at
our prayers. And you--I don't know who you are--God, Devil, Fate, or
Life--I curse you!

_[Man speaks the following in a loud, powerful voice, one arm about
his wife as if to protect her, the other arm fiercely extended toward
the Unknown._

MAN'S CURSE

I curse everything that you have given. I curse the day on which I was
born. I curse the day on which I shall die. I curse the whole of my
life, its joys and its sorrows. I curse myself. I curse my eyes, my
ears, my tongue. I curse my heart and my head, and I fling everything
back at your cruel face, a senseless Fate! Be accursed, be forever
accursed! With my curses I conquer you. What else can you do to
me? Hurl me to the ground, I will laugh and shout in your face:
"Be accursed!" Seal my mouth with the clamps of death, with my
last thought I will shout into your stupid ears: "Be accursed, be
accursed!" Take my body, tear at it like a dog, drag it into the
darkness--I am not in it. I have disappeared, but disappearing I shall
repeat: "Be accursed, be accursed!" Through the woman whom you have
insulted, through the boy whom you have killed, I convey to you the
curses of Man!

_[He turns in silence, with fiercely uplifted hand. Someone in Gray
listens passively to the curses. The flame of the candle flickers as
if blown by the wind. Thus they stand for some time in tense silence
confronting each other, Man and Someone in Gray. The wailing behind
the scenes grows louder and more prolonged, passing into a doleful
chant._

CURTAIN

THE FIFTH SCENE

THE DEATH OF MAN

_An uncertain, unsteady, blinking light, so dim that at first nothing
is distinguishable. When the eye grows accustomed to it, the following
scene becomes visible.

A long, wide room with a very low ceiling and windowless. The entrance
is down a flight of steps from somewhere above. The walls are bare and
dirty and resemble the coarse, stained hide of some huge animal. Along
the entire back wall up to the stairs runs a, bar with a top of
smooth glass. This is covered with bottles full of differently colored
liquors that are arranged in regular rows. Behind a low table sits
the Bartender, immobile, with his hands folded across his paunch. His
white face is blotched with red. His head is bald, and he has a large,
reddish beard. He wears an expression of utter calm and indifference,
which he maintains throughout, never changing his seat or his
attitude.

Drunkards, both men and women, si