At first I was aware only that the roof, or ‘stage’ had become luminous, the light varying in strength, as it does on the ceiling of a room when clouds travel across the sun. Soon it became more steadily bright, and vague human figures began to take shape on it, shadows at first, some of enormous size, advancing and retreating, making wide gestures of an import I could not grasp. Sometimes the shadows would assume solid shape and stand up as live beings, seeming to detach themselves from the dome so as not to appear in the least like those extravagant persons who populate the ceilings of many of our own theatres: and among them was one singularly graceful form which seemed to dominate the rest, and whose motions I could not help following, so great was the pleasure they gave me. Soon I became conscious that the air of the theatre was pulsating in a manner which never quite became sound, and in a definite rhythm, which varied occasionally, but yet seemed to conform to the original beat, much as a poet will modulate his verse. Now a faint perfume hit the sense, while an uneasy feeling stole over me, as if something had been done I did not want. Then, from the body of the theatre, as from a member of the audience, a voice spoke, in the tones of a man resigned to grief: No means at all to hide Man from himself can find: No way to start aside. Out of the hell of mind. and I felt myself sinking into such an agony of despair as I can remember having gone through only in dreams, or under the influence of supernatural fear. Struggle as I might against the weight of oppression, I was forced to abandon myself to the flow of dire tribulation, in which remorse succeeded terror, and all the passions of the world were black. And from all around the theatre, now from here, now from there, above me and below me, sometimes in front and sometimes at my back, I could hear voices and the noise of approaching events. Once I thought a voice cried out: Desolate, as she is desolate, in ruined cities, and when the sun has gone down to his rest. and in the midst of a tumult of pulsations and perfumes and shadowy occurrences, a woman whispered, it seemed close by my ear: And Pity, like a naked, new-born babe. At that the sense of intolerable woe lightened; the rhythm changed, the figures appeared human and brave, while joy seemed to issue from the very walls of the theatre with the words: Love’s banners on the battlements of song, which trickled from every side. At last, without warning, in a triumphant burst of sudden glory such as makes us laugh with active lungs, a loud but harmonious cry resounded from the very middle of the theatre, where there was nothing visible but empty air, calling: Where are the eagles and the trumpets? and I remembered no more till we found ourselves perched on the outer landing of the theatre waiting for our taxi to take us home.