First we see him a joyous youth. Mark how clearly the candle burns! Icy winds from! desert wastes may eddy round it and pass by. Its flame may flicker gently, but it still remains quite bright and clear. Yet the wax is ever melting as the flame consumes it--yet the wax is ever melting. Next we see him a happy man and father. Mark how dim, how strange, is now the candle's glimmer! Its flame is growing pale and wrinkled, it shivers as with cold, and its light is feebler than of yore. For the wax is ever melting as the flame consumes it--for the wax is ever melting. Lastly we see him an old man, weak and ailing. The rungs of the ladder have all been climbed, and only a black abyss yawns before his faltering foot. The flame of the candle is drooping earthward, and turning to a faint blue. It droops and quivers, it droops and quivers--and then softly goes out. Thus the Man dies. Come from darkness, into darkness he returns, and is reabsorbed, without a trace left, into the illimitable void of time. There there is neither thought not feeling, nor any intercourse with men. And I, the Unknown, shall remain ever the fellow-traveller of that Man--through all the days of his life, through all his journeyings. Though unseen by him and his companions, I shall ever be by his side. Be he waking or sleeping, be he praying or blaspheming; in the hour of joy, when his soul soars free and fearless; in the hour of sorrow, when his spirit is o'ershadowed by the languor of death, and the blood is curdling back upon his heart; in the hour of victory or defeat as he wages his great contest with the Inevitable,--I shall be with him, I shall ever be with him. And ye who have come hither for sport and laughter (ye who none the less must die also), look ye and listen: for there is about to pass before you, and to reveal to you its joys and its sorrows, the brief, fleeting life of a Man. [_Once more the Being in Grey is silent; and as his voice ceases, the light becomes wholly extinguished, and his form and the grey, empty room are swallowed up in impenetrable darkness_. ] CURTAIN. ACT I--THE BIRTH OF THE MAN [_The stage is in deep shadow--nothing being visible amid the gloom save the silhouetted grey forms of some old, women and the faint outlines of a large and lofty chamber. Clad in weird, shapeless garments, the old women look, as they crouch together, like a little cluster of grey mice. They are talking in low tones._] ~Dialogue of the Old Women.~~ I wish I knew which her baby is going to be--a boy or a girl. Whatever can it matter to _you?_ Nothing; except that I prefer boys. And _I_ prefer girls. They sit quietly at home, and make company when one wants a gossip. Oh, you are so fond of company! [_The Old Women give a chuckle._]