them at a respectful distance come the Man's Enemies. These
also bear a strong general resemblance to one another--their faces
being vicious and cunning, their brows low and beetling, and their
hands slender and apelike. They move as though ill at ease--jostling
one another, hunching their shoulders, hiding behind one another, and
throwing sharp, mean, envious glances about them. They wear yellow
buttonholes._
[_In this manner the procession moves slowly across the salon, without
a word being spoken by any one of its members. The sound of their
footsteps, combined with the strains of the musicians and the
acclamations of the guests, gives rise to a sort of confused, discordant
din._
~Acclamations of the Guests.~~
There they are! There they are! What an honour for us!
How handsome he is!
What a manly face!
Look, look!
Yet he does not deign us even a glance!
No; although we are his guests!
He has not so much as seen us!
No matter. This is a great honour for us. And there is his Wife! Look,
look!
How lovely she is!
But how proud!
Look at her diamonds, her diamonds!
Her diamonds, her diamonds!
And her pearls, her pearls!
And her rubies, her rubies!
How splendid! We are indeed honoured!
Yes, are we not? What an honour, what an honour!
[_And so on, and so on._]
And there come the Man's Friends!
Look, look!
What aristocratic faces!
And what a haughty bearing!
Yes, for they reflect his glory.
And how attached to him they are!
And what true friends to him!
What an honour to be one of their number! They look at everything as
though it were theirs.
Yes; they are at home here.
What an honour for us! What an honour! [_And so on, and so on._]
And there come the Man's Enemies! Look, look! The Man's Enemies!
They crouch like whipped dogs!
Yes, for the Man has tamed them.
Yes, he has muzzled them.
See how they droop their tails between their legs!
And how they slink along!
And how they jostle one another!
Booh! Booh!
[_General laughter._]
What vulgar faces!
And what greedy looks!
What a cowardly bearing!
What an envious air!
They are afraid to look at us.
Yes. They know that we have a better right than they to be here.
They need frightening a little more.
The Man will thank us for doing it.
Booh! Booh!
[_The Guests receive the Man's Enemies with renewed jeers and laughter,
while the Enemies crowd nervously upon one another, and throw sharp
glances to right and left._]
There! They are going now! They are going now!
Truly an honour of the greatest kind has been done us!
Yes, they are going now!
Booh! Booh!
They have gone! They have gone!
[_The procession disappears through a doorway to the left, and the din
dies down a little. The music plays less loudly than before, and the
dancers spread themselves over the floor again._]
Where have they gone to?
To the great dining-room, I suppose, where supper is to be served.
Then we may take it that we too will be invited presently?
Yes. Has not a lackey come to summon us?
I think it is high time we were sent for. If supper be served much later
than this, we shall all of us sleep badly.
Yes, I assure you I _always_ sup early.
A late supper lies so heavily on one's stomach!
The music still goes on.
Yes, and so do the dancers. Yet I am surprised that they have not tired
of it.
How rich it is!
How sumptuous!
[_And so on, as before._]
Did you see how many covers were laid for supper?
No. I had barely time to begin counting them before the butler entered
the room and I had to depart.
Surely we have not been forgotten?
My good madam, please remember that (in his own eyes, at least) the
Man is a very great personage, and that we are personages of _small_
account.
No matter. My husband often asserts that it is _we_ who do _the Man_
honour by accepting his invitations--not _the Man_ who does _us_ honour
by according them. We are rich ourselves, for that matter.
And if one should also take into account the reputation of his wife----!
Has any one seen a footman, sent to summon us to supper? Perhaps he is
looking for us in one of the other rooms?
How rich the Man must be!
Yet wealth may be acquired without dipping one's hands into other
people's pockets.
Hush! Only the Man's Enemies say that.
Indeed? And do they not comprise among their number men of the highest
honour? My husband is one of them.
How late it is getting!
I think there must have been some misunderstanding here. I can scarcely
suppose that we have _purposely_ been forgotten.
Well, if you cannot suppose that, I must say that your knowledge of life
and men is grossly deficient.
I am surprised. We ourselves are rich, but----
Hark! I think I heard some one call us.
'Twas only your fancy. _No one_ has called us.
I feel it my bounden duty to remark that I cannot conceive how we ever
came to permit ourselves to patronize a house which possesses such
a dubious reputation. Of a surety we ought to pick and choose our
acquaintances more carefully.
[_Enter a footman, who cries aloud: "The Man and his Wife request the
honour of their guests' company at supper." Upon this the Guests resume
their conversation with a sigh of relief._]
What a splendid livery!
So the Man _has_ invited us, after all!
I knew it was only a misunderstanding.
The Man is _so_ goodhearted! In all probability he and his party
themselves have not yet sat down to supper.
I _told_ you a lackey would be sent to summon us.
What a magnificent livery he wore!
They say the supper is equally magnificent.
Oh, nothing is ever badly done in the Man's house.
What music! What an honour to be one of the guests at a ball given by
the Man!
How persons must envy us who have not been accorded that honour!
How rich it all is!
How sumptuous!
[_Repeating these ejaculations over and over again, the Guests begin to
depart. Only one couple of dancers continue dancing; the rest follow
the Guests in silence. For a little while the last couple continue their
diversion; then they hasten to overtake their companions. Nevertheless
the musicians play with unabated vigour._
[_Presently a footman enters, and extinguishes all the lights save the
furthest lustre. For a few moments afterwards the forms of the musicians
are still distinguishable through the gloom as they sway themselves and
their instruments to the music; but eventually nothing remains visible
save the tall figure of the Being in Grey. The flame of the candle in
his hand is now flickering heavily, yet its light remains strong and
yellow, and throws the strong face and chin of the Being into sharp
relief. Presently, without raising his head, he makes a slight turn
towards the audience. Then, lit up by the glare of the candle's rays,
he crosses the salon with slow and soundless footsteps, and disappears
through the doorway by which the Guests and the dancers have made their
exit._]
CURTAIN