don't step on my little snakes.
—Where are you going?
—Who's walking there? Sit down. You make the whole house shake when you walk.
—I can't. I feel awful sitting down.
—I too. When I am sitting I feel a horror running through my whole body.
—So do I. Let me go.
[Three or four Drunkards reel aimlessly about, getting tangled up In the chairs.
—Look what it's doing. It's been jumping for two hours, trying to get on my knee. It just misses by an inch. I drive it away and it comes back again.
—Black cockroaches are creeping under my skull and buzzing.
—My brain is falling apart. I feel the gray matter separating. My brain is like rotten cheese. It stinks.
—There's some sort of a corpse here. I smell it.
—Oh my! Oh my!
—I'll sneak up to her to-night and cut her throat.
—The blood will flow. It's flowing already. See how red it is.
—I am constantly being followed by three men. They are calling me into a dark corner of the vacant lot, and they want to kill me. They are already at the door.
—Who is walking on the walls and ceiling?
—Good Lord! They have come to take me.
—Who?
—They.
—My tongue is getting paralyzed. I'll cry. (Cries)
—My whole body is coming out. I'll soon be turned inside out, and then I'll be all red.
—Listen, listen. Ho! Somebody! A monster is going for me. He's raising his hand. Help! Ho!
—What is it? Help! A spider!
—Help!
[For some time they shout "Help!" hoarsely.
—We are all drunkards. Let's call down all the people from above.
It's so disgusting up there.
—No, don't. When I leave here and go out on the street, it rampages and tears about like a wild beast and soon throws me off my, feet.
—We've all come here. We drink rum and it gives us joy.
—It gives us fright. I shiver the whole day from fright.
—Fright is better than life. Who wants to return to life?
—I don't.
—I don't. I'd rather croak here. I don't want to live.
—No one!
—Oh my! Oh my!
—Why does Man come here? He drinks little and just sits still. We don't want him.
—Let him go to his own house. He has a house of his own.
—Fifteen rooms.
—Don't touch him. He has no place to go to any more.
—He has fifteen rooms.
—They're empty. Only rats run around and fight in them.
—And his wife.
—He hasn't any. Seems she died.
[During this conversation and the following, Old Women in strange headgear enter quietly and replace unnoticeably the Drunkards, who quietly depart. The women mingle in the conversation, but in such a way that no one notices it.
CONVERSATION OF DRUNKARDS AND OLD WOMEN
—He'll soon die, too. He can scarcely drag himself along, he's so weak.
—He has fifteen rooms.
—Listen to the beating of his heart. It's uneven and faint. It'll soon stop beating altogether.
—Hey, Man, give us an invitation to your house. You have fifteen rooms.
—It'll soon stop beating altogether, that old, sick, feeble heart of
Man!
—He's asleep, the drunken fool. It's dreadful to sleep, and yet he sleeps. He might die in his sleep.
—Hey, there, wake him up!
—Do you remember how it used to beat when it was young and strong?
[A low laugh is heard.
—Who's laughing? There are some here who have no business to be here.
—It just seems so to you. We are all alone, only we drunkards.
—I'll go out on the street and start a fight. I've been robbed. I'm stark naked, and my skin is green.
—Good evening.
—The wheel is rumbling again. Oh, Lord, they'll crush me! Help!
[No one responds.
—Good evening.
—Do you remember his birth? I believe you were there.
—I must be dying. Good Lord! Good Lord! Who will carry me to the
grave? Who will bury me? I'll be lying like a dog on the street.
People will step over me, wagons will ride over me. They'll crush me.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! (Cries)
—Permit me to congratulate you, my dear friend, on the birth of your child.
—I am positive there is a mistake here. For a circle to fall out of a straight line is an absurdity. I'll demonstrate it on the spot.
—You're right.
—Oh my! Oh my!
—It's only ignoramuses in mathematics who will permit it. I won't. I won't permit it, do you hear?
—Do you remember the rosy dress and the little bare neck?
—And the flowers? The lilies-of-the-valley on which the dew never dried, and the violets, and the green grass?
—Don't touch, don't touch the flowers, girls.
[They utter a low and suppressed laugh.
—Oh my! Oh my!
[The drunkards have all gone. Their places are taken by the Old Women. The light grows steady and very faint. The figure of the Unknown is sharply outlined, and so is Man's gray head, on which a, faint light falls from above.
OLD WOMEN'S CONVERSATION.
—Good evening.
—Good evening. What a splendid night!
—Here we are together again. How are you feeling?
—I cough a little.
[They laugh suppressedly.
—It won't take long now. He'll die soon.
—Look at the candle. The flame is blue and thin and spreading sideways. There's no more wax. It's only the wick that's burning.
—It doesn't want to go out.
—When did you ever see a flame that did want to go out?
—Don't dispute, don't dispute. Whether it wants to go out, or doesn't want to go out, time is flying.
—Do you remember his