Chapter II: Act I: Scene I

_A luxurious, newly decorated hall in an ancient feudal
castle. The walls are adorned with frescoes and hung with
paintings blackened with age. Here and there are weapons and
statues. The whole room, though brilliant with gold and with
bright-coloured mosaics, is delicately tinted by light falling
through coloured glass. At the left and in the rear are three
semi-Gothic windows half concealed by heavy, gold-embroidered
curtains. The rear wall, turning back at a right angle at the
centre of the stage, recedes to a row of paired columns which
support the upper part of the building. Behind these columns is
a spacious, brightly illuminated entrance-hall. Massive double
entrance-doors are seen at the right. Directly in front of the
spectator, at the point where the rear wall begins to recede,
a broad marble staircase with a massive sculptured balustrade
ascends to the height of the columns, then, turning to the
right, leads to other apartments. The wall above the columns
is pierced by several small windows of coloured glass through
which comes a peculiar and brilliant light._

_The final, hasty preparations are going on for a masquerade
ball. The room is flooded with light from many chandeliers and
from strikingly beautiful candelabra and sconces. Several
servants in rich but uniform livery hurry from place to place,
lighting fresh candles or moving back the heavy armchairs to
give room for the dancers. Every now and then certain of them,
as if recalling something left undone, rush up-stairs or to the
entry doors, the firm, business-like voice of the overseer,
SIGNOR PETRUCCIO, redoubling their haste and their emulation.
Both the overseer and the servants are in high spirits, and the
latter, as they come and go, exchange lively jests and quick,
fleeting smiles. The gayest of all, however, is young LORENZO,
the reigning Duke of Spadaro. Well formed, refined of feature,
a little languid in manner, but courteous and kindly toward
every one, he lightly moves about the hall, all aglow with the
joy of anticipation, giving orders, jesting, and urging on the
servants, now with cheering words and now with gestures of
feigned anger. As he goes he casts happy smiles upon his young
wife, the beautiful DONNA FRANCESCA, who responds with tender
and loving glances. Several ladies and gentlemen, forming
the suite of the Duke and Duchess, are also busily engaged,
some, like the young Duke, joyfully and eagerly preparing for
the reception of the expected guests, others, under cover of
the happy confusion, exchanging fond glances, slyly pressing
one another’s hands, and whispering boldly and quickly into
blushing ears. In an upper room somewhere musicians are making
ready for the ball, and fragments of musical airs are heard.
Suddenly some one begins to sing in a rich baritone, but the
song quickly passes over into laughter. Apparently, it is jolly
there, too._

_On a rug before a blazing fire the Duke’s dog, a huge Saint
Bernard, dozes in an attitude of luxurious abandon. Seated near
the foot of the stairway, ECCO, the Duke’s jester, imitates
the Duke’s voice and by his orders causes laughable confusion._

PETRUCCIO. Keep up that speed a little longer, Mario, and you’ll be your own grandfather. Hurry, man, hurry!

MARIO. Why, Signor Petruccio, the Duke’s best horse doesn’t get over the ground as fast as I do.

A SERVANT. When the flies sting.

ANOTHER SERVANT. Or the whip flicks.

PETRUCCIO. Come! lively, there, lively!

LORENZO. This way! More candles here! Don’t you see how dark this corner is? No darkness, Signor Petruccio, no darkness!

A GENTLEMAN. [_To a lady_] There! They have driven us out of our last refuge. But I shall kiss you yet.

THE LADY. In the dark it will be hard to find me.

THE GENTLEMAN. In the dark I shall spread my arms wide and embrace the whole night.

ANOTHER GENTLEMAN. You will make a rich haul, Signor Silvio.

ECCO. [_Calling out_] Mario! Carlo! Pietro! Quick! Hold a candle under this gentleman’s nose. The darkness frightens him out of his wits.

FRANCESCA. [_To the Duke, affectionately_] My dear! my love! my divinity! How charming your new costume is! You are like a shaft of sunlight flung through the lofty window of our cathedral. Your divine beauty fills me with adoration.

LORENZO. You are a delicate blossom, Francesca. You are a delicate blossom, and the sun, when it kisses you, is overbold. [_He kisses her hand with profound respect and tenderness, but suddenly, in mock terror, calls to the overseer_] But the tower, Petruccio, the tower! If you have forgotten to illuminate the tower I will have you impaled like an unbaptised Turk.

PETRUCCIO. The tower is illuminated, sir.

LORENZO. Illuminated? How dare you say so? It should blaze, it should sparkle, it should rise toward the dark heavens like a huge tongue of fire.

ECCO. Tut! Tut! Lorenzo. Don’t show your tongue to heaven or heaven will answer you with a fig.

LORENZO. My dear little fellow, you mustn’t annoy me with your jokes. I am looking forward to a feast of light, and your barbed shafts wound me to the soul. No darkness, Ecco, no darkness!

ECCO. Then you must light up your wife’s tresses. They are too dark, Lorenzo, too dark. And put a torch in each of her eyes. They are too dark, Lorenzo, too dark.

FRANCESCA. Wretch! Here are so many beautiful ladies—can’t one of you win the affections of this miserable jester?

FIRST LADY. He’s a hunchback.

SECOND LADY. If he should try to kiss me, his nose would prick me like a sword.

GENTLEMAN. Your heart, madam, would turn the edge of any sword.

_Enter a gentleman, tall and thin as a pole, the image of Don
Quixote. His moustaches droop and seem to be continually wet.
He turns gloomily to the Duke._

CRISTOFORO. I have a shocking piece of news to impart to you, Signor.

LORENZO. What is it? You alarm me, Signor Cristoforo.

CRISTOFORO. I have reason to believe, sir, that we shall run short of both Cyprian and Falernian. These gentlemen [_pointing with his forefinger to the Duke’s attendants_] drink wine as camels in the desert drink water.

ONE OF THE SUITE. Signor Cristoforo, why are your moustaches always wet?

CRISTOFORO. [_With dignity_] It is my duty, sir, to test all the wines.

LORENZO. [_Cheerfully_] My good friend, you exaggerate the danger. Our cellars are inexhaustible.

CRISTOFORO. [_Insistently_] They drink wine like camels. Your happy mood pleases me, Signor, but you take things too light-heartedly. When your sainted father and I set out to deliver the Holy Sepulchre——

LORENZO. [_Gently reproaching him_] My dear old friend, you surely are not going to spoil, with your mumbling and grumbling, this delightful evening.

CRISTOFORO. [_Good-naturedly_] Well, well, my boy, don’t be angry. [_Threateningly_] Ho, there! Manucci! Filippo! After me!

[_Exit._

LORENZO. But the roadway, Signor Petruccio! Heaven punish you! The roadway! You have forgotten to illuminate the roadway, and our friends will not be able to find us.

PETRUCCIO. The roadway is illuminated, Signor.

LORENZO. Illuminated? Your tongue is like a jaded nag. When the spurs prick its flanks it can only switch its tail. The whole road must sparkle. It must blaze with lights like the road to paradise. Understand me, Sir Overseer. The shades of the cypresses should flee in terror to the mountains where sleep the dragons. Do you lack torches and helpers? Do you lack kegs of pitch?

ECCO. If pitch is lacking, Petruccio, you had better go borrow it in hell. Satan will lend it to you on your personal security.

ONE OF THE SERVANTS. He would have fetched some thence before this but that he feared there would not be enough left to keep him warm.

SECOND SERVANT. Signor Petruccio is so chilly.

PETRUCCIO. Lively, there, lively!

FRANCESCA. [_To the Duke_] You forget me, Lorenzo. Though you light up everything, yet I, unless you smile upon me, am left in darkness. Do the masks interest you so much?

LORENZO. So much, my dear, that I am dying with impatience. There will be flowers and serpents, Francesca. There will be flowers, and serpents among the flowers. There will be a dragon, Francesca. A dragon will come crawling to us, Francesca, and you will see real fire issuing from his jaws. It will be great fun. But don’t be afraid. It’s all in jest. It’s all just our friends, and we shall have a glorious laugh over it. Why don’t they come?

A SERVANT. [_Hurrying in_] I was watching from the tower, and I saw something moving along the road, Signor. It looks like a black serpent crawling among the cypresses.

LORENZO. [_Joyfully_] They’re coming. They’re coming.

ANOTHER SERVANT. [_Running in_] I was watching from the tower, and I saw a dragon crawling toward us. I saw red fire gleaming from its eyes, and I was frightened, Signor.

LORENZO. [_Joyfully_] They’re coming. They’re coming. Do you hear, Petruccio?

PETRUCCIO. Everything is ready, Signor.

THIRD SERVANT. [_Running in_] There is shouting and commotion at the drawbridge, Signor. They are demanding admittance. I heard the clash of weapons, sir.

LORENZO. [_Angrily_] What! The drawbridge not down? Is that the way to receive my guests, Petruccio? To-morrow I discharge you, if you——

PETRUCCIO. Pardon me, sir. I will run. [_Runs out._

LORENZO. They have come! Smile, Francesca! They have come!

ECCO. [_Laughs very loudly_] Yes, let’s laugh, Lorenzo. We must limber up our jaws. [_Yawns._

LORENZO. But the musicians! Good Heavens! Where are the musicians? Has that dunce forgotten all my directions?

FRANCESCA. Don’t be angry, my dear. The musicians are in readiness.

LORENZO. But why are they not here?

FRANCESCA. See, now, my love, you compel me to let out the secret. They intended to surprise you. The musicians also are to appear in masks.

LORENZO. And I shall not recognise them? Oh, that is charming! And who planned this surprise? Ah, it was you, it was you, Signora. I can read it in your sly, smiling eyes. But the music! Surely they have not forgotten to learn the piece I composed for them. Oh, this fat rascal of a Petruccio! I shall certainly have to impale him.

ECCO. How indiscreet of you, Lorenzo! Petruccio will steal the stake and run away with it.

LORENZO. Oh! Now I think of it, Ecco, just a word with you before they come. My dear fellow, you may mock me as much as you please; I understand your humour and I like it. But don’t, I beg of you, offend my guests. You must not be malicious, Ecco, even in sport. You have a tender heart, my little hunchback, and you are not ill-natured. Why, then, do you sting people with your jests? Laugh. Entertain my guests. Make yourself agreeable to the ladies—and here you may go far—but do not irritate any one. To-day is my day, Ecco.

A SERVANT. [_Flinging open the doors_] They are at the door, Signor.

LORENZO. I’m coming. I’m coming. Call the musicians!

_Commotion in the hall. Several MASKERS appear. The costumes
are such as are common at masquerades—harlequins, pierrots,
Saracens, Turkish men and women, and animals and flowers. But
all the faces are concealed under heavy, closely fitting masks.
The MASKERS enter in profound silence and respond to the Duke’s
courteous greetings with silent bows._

LORENZO. [_Bowing low and courteously_] I thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I am happy to greet you in my castle. Pardon the carelessness of my overseer in failing to lower the drawbridge and thus causing you some delay. I am greatly mortified, ladies and gentlemen.

A MASKER. [_In a muffled voice_] We arrived just the same. We got in, did we not, gentlemen?

SECOND MASKER. We got in.

THIRD MASKER. We got in.

_Strange, muffled laughter from behind the heavy masks._

LORENZO. I am delighted to find you in such good spirits, ladies and gentlemen. From this moment my castle is yours.

A MASKER. Yes, it is ours. It is ours.

_The same strange, muffled laughter._

LORENZO. [_Looking about gaily_] But I do not recognise any one. It is amazing, gentlemen, but I do not recognise a single soul. Is this you, Signor Basilio? It seems to me that I recognise your voice.

A VOICE. Signor Basilio is not here.

ANOTHER VOICE. Signor Basilio is not here. Signor Basilio is dead.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] That’s a good joke. Signor Basilio dead? Why, he is as much alive as I am.

A MASKER. Are you, then, alive?

LORENZO. [_Impatiently, but with great courtesy_] Let us leave Death in peace, gentlemen.

A VOICE. Ask Death to leave you in peace. What need of peace has he?

LORENZO. Who said that? Was it you, Signor Sandro? [_Laughing_] I recognise you, sir, by your melancholy. But cheer up, my gloomy friend. See how many lights there are, how many beautiful, living lights.

A MASKER. Signor Sandro is not here. Signor Sandro is dead.

_The same strange, muffled laughter. Other MASKERS arrive._

LORENZO. Yes, yes. Now I understand. [_Laughing_] All of us are dead. Signor Basilio is dead; Signor Sandro is dead; I am dead. Excellent! I congratulate you, gentlemen, on your extremely interesting jest. Still, I should like to know who you are— Ah, here come others! Greetings, my dear guests— What a strange costume! Why are you all in red, and what is the meaning of this hideous black snake that is twined about you? I trust it is not alive, Signora. If it were I should pity your poor heart into which it has so ruthlessly struck its fangs.

THE RED MASKER. [_With a muffled laugh_] Do you not recognise me, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Joyously_] Is it you, Signora Emilia? But no, Signora Emilia is not so tall as you, and her voice is fuller and softer.

THE RED MASKER. I am your heart, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. Exquisite! I am sincerely delighted, my friends, that I invited you for this evening. You are so witty. However, you mistake, madam. This is not my heart. There is no serpent in my heart.

ANOTHER MASKER. Is not this your heart, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Starting back, but controlling himself_] You frighten me, sir, coming so unexpectedly from behind. What? This hairy black spider; this repulsive monster on thin, wavering legs; those dull, greedy, cruel eyes—this my heart? No, Signor, my heart is full of love and welcome. Within my heart all is as radiant as is this castle, which greets you so joyously, my strange guests.

THE SPIDER. Lorenzo, Lorenzo, let us go and catch flies. In a spider-web in the tower yonder something has long been entangled and awaits you. Let us go, Lorenzo. Would you not like some fresh blood?

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] In my castle there is no spider-web. In my tower there is none of that darkness which is necessary to such loathsome creatures as you, my strange guest. But who are you?

THE RED MASKER. Lorenzo, the serpent is restless. It is trying to sting me, Lorenzo. Oh, the pain, the terror of it! Stroke its head, Lorenzo. It has such a beautiful, smooth head, and you see it is not alive. Soothe it, Lorenzo.

_Muffled laughter._

LORENZO. [_Falling in with the jest and cautiously stroking the serpent_] When the devil tempts he takes the form of a serpent. But you, of course, are not the devil. You are only a mock serpent, only a mock serpent. [_Hastily_] But, gentlemen, is it not time to dance? The musicians, I presume, have long been waiting impatiently. Petruccio!

A MASKER. [_Approaching him_] What does your Grace command?

LORENZO. Pardon me, sir. I did not call to you. I was summoning my overseer. Petruccio!

