[The tune and the dance grow merrier and merