radition, but
wants to make the trial anyway. The invisible Spirit of Life warns him!
'Life without end can be regret without end.' But he persists: let him
keep his youth, his strength, and his mental faculties unimpaired, and
he will take all the risks. He has his desire.

From this time forth, act after act, the troubles and sorrows and
misfortunes and humiliations of life beat upon him without pity or
respite; but he will not give up, he will not confess his mistake.
Whenever he meets Death he still furiously defies him--but Death
patiently waits. He, the healer of sorrows, is man's best friend: the
recognition of this will come. As the years drag on, and on, and on, the
friends of the Master's youth grow old; and one by one they totter
to the grave: he goes on with his proud fight, and will not yield. At
length he is wholly alone in the world; all his friends are dead; last
of all, his darling of darlings, his son, the lad Nymphas, who dies in
his arms. His pride is broken now; and he would welcome Death, if Death
would come, if Death would hear his prayers and give him peace. The
closing act is fine and pathetic. Appelles meets Zenobia, the helper of
all who suffer, and tells her his story, which moves her pity. By common
report she is endowed with more than earthly powers; and since he
cannot have the boon of death, he appeals to her to drown his memory
in forgetfulness of his griefs--forgetfulness 'which is death's
equivalent'. She says (roughly translated), in an exaltation of
compassion:

'Come to me!

Kneel; and may the power be granted me
To cool the fires of this poor tortured brain,
And bring it peace and healing.'

He kneels. From her hand, which she lays upon his head, a mysterious
influence steals through him; and he sinks into a dreamy tranquility.

'Oh, if I could but so drift
Through this soft twilight into the night of peace,
Never to wake again!

(Raising his hand, as if in benediction.)

O mother earth, farewell!
Gracious thou were to me. Farewell!
Appelles goes to rest.'

Death appears behind him and encloses the uplifted hand in his. Appelles
shudders, wearily and slowly turns, and recognises his life-long
adversary. He smiles and puts all his gratitude into one simple and
touching sentence, 'Ich danke dir,' and dies.

Nothing, I think, could be more moving, more beautiful, than this close.
This piece is just one long, soulful, sardonic