THE MASKER. I am Petruccio.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Oh, so it is you, you fat old rascal. You, too, have taken a notion to join the sport. And I didn’t recognise you. Well, that is very neat. Come, now, tell me— But where are you? Petruccio! Petruccio! Really, I shall have to impale this fat rascal. Hello, there, somebody! Manucci! Pietro!

FIRST MASKER. Did you call me, sir?

SECOND MASKER. Did you call me, sir?

LORENZO. [_Perplexed_] No, I did not call you. [_Grasping the situation and laughing_] Ah, yes, I see. My good fellows, how dare you mingle with the guests?

FIRST MASKER. They told us to.

SECOND MASKER. They told us to.

LORENZO. [_Good-humouredly clapping one of the MASKERS on the shoulder_] Quite right. I was only fooling. Let us all be merry on this glorious night—But isn’t it odd that I do not recognise any one—positively not a soul—? Why, I’ve lost my servants again. Mario! Pietro—! Now, really, Signor, isn’t that strange? I have lost all my servants.

A MASKER. [_Turning to the others_] Gentlemen, Lorenzo has mislaid his servants.

_Loud laughter, the MASKERS bowing with mock courtesy._

A VOICE. But where is your suite, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Looking about and smiling_] I see nothing but masks. Here’s an interesting situation, gentlemen. Mine being the only real face, I am the only person about whom there can be no mistake.

_Renewed laughter._

A VOICE. We are now your suite, Lorenzo.

SECOND VOICE. We are now your suite, Duke. What are your instructions?

_Laughter._

LORENZO. [_Very affably, but with dignity_] It is delightful, gentlemen, to find you in such merry vein. I am overjoyed at your charming jest. But I should be deeply offended if you really took my servants’ place— Mario!

_Other MASKERS come up. On most of them the tight-fitting
masks are replaced by painted faces. The women, however, as
before, wear masks of coloured silk. The painted faces of the
newcomers are hideous and revolting. Among them are corpses,
cripples, and deformed persons. A grey, helpless creature with
long legs moves about, frequently coughing and groaning. Seven
humpbacked, wrinkled old women run in, in Indian file, capering
joyfully and beating castanets._

LORENZO. [_Bowing courteously_] I have pleasure, my dear guests, in welcoming you to my castle. From this moment it is entirely at your service. Ah, what a charming procession! Tell me, my beauties, where is your bridegroom, the devil?

FIRST OLD WOMAN. [_Running up to LORENZO_] He is at our heels.

SECOND OLD WOMAN. [_Running up to LORENZO_] He is at our heels.

THE TALL GREY CREATURE. [_Bending down to the Duke and coughing_] Why did you call me from my bed, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Lightly_] And where is your bed, Signor?

THE TALL GREY CREATURE. In your heart, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Cheerfully_] How they do slander my poor heart! I am pleased to— [_Staggering back_] What an amazing disguise, Signor! I actually took you for a corpse. Pray tell me the name of the talented artist who so skilfully altered your features.

THE MASKER. Death.

LORENZO. Capital! But if you will permit me to say so, my dear guest, I am sure I recognise in your make-up the beloved features of my friend, Signor Sandro di Grada. Heavens, but you frightened me, my dear fellow! These masks, these curious masks! Do you know, I can’t make out at all who they are. Perhaps you can help me, Signor.

THE MASKER. It is dark, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. But I ordered an abundance of lights. We will have more of them. Petruccio! Petruccio!

THE MASKER. It is cold, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. Cold? Why, to me it seems as hot here as hell itself. However, if you are cold, my dear Sandro, pray come to the fire. Have a goblet of wine. Ho, there, Petruccio! Lazybones!

_Several MASKERS, alike in appearance, run up at the same time
and answer almost in one voice._

THE MASKERS. At your service, Signor.

LORENZO. [_Not understanding_] Petruccio!

THE MASKERS. [_Together_] At your service, Signor. At your service.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Ah, I see! A moment ago I lost my servants, and now I have lost my overseer. [_In comic terror_] But here is Signor Sandro come shivering from his grave. Who will give him wine? Pardon me, Signor— Why, he is already gone! Poor fellow! He wants to warm himself. How tired I am! I should like a drop of wine myself. Signor Cristoforo! Has no one seen Signor Cristoforo?

_A tall, thin MASKER approaches._

THE MASKER. Your orders, sir?

LORENZO. Is that you, my honest friend? I recognise you by your stature. Bring me some wine. This receiving of my guests has wearied me.

THE MASKER. Something is wrong with our wine, Lorenzo. It has turned as red as Satan’s blood, and it crazes the brain like the poison of a serpent. Do not drink it, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] What could happen to our fine old wine? You have tasted too much of it and your head is muddled.

THE MASKER. [_Insistently_] I have already seen several drunken guests, Lorenzo. If it is honest wine, why should they be drunk?

LORENZO. Wine, you babbler, wine! [_Drinks the wine, but at the first draught throws away the goblet_] What is this you have given me? It seems as if the fires of hell were licking my throat and burning their way to my very heart. Cristoforo—! Where is he? Pardon me, gentlemen, but really something incomprehensible has happened to our wine— Ah, more maskers! I am glad to greet you in my castle, my dear guests.

_While LORENZO, weariedly bowing ever lower, greets the strange
MASKERS that are coming in, a subdued hum of conversation fills
the hall._

FIRST MASKER. Whence do you come, Signor?

SECOND MASKER. From the night. And you, Signor, if you please?

FIRST MASKER. I also am from the night.

_They laugh. Two other MASKERS converse._

FIRST MASKER. He has drunk all my blood. There is not one healthy, living spot left on my body. It is covered with blood and wounds.

SECOND MASKER. He kills those whom he loves.

FIRST MASKER. You know, of course, what is to happen to-day.

_They move away. Other MASKERS converse._

VARIOUS MASKERS:

—It was idle for Lorenzo to light up his castle so brilliantly. Did you notice as we rode along that something was moving in the shadows of the cypresses?

—I saw nothing but darkness.

—But are you not afraid of darkness?

—Why, I do not think there is anything in it for us to be afraid of. What can the darkness do to us? But are you not sorry for this insane Lorenzo?

—I don’t know. Something, I assure you, was moving there.

—See how happy Lorenzo is. Isn’t it delightful to have such a cheerful and nimble servant?

_They laugh. The masked musicians take their places in the
balcony. ECCO moves about among the legs of the dancers,
trying to peer under their masks and arousing laughter by his
unsuccessful attempts._

ECCO. Are you not from the swamps, Signor? It seems to me you are very like the ague which for two months shook me as a dog shakes a rabbit.

_The TALL GREY CREATURE strikes a careless blow and ECCO falls._

ECCO. That’s a strange sort of joke! Here am I, the jester, on the verge of tears, while you, at whom I should laugh, are smiling. Oh! who pinched me? Was it you, Signora?

A BEAUTIFUL MASKER. Yes, it was I, Ecco.

ECCO. I observe, Signora, that a hump on the breast deforms a character no less than a hump on the back.

_The BEAUTIFUL MASKER swiftly and silently strikes the jester
a blow with her dagger. The glittering edge glides across his
neck and the jester runs whimpering up the staircase and thence
clambers out onto one of the marble projections. Laughter._

_The musicians begin a wild melody in which are heard malicious
laughter, cries of agony and despair, and some one’s low, sad
plaining. The dance of the MASKERS is also strange and wild._

LORENZO. I am glad that you are merry, my friends. Though for my part I am a little weary— But what sort of music is this? Heavens! how wild it is and how it pierces one’s ears. Luigi, are you drunk or crazy? What are you playing there with your band of disguised brigands. Pardon me, my dear guests, this donkey Petruccio has spoiled everything.

A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. We are playing what you gave us, sir.

LORENZO. [_Nettled_] You lie, Luigi. Lorenzo could not compose such a hellish discord. I hear in it the wails of martyrs under merciless torture. I hear in it the laughter of Satan.

THE OLD WOMEN. [_Running up with castanets_] The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming.

LORENZO. Pardon me, my charming jesters, but I must first admonish this bold-faced rascal, Luigi.

A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. Luigi is not here, Signor.

LORENZO. Then who is speaking? Is that you, Stampa?

THE MASKER. No, it is another. We are playing only what you gave us, Signor.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Ah, I see. The tones are masked. Capital! Do you hear, ladies and gentlemen? To-day the very tones are masked. Really, I was not aware that tones could put on such repulsive masks. Isn’t it droll?

A VOICE. And you had never learned that, Lorenzo? How little you know.

ANOTHER VOICE. It’s certainly your own music, Duke.

A THIRD VOICE. But where are you yourself, Lorenzo?

_Laughter. The music continues. The old women with the
castanets run forward._

THE OLD WOMEN. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom. The bridegroom is coming.

LORENZO. [_Bowing low_] I crave your pardon, my dear sir, for not greeting you as I should, but there are so many persons here and I recognise no one of them—positively not one. Just conceive of it—I do not even recognise my own music. It’s extremely amusing, isn’t it?

A MASKER. But do you recognise yourself, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. Myself? [_Laughing_] To be sure. You see that I wear no mask— But what is this?

_A strange procession moves slowly past the Duke. A young,
proud, and beautiful queen is led in by a half-drunken groom,
who embraces her. Before them walks a peasant nurse carrying in
her arms a misshapen infant, half animal, half man._

LORENZO. [_In great agitation_] What is the meaning of this, Signors? Even under the disguise of masks such a union seems to me unseemly and repulsive. And what is this that is borne before them? What a disgusting mask!

A MASKER. The groom had intercourse with the queen and this is their charming son. Make way for the queen’s son!

THE GROOM. [_Drunkenly_] Hey there! Knights! Crusaders! Out of the way! Drive them off, my queen, or they will harm our precious son.

_Laughter._

VOICES. Way for the queen’s son!

LORENZO. [_Turning away much agitated_] I am not at all pleased with this jest, Signors— Hello, Ecco, you rascally jester, why have you climbed up there? Why are you not entertaining the company with your pleasantries?

ECCO. [_Weeping_] I am afraid of your guests, Lorenzo. They have hurt me. Send them away, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_With rising anger_] Who has dared to affront you? It cannot be. My honoured guests are too kind and courteous to injure any one. It is more likely that you, you rascal, having given offence by your malicious wit, are now shielding yourself from punishment.

ECCO. [_Weeping_] Your guests are fine people, Lorenzo. My hump is swimming in blood. It is like a hilly island in the sea. Haven’t you a little costume for me, Lorenzo? I, too, wish to put on a mask.

LORENZO. Come here.

_The jester, glancing about timorously, comes down to LORENZO._

ECCO. What do you wish? Speak quickly or I will run away. I am all in a tremble.

LORENZO. I also am somewhat fearful, my dear Ecco. I don’t quite understand what is going on. Who are these persons? I don’t recognise one of them, and I think there are more than I invited. It’s strange. Can’t you recognise anybody, Ecco? Their faces, to be sure, are covered, but you are so good at recalling their bearing, voice, and figure. You, perhaps, have recognised some one.

ECCO. Not a soul. Let me go, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Sadly_] Do you, then, desert me, my dear Ecco?

ECCO. I am going to put on a mask.

LORENZO. Very well, my little hunchback. Go, if you are frightened. But send Donna Francesca to me. Do you know where she is?

ECCO. She is up-stairs. Send them away, Lorenzo. I will run to summon her. [_He goes up-stairs._

LORENZO. [_Addressing a newly arrived and very beautiful MASKER_] Greetings, Signora. You are as entrancing as a vision. You are as delicate as a silvery moonbeam, and I reverently bend my knee before you. [_He sinks on one knee and respectfully kisses her hand, then rises_] I see only the graceful outline of your figure and your little foot, but permit me, my divinity, to be so bold as to look into your eyes. How they shine! Even through the meshes of this black and hateful mask I see how beautiful they are. Who are you, Signora? I do not know you.

THE MASKER. I am your falsehoods, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Can a lie, then, be as beautiful as you are, Signora? But you mistake. There are no lies in me. I hate a lie, my lady. If you knew Lorenzo’s thoughts, his clear, pure thoughts—if you knew his soul, which sings in the heavens as the lark sings in spring above the flooding Arno— [_Frightened_] Ah, what’s this?

_Something formless and shapeless, with many arms and legs,
creeps up. It speaks with many voices._

THE THING. We are your thoughts, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. A bold jest! Still, you are my guests. I invited you——

THE THING. We are your overlords, Lorenzo. This castle is ours.

LORENZO. [_Clasping his head_] Oh, this horrible music! It is enough to drive one mad. Luigi, or somebody there—I do not recognise any one—I beg of you, I command you—play what I gave you. Unmask the tones. Don’t you remember how beautiful the melody was that I composed? A little sad it was, gentlemen, I confess. In truth, I often yield myself to a tender and languorous melancholy. But it was so full of harmony, so pure, so pellucid. If, perchance, you have forgotten it, Luigi, listen—I will recall it to you. [_He begins singing a lovely melody. After the first two measures, however, he takes up the air that the musicians are playing and breaks off in alarm_] How absurd! You put me out, gentlemen. My head is somewhat dizzy. Really, something was wrong with the wine. How absurd, gentlemen! My brain seems to have turned to melted lead.

_Loud laughter._

A VOICE. Why did you break off, Lorenzo?

SECOND VOICE. Lorenzo is drunk. Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, is drunk.

_Laughter._

SECOND VOICE. We were ready to hear you, Lorenzo; we know what a great artist you are.

THIRD VOICE. Sing, Lorenzo; we insist.

LORENZO. [_With dignity_] My friends— [_Frightened_] Ah, who are you? Who touches me on the shoulder? Madam, the guests are all assembled, and you are an intruder. I do not know you.

A BEAUTIFUL MASKER. It is I, my love.

LORENZO. Pardon me, madam, but only my wife, Donna Francesca, may address me thus.

THE MASKER. [_Laughing softly_] Do you not know me, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. Something about you, my charming masker, reminds me of my wife. But this black mask— Permit me to look into your eyes. Out of a million women I should know my beloved by her eyes. [_He gazes into her eyes, then laughs joyfully_] Francesca, my love, how you frightened me! Why are you masked? You know— [_He leads her to one side and, pressing her tightly to him, speaks almost in a whisper_] My dear, I am so weary, and my heart pains me as if a serpent were stinging it. My thoughts are in confusion. You have seen that frightful monster—look! Over yonder! It’s in the corner now. It says it is my thoughts. But, Francesca, my dear, my beloved, that is not true, is it?

THE MASKER. It is only a mask, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Doubtfully_] Do you really think so, Signora? And will they go, and shall we be left alone?

THE MASKER. Yes, we shall be left alone. [_Passionately_] And I shall hold you so tightly, Lorenzo, that you will think I have never embraced you before.

LORENZO. [_Absently_] Yes? I am very happy, my lady— But these masks—this horrible Signor Sandro is painted so like a corpse as to deceive any grave-digger. It seemed to me that I saw worms. I would not put on so frightful, so revolting a mask even in jest.

THE MASKER. [_Frightened_] Signor Sandro? Why, Signor Sandro is really dead. My dear, you have made a mistake.

LORENZO. [_Slowly_] Why do you mock at me, Francesca? If he were dead I should have had notice of his death.

THE MASKER. And so you did, Lorenzo. You have forgotten, and you are weary. Your hands are cold. I must kiss your hand, my love, even though they are watching us.

_She kisses his hand. Another beautiful MASKER approaches from
behind and speaks in a loud voice._

THE SECOND MASKER. Lorenzo, did you send for me?

LORENZO. [_Horrified_] Francesca’s voice!

THE SECOND MASKER. Ecco said that you wished to see me.

LORENZO. Ecco? [_Slowly pushing away the MASKER whom he had embraced and looking at her in horror_] But who are you, Signora? And how dared you deceive me? I have done you honour—I have embraced you. [_He pushes her away gently_] Leave me.

THE FIRST MASKER. [_Wringing her hands_] Lorenzo! Lorenzo! Would you drive me away? What ails you, Lorenzo?

THE SECOND MASKER. [_Impatiently_] Did you send for me, Lorenzo? Who is this lady who presumes to speak to you so affectionately?

LORENZO. Francesca! Francesca! [_In perplexity he looks now at one and now at the other. Approaching the SECOND MASKER and knitting his brows in an expression of horrified inquiry, he gazes into her eyes_] Your eyes, your eyes—show me your eyes. Yes, it is you, Francesca. It is your soft and tender gaze. It is your beautiful soul. Give me your hand. [_To the FIRST MASKER, with contempt_] And you, madam, leave me.

THE SECOND MASKER. [_Pressing close to the Duke_] Lorenzo, your maskers frighten me. Our castle is overrun with monsters. I saw Signor Sandro. He is horrible.

LORENZO. [_Clasping his head_] Signor Sandro? Why, he is dead. You told me so yourself.

_A third equally beautiful MASKER approaches from behind and
speaks in a loud voice._

THE THIRD MASKER. Lorenzo, my dear, did you send for me? Ecco said that you wished to see me. Who is this lady with you? And what is the meaning of this unseemly familiarity, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Stepping back with a laugh in which is heard a note of insanity_] What a capital joke, madam, what a delicious farce! Now it is my wife who is lost. Laugh, my dear guests. I had a wife. They called her Donna Francesca, and I have lost her. What a strange jest!

THE THREE MASKERS. [_Together_] Lorenzo, my beloved!

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] Do you hear, gentlemen?

_General unrestrained laughter._

VOICES. Lorenzo has lost his wife. Weep, gentlemen. Lorenzo has lost his wife. Give Lorenzo another wife.

_On all sides are heard plaintive female voices_: “Here I
am, Lorenzo. Here I am, Lorenzo. Take your Francesca.” _From
somewhere comes a single terrified voice_: “Save me, Lorenzo, I
am here.” _Loud laughter. The seven old women, with the air of
coy and embarrassed brides, seem about to throw themselves on
LORENZO’S neck._

VOICE. We will give Lorenzo a wife. Gentlemen, Duke Lorenzo is now contracting a new marriage. The wedding march, musicians!

_The MUSICIANS play wild strains remotely resembling wedding
music, but the music is that which is played in hell at the
masquerade wedding of Satan. The RED MASKER with the serpent
approaches LORENZO._

THE RED MASKER. Do you recognise your heart now, Lorenzo? [_Plaintively_] Caress the poor serpent, caress the poor serpent. It has drunk all my blood.

THE SPIDER. Now do you recognise your heart, Lorenzo? Let us go up into the tower, my friend. Something is entangled in the spider-web there and waits for you. But is your sword sharp, Lorenzo? Is your sword sharp?

LORENZO. Hence, hence! Brood of darkness, I know you not. [_Running a few steps up the staircase, and raised thus alone above the throng of MASKERS, he tries to cry out, but suddenly presses his hand to his heart, and, smiling sadly, comes down again, the same winning, candid, noble, and handsome figure as before_] Pardon me, my dear friends, for my touch of ill-humour. These choice jests, these adroit tricks of yours have just a little dashed my spirits— And I have lost my wife— Her name was Donna Francesca. Permit me now—since the hour of departure draws nigh—permit me to call your attention to some real music—not the hideous discords with which this disguised brigand of a Luigi has, in his desire to contribute to the general gaiety, so tortured our ears, but some music of my own. I am a very poor composer, gentlemen. It is rare that these earthly ears of mine are ravished by celestial melodies. But you will not criticise me too harshly. In the virgin purity of the tones you will find a restful calmness and the reflection of some one’s heavenly vision— And I have lost my wife, gentlemen, I have lost my wife. Her name was Donna Francesca.

THE MASKERS. We are waiting for your music, Lorenzo. All the world knows the enchanting music of Duke Lorenzo. But the hour of departure is still remote.

LORENZO. I am at your service, my dear guests. [_He confers with the MUSICIANS._

_A little before this the first of the BLACK MASKERS has
appeared in the hall—a strange, deformed creature like a living
fragment of darkness. Glancing about timidly and suspiciously,
wondering at everything new, strange, and unfamiliar, the BLACK
MASKER steals guiltily along the wall and awkwardly conceals
itself behind the other MASKERS. Every one whom it approaches
starts back perplexed and alarmed._

A VOICE. Who is this? This is not a masker.

SECOND VOICE. I don’t know. Who invited you, sir?

_The BLACK MASKER makes no answer, but, shrinking into itself,
quietly hides behind the others. Two MASKERS converse._

FIRST MASKER. [_To the other in a low voice_] How many of us were there?

SECOND MASKER. A hundred.

FIRST MASKER. But now there are more. Who is this? Don’t you know?

SECOND MASKER. Not I. But I am afraid to speak of it. It seems that they fly toward the light.

FIRST MASKER. Crazy Lorenzo! He lighted up his castle too brilliantly.

SECOND MASKER. Lights are dangerous in the night.

FIRST MASKER. To those who are abroad?

SECOND MASKER. No, to him who lights them.

LORENZO. My friends, I beg your attention. You see this masked gentleman. His name is Romualdo and he is an admirable singer. He will now render for you a little ballad which I made bold to compose. Have you your notes, Romualdo?

THE MASKED SINGER. I have, sir.

LORENZO. And the words? Consult your notes frequently. In one place, my friend, you often go wrong.

THE MASKED SINGER. I have the words also, sir.

LORENZO. Luigi, you villain, if you make a mistake in a single note I will have you hanged from the castle wall to-morrow.

A MASKER IN THE ORCHESTRA. You will have no occasion to waste rope on me, sir.

LORENZO. Attention, ladies and gentlemen, attention. [_Much excited_] Now, Romualdo, do your best, my friend. Do not disgrace me, and to-morrow I will give you a costly belt.

_The accompaniment begins with a beautiful, soft, and tender
harmony, pure and clear as a cloudless sky or as the eyes of a
child; but with each successive measure which the masked artist
sings the music becomes more fragmentary and more restless and
soon passes over into wild cries and laughter, expressive of
tragical but incoherent emotion. It closes with a solemn and
melancholy hymn._

THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “My soul is an enchanted castle. When the sun shines into the lofty windows, with its golden rays it weaves golden dreams. When the sad moon looks into the misty windows, in its silvery beams are silvery dreams. Who laughs? Who laughs so tenderly at the mournful dirge?”

LORENZO. Right, right, Romualdo.

THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “And I lighted up my castle with lights. What has happened to my soul? The black shadows fled to the hills and returned yet blacker. Who sobs? Who groans so heavily in the black shadows of the cypresses? Who came at my call?”

LORENZO. [_In perplexity_] That is not there, Romualdo. What kind of music is that?

THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “And terror entered my shining castle. What has happened to my soul? The lights go out at the breath of the darkness. Who laughs? Who laughs so horribly at insane Lorenzo? Have pity on me, O Monarch. My soul is filled with terror. O Monarch—O Lord of the World—O Satan!”

THE MASKERS. [_Laughing_] Have pity on him, Satan.

LORENZO. That is false, singer. I, Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, Knight of the Holy Ghost, could never have called Satan the monarch of the world. Give me the notes. My sword shall teach you how to read. [_Snatches the notes and reads with growing horror_] “And my soul is filled with terror, O Lord of the World—O Satan.” That is false. Some one has imitated my handwriting, gentlemen. I never wrote this. I swear by almighty heaven, sirs, I swear by the sacred memory of my mother, I swear by my word of honour as a knight. There is some base deceit here. The words have been altered, gentlemen.

THE MASKERS. We have no need of your oaths, Lorenzo. Go to the church if you want to repent. We are the masters here. Continue, singer.

LORENZO. [_Smiling feebly_] Pardon me, gentlemen, I had for the moment forgotten that for me everything is changed—faces, tones, even words. But who would have thought, my dear guests, that words could assume such revolting masks. Go on with your jest, singer.

THE MASKED SINGER. [_Singing_] “In the black depths of my heart I shall erect a throne to you, O Satan. In the black depths of my thought I shall erect a throne to you, O Satan. Divine, immortal, almighty, from now on and for ever hold sway over the soul of Lorenzo, happy, insane Lorenzo.”

_Applause. Laughter._

VOICES:

—Bravo, Lorenzo! Bravo, bravo!

—Lorenzo is the vassal of Satan.

—We kneel to you, Lorenzo.

—Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, is a vassal of Satan.

—Bravo! Bravo!

LORENZO. [_Crying out_] In God’s name, gentlemen, we are all deceived. This is not my singer. This is not Romualdo but some impostor. Satan has sent him here. Something frightful has happened, gentlemen.

A VOICE. He sang your own song, Lorenzo.

SECOND VOICE. Out of your own mouth he confessed to Satan.

LORENZO. [_Pressing his hand to his heart_] This is a horrible falsehood, gentlemen. Just imagine, my dear guests—how could I, Duke Lorenzo, Knight of the Holy Ghost, son of a crusader——

A VOICE. But did your mother tell you whose son you are, Duke Lorenzo?

_Laughter. LORENZO, extending his arms, tries to say something,
but his words are inaudible. Pressing his hands to his head,
he runs swiftly up the staircase. Cries_: “Way for the queen’s
son!” _Two BLACK MASKERS appear, one after the other._

A VOICE. Who is this? Our numbers increase.

A FRIGHTENED VOICE. Uninvited guests are coming. Uninvited guests are coming.

THIRD VOICE. They fly to the light. Off with your mask, sir. [_He tries to pull the black mask from the face of the stranger and springs back in terror, crying_] They are not masked, gentlemen.

_General confusion. Everything is enveloped in darkness. The
wild music, however, continues, gradually receding._

_Curtain._

SCENE II

_From somewhere in the distance come sounds of music, which,
mingling with the howling and whistling of the wind that rages
about the castle, fill the air with a wild, tremulous melody._

_An ancient library in the castle tower. A low, massive oak
door, partly open, through which steps are seen leading down
and a little beyond other steps leading upward. The heavy
ceiling is vaulted and there are small windows in deep stone
recesses. Here and there on the walls and hanging from the
ceiling are spider-webs. Everywhere are large old books—on the
floor, in heavy, iron-bound chests, and on small wooden stands.
A portion of the wall, hollowed out in niches, is also used to
hold books. Some of the niches are draped with heavy curtains._

_Beside one of the open chests, which is full of papers
yellowed with age, LORENZO is seated on a low stool. Near him,
on a support, stands a wrought-iron lantern which, by reason of
its cross-bars, throws here dark shadows and there bright lines
of light. For some time there is profound silence. All that can
be heard is the far-off music and the rustling of the sheets of
paper as LORENZO turns them over. LORENZO is dressed as at the
ball._

LORENZO. [_Raising his head_] What a frightful wind there is to-day! For three nights now it has been raging and grows steadily more violent. How horribly like the music of my thoughts! These poor thoughts of mine! How like frightened creatures they beat about within this tight box of bone! Once Lorenzo was young, but now, though only a little time has passed—though the sun has encircled the earth but twice—lo, he is old, and the weight of terrible experience, the horrible truth of things human and divine, has bowed his youthful back. Poor Lorenzo! Poor Lorenzo! [_He reads. Breaking off for a moment_] If all that is in these yellowed papers is true, who then is ruler of the world, God or Satan? And who am I that call myself Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro? Oh, the horrible reality of human life! My young soul is smitten with sorrow. [_He reads, then carefully lays aside the sheets and speaks_] So it is true, mother; it is true. I thought, my mother, that you were a saint. I swore by your memory, and my oath was as solemn as if I had sworn upon my knightly sword; and yet you, my saintly mother, were the paramour of a drunken, thieving groom. And my noble father, returning from Palestine to die in his ancestral home, learned of this and pardoned you, and bore the terrible secret with him to his grave. Whose son am I, O my saintly mother—the son of a knight, who gave his life’s blood to the Lord, or the son of a filthy groom, an abominable traitor and thief, who robbed his master at his orisons? Poor Lorenzo! Poor Lorenzo!

_He falls into deep thought. Swift footsteps are heard along
the staircase, and LORENZO rushes into the room, his head
between his hands, in the same attitude in which he left the
hall. He takes his hands from his face, sees the LORENZO who is
seated, and cries out in a frightened voice._

THE SECOND LORENZO. Who is this?

THE FIRST LORENZO. [_Rising in alarm_] Who is this?

_The SECOND LORENZO throws himself upon the other and hurls
the lantern to the floor. The room is now faintly illuminated
by the light from the open door. There is a brief, muffled
struggle and then the two figures separate._

THE SECOND LORENZO. Your jest is overbold, sir. Remove your mask, I command you, else I will remove it for you by force. I gave you my castle but not myself, and by assuming my mask you insult me. There is but one Lorenzo, but one Duke of Spadaro, and that is I. Off with your mask, sir! [_He advances toward the other._

THE FIRST LORENZO. [_In a trembling voice_] If you are only a frightful apparition, I conjure you, in the name of God, vanish. There is but one Lorenzo, but one Duke of Spadaro, and that is I.

THE SECOND LORENZO. [_Wildly_] Off with your mask, sir! I have borne too long with your unseemly jests. My patience is at an end. Either remove your mask or draw your sword. Duke Lorenzo knows how to punish insolence.

THE FIRST LORENZO. In God’s name!

THE SECOND LORENZO. In the devil’s name, you mean, unhappy man. Your sword, sir, your sword, else I shall run you through on the spot like a guilty dog.

THE FIRST LORENZO. In God’s name!

THE SECOND LORENZO. [_Furiously_] Your sword, sir, your sword!

_From the dimly lighted stage comes the whistling and the
clash of meeting rapiers. The two LORENZOS engage each other
savagely, though the FIRST LORENZO is obviously the inferior.
There are brief, muffled exclamations_:

“In God’s name!”

“Off with your mask!”

“You have killed me, Lorenzo.”

_He falls and dies. LORENZO sets his foot upon the corpse
and, wiping his sword, speaks with unexpected sadness and
tenderness._

LORENZO. I am sorry for you, Sir Impostor. Your strength of wrist, your deep breathing, showed me that you were young like myself. But your misfortune, unhappy sir, lay in this, that Duke Lorenzo wearied of laughing at the amiable quips of his guests. You went to an obscure death, young man, the hapless victim of a masquerading joke; but still I pity you, and if I knew where your mother is I would bear to her your parting words. Farewell, Signor.

_He goes out. For some time there is silence. Then all is
veiled in darkness, and the sounds of wild music grow louder
and draw nearer._

_Curtain._

SCENE III

_The ball continues. There seem to be more MASKERS. The hall is
more crowded, and the MASKERS are restless as if the strange,
mysteriously altered wine were having its effect upon the
guests. The music, though it has grown a little languorous, is
as wild as before. A mournful and lovely melody springs up, as
it were accidentally, in the chaos of wild and turbulent cries,
but is immediately overwhelmed and swept away upon the wind
like a withered leaf which, torn from its branch, flutters in
circles before it sinks to rest. Part of the MASKERS continue
to dance, but the greater number, perplexed and restless, move
to and fro, gathering for a moment in groups to interchange
brief, excited remarks. The BLACK MASKERS wander about singly
in the throng. Hairy and black from foot to crown, some
resembling orang-outangs and others those uncouth hairy insects
which in the night-time fly toward the light, they move along
the walls with a guilty, embarrassed, and somewhat absent air
and hide in the corners. But curiosity overcomes their shyness,
and, creeping cautiously about, they examine various objects,
holding them close to their eyes. They touch the white marble
columns with their hairy black fingers. They take in their
hands the costly goblets, only to drop them again, as it were,
helplessly. The MASKERS who arrived before them are manifestly
afraid of them._

VOICES: Where is Lorenzo?

—Where is Lorenzo? We must find Lorenzo. Did no one notice where the Duke went? We must tell him now or it will be too late.

—They fly toward the light.

—It is plain that they are here for the first time. See how they look at everything, with what curiosity they touch things. Who invited them?

—They were not invited. They came of their own accord along the lighted road.

—But perhaps they are some of our friends.

—No, no, they are strangers.

—It is all due to the light in the tower. How dreadful!

—Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo!

—The drawbridge should be raised. Then they cannot enter.

—Call Lorenzo.

_A BLACK MASKER touches, out of curiosity, the sleeve of one of
the other MASKERS, who springs back affrighted._

THE MASKER. What do you wish, sir? I do not know you. Who are you? Who invited you here?

THE BLACK MASKER. I do not know who I am. Some one lighted up the tower, and we came. It’s dark out there and very cold. But who are you? I do not know you, either.

_He tries to embrace the MASKER, but the latter shrinks from
him._

THE MASKER. Keep your hands from me, sir, or I will hew off your fingers.

_The BLACK MASKER moves unsteadily toward the fire burning
on the hearth and sits cross-legged to warm himself. His
fellows join him and in a black ring encircle the fire, which
immediately begins to die out._

FIRST BLACK MASKER. It’s cold, it’s cold.

SECOND BLACK MASKER. It’s cold.

THIRD BLACK MASKER. Is this what they call fire? How beautiful it is! Whose house is this? Why didn’t we come here before?

FIRST BLACK MASKER. Because we were then unborn. The light begat us.

SECOND BLACK MASKER. Why does the fire go out? I love it so, and yet it goes out. Why does the fire go out?

A MASKER. Duke Lorenzo is a traitor. He has played us false. He said the castle was ours. Why, then, did he invite these creatures?

SECOND MASKER. He did not invite them. They came of themselves. But this castle is ours, and we will have the drawbridge raised. Ho! Servants! Servants of the Duke Lorenzo! This way!

_No one comes._

THIRD MASKER. The servants have run away. Call Lorenzo. Call Lorenzo.

THE OLD WOMEN. [_Running up with castanets_] The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming.

VOICES. Lorenzo! Lorenzo! Lorenzo!

_LORENZO appears, smiling, on the staircase. His clothes are
torn. On his bared breast is a large blood-red spot, but he
seems not to be aware of it and bears himself with his former
dignity and with the refinement and reserve of a prince regent._

LORENZO. Kindly pardon me, my friends, for presuming to leave you for a moment. You can’t imagine, my dear guests, what an amusing and diverting trick has been played upon me. I have just met a very clever gentleman who had donned the mask of Duke Lorenzo. You would have been amazed at the striking resemblance. This skilful artist had stolen not only my dress but even my voice and my features. Really, it’s amusing. [_He laughs._

A MASKER. There is blood on you, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Glancing at himself indifferently_] It is not my blood. I think [_rubbing his forehead thoughtfully_], I think I killed that jester. Did you not hear falling bodies, gentlemen?

A MASKER. Duke Lorenzo is a murderer! Whom did you kill, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. Pardon me, gentlemen, but really I do not know whom I did kill. He lies in the tower, and if you like you may take a look at him. He is lying there. But why has the music ceased? And why, my dear guests, are you not dancing?

A MASKER. The music has not ceased, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. Oh, really? I thought it was the wind, merely a violent wind. Dance, my friends. Your unbounded joy delights me. Petruccio! Cristoforo! More wine for my dear guests. [_Sadly_] Ah, to be sure [_he laughs_], I have lost them all—Petruccio, Cristoforo, and Donna Francesca. So my wife was called—Donna Francesca. A charming name, isn’t it? Donna Francesca——

_The number of the BLACK MASKERS increases. One of them mounts
the stairs and addresses himself to the Duke._

THE BLACK MASKER. Did you kindle the light?

LORENZO. Who are you, sir? You have a strange, coarse voice, and I think I did not invite you. How did you gain admittance?

THE BLACK MASKER. Did you kindle the light?

LORENZO. Yes, my charming stranger. I had my castle lighted up. The lights shine far, do they not?

THE BLACK MASKER. You roused the whole night. Everything is astir there, and now the night is coming hither. No harm in our coming, was there? Is your name Lorenzo? Is this your house? Is this your light?

_He seeks to embrace LORENZO, who violently thrusts him away._

THE MASKERS. [_From below_] Be on your guard, Lorenzo. Lorenzo, your castle is in danger. They have come uninvited. Have the drawbridge raised and all the doors tightly barred.

A VOICE. The drawbridge is already raised, but they are clambering over the walls.

ANOTHER VOICE. All the darkness of the night is transformed into living creatures, and from every side they are coming hither. Bar the doors.

A MASKER. [_From below_] Lorenzo, you invited us, and we are your guests. You must protect us. Summon your armed guards and kill these creatures. Otherwise they will kill both you and us.

A THIRD VOICE. Look! For every one of them a light goes out. They devour the light. They put the light out with their black bodies.

FIRST VOICE. Who are they? They love the light and yet they put it out. They fly to the light and the light goes out. Who are they?

LORENZO. What a delightful jest, Signors! It’s very clever of you. But the lights are actually going out, and it is becoming strangely cold here. May I trouble some of you to call my servants? They will bring fresh lights. I really do not know where they are.

_The closed doors burst open, as if suddenly yielding to a
strong pressure, and let in a throng of BLACK MASKERS, and at
the same instant the light grows markedly fainter. The BLACK
MASKERS, roaming about the hall with the same embarrassed but
persistent curiosity, gather in a black throng around the
fireplace, completely extinguishing the already enfeebled
blaze._

THE BLACK MASKERS. It’s cold, cold, cold.

VOICES. Relight the candles. They are going out. Who opened the doors? Bring torches. Torches!

_In the confusion that ensues several of the guests try to
close the doors, but give back before the pressure of the
continually increasing throng of BLACK MASKERS. Others, with no
greater success, attempt to light the extinguished chandeliers,
which flare up but immediately go out again. Now and then a
MASKER appears with a blazing torch, the red, flickering light
filling the hall with a fantastic dance of shadows._

LORENZO. [_Watching the scene with pleasure_] A charming sight. A more interesting conflict between light and darkness it has never been my good fortune to witness. A thousand thanks to him who devised it. I am his devoted, life-long servant.

VOICES. The torches are going out. Bring torches.

A MASKER. We must put out the lights in the tower. This insane Lorenzo will ruin us all.

SECOND MASKER. Some one has already gone to the tower.

THE SPIDER. [_Speaking to a BLACK MASKER toward whom he has for some time been making his way_] Are you from Satan?

THE BLACK MASKER. Who is Satan?

THE SPIDER. [_Incredulously_] Why, don’t you know Satan? Who sent you here?

THE BLACK MASKER. I don’t know. We came of our own accord.

_He tries to embrace THE SPIDER. The latter, frightened, runs
away on wobbling legs._

LORENZO. Luigi, you villain, why are you and your orchestra silent? Play, I beg of you, that song of mine— Do you remember it? Pardon my weak voice, gentlemen; I must refresh the memory of this forgetful singer. Listen, Luigi.

_He runs over the opening bars of a simple, touching air, such
as mothers sing when they lull their children, and strangely,
with low and tender harmonies, the strains of the orchestra
answer to the song. All else is silent._

_THE BLACK MASKERS, in awkward and ungainly attitudes, listen
to the music, gaping with vacant curiosity. Only at the door,
which the MASKERS hold shut by the main strength of their
shoulders, there is a knocking and scratching and a low,
plaintive moaning. LORENZO, closing his eyes and swaying
slightly, sings in a low voice. Suddenly, behind him, along the
stairway, echoes the trampling of many feet, distinctly audible
in the silence. Several MASKERS run down the staircase past
LORENZO, jostling him._

LORENZO. [_Gently reproaching them_] Gentlemen, you put me out.

ONE OF THE MASKERS. [_Panting_] Murder! Murder! There has been a murder in the tower.

VOICES. Who is murdered?

FIRST MASKER. Lorenzo himself—Lorenzo, the Duke of Spadaro, lord of this castle—is murdered.

SECOND MASKER. We saw his corpse. The unhappy Duke lies in the library, pierced by a rapier thrust from behind. His slayer is not only a murderer but a traitor.

LORENZO. That is false, gentlemen. I struck him in the heart. I slew him in honourable combat. He defended himself savagely, but the Lord God strengthened my hand, and I slew him.

VOICES. Vengeance, gentlemen! To arms, to arms! The Duke of Spadaro is treacherously slain.

FIRST MASKER. [_Pointing to LORENZO_] And there is his murderer. Off with your mask, sir!

LORENZO. My mask? [_With dignity_] It is true, gentlemen, that I killed some one in the tower—some brazen jester—but it was not the Duke Lorenzo. I am Duke Lorenzo.

VOICES. [_Shouting_] Off with your mask, murderer!

_Meanwhile the influx of the BLACK MASKERS and the quenching
of the lights continue. Now and then another torch replaces
one that has gone out. The ensuing words of LORENZO and the
MASKERS are interrupted by frequent cries of_ “Bring torches,
the lights are going out.”

LORENZO. Why do you think that I am masked, gentlemen? [_Feeling of his face_] This is no mask. I assure you gentlemen, this is my own face.

VOICES. Off with your mask, murderer!

LORENZO. [_Flaring up_] I beg you to give over this unbecoming jest. I swear on my honour that this is the face that God gave me when I was born, and not one of those repulsive masks that I see on you, gentlemen. A mask cannot smile as I smile in answer to your daring jests.

_He tries to smile, but his lips only twitch convulsively.
For a moment, with teeth bared, he presents the appearance of
a frightful, laughing mask, but instantly his face becomes
motionless, turns pale, and stiffens._

LORENZO. [_Horrified_] What is this? What has happened to my face? It does not obey me. It will not smile, but grows rigid. [_Piteously_] Perhaps I am going insane. Just look at me, gentlemen. This is surely not a mask. It is a face—a living, human face.

_Laughter and shouts_: “Off with your mask, murderer! Look,
look! Lorenzo is turning to stone.”

LORENZO. [_His face turned to stone_] All is lost, gentlemen. I tried to smile and could not. I tried to weep and could not weep. I wear a mask of stone. [_He grasps his face in a fury, trying to tear it off_] I’ll tear you off, accursed mask, I’ll tear you off together with the flesh and blood. Help me, Donna Francesca. Cut the edge here a bit with your dagger and it will at once fall away and let you see the face of your Lorenzo. Bring your consecrated sword, Cristoforo. Save your master, whom God has abandoned. One moment, gentlemen, one moment—I will——

_He utters a wild cry and falls. At the same instant there
is a crash of breaking window-frames, the windows are burst
open, and through them pour in the BLACK MASKERS. The hall is
dark save for the tremulous light of two remaining torches,
and presently one of these goes out. A commotion arises on the
darkened stage. There are wild cries of terror and despair and
vain efforts to escape. Several of the BLACK MASKERS mount the
musicians’ balcony, seize the horns, and trumpet wildly._

A VOICE. Do you hear? They are blowing the trumpets. They are summoning their kin.

SECOND VOICE. That is their music.

THIRD VOICE. Save yourselves, they are coming through the windows!

FIRST VOICE. The tower is full of them. They are pouring down from it like a black torrent. Bring torches.

FOURTH VOICE. There are no more torches. This is the last.

MANY VOICES. Save yourselves, save yourselves!

THIRD VOICE. They hold all the exits.

A FEMALE VOICE. He is embracing me. I am stifling. I shall die. Save me! Among so many knights is there none to protect me?

A VOICE. To arms!

THIRD VOICE. Swords are powerless against them.

FOURTH VOICE. There is no way of escape. We are lost! Crazy Lorenzo! He has ruined us all!

THE BLACK MASKERS. [_Roaming about, one by one_] It’s cold, cold. Where’s the light? Where’s the fire? They have deceived us!

A VOICE. [_In rage and despair_] You have devoured the light, you brood of darkness!

THE BLACK MASKERS. It’s cold, cold. Where is the light? Where is the fire?

_They crowd around the last torch, which one of the MASKERS
holds high in his uplifted hand, seeking to keep it alight. The
torch goes out. Darkness._

VOICES. Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo!

_Curtain._