Farewell, fool. To-morrow people will find your body here and will bury you with pomp, according to the custom of the people. Kind-hearted murderers, they love those they kill. And out of the rocks with which they stoned you for your love, they will erect a tall, crooked, and stupid tombstone. And in order to enliven the stupid, dead pile of stone, they will put me on the top. _He laughs. Then he suddenly breaks of his laughter and assumes a haughty pose._ Who shall wrench the victory from the hands of Anathema? The strong I kill, the weak I force to whirl about in an intoxicating dance--a mad dance--a devilish dance. _He strikes the ground with his foot._ Be subdued, O earth, and bring me your gifts humbly! Kill, burn, betray, O man, in the name of your master! I steer my boat over a sea of blood which smells so sweetly,--and my sails are burning red-- _To heaven._ To you, for an answer! Not as a dog crawling on his belly, but as a distinguished guest, as the reigning prince of the earth, I shall come sailing to your mute shores. _Majestically._ Be prepared. I shall demand an exact answer. Ha, ha, ha! _Disappears in the darkness, bursting into laughter._ CURTAIN. EPILOGUE. _Nothing has happened; nothing has changed. As before, the earth is weighted down by the heavy iron Gates, closed from time immemorial, beyond which dwells in silence and in mystery the Beginning of every being, the Supreme Wisdom of the universe. And the Guardian of the Entrances is just as silent and as sternly motionless as before. Nothing has happened; nothing has changed._ _The grey light, as grey as the rocks, is terrible; the place is terrible, but Anathema likes it. And he appears again; but he does not crawl on his belly like a dog; nor does he hide himself beyond the rocks like a thief. Like a conqueror, he is trying to seal his victory by his haughty gait, by the importance of his slow movements. But as the Devil can never be truthful, and as there are no bounds to his doubts, he brings his duality even into this: He walks like a conqueror, yet he is afraid; he throws his head back high like a sovereign, and yet he laughs at his exaggerated self-importance; a gloomy and malicious clown, he longs for greatness; and forced to laugh, he despises laughter._ _Thus, assuming important airs beyond measure, he goes up to the middle of the mountain and waits there in a haughty pose. But his uncertain importance is devoured by the silence, even as dry wood is devoured by fire--and he begins to hurry, without holding out the pause, like a poor musician, striving to conceal himself and his doubts and his odious fear in a vast deal of jests, in loud shouting and in rapid gestures. He stamps his foot and shouts in a voice of assumed sternness._ ANATHEMA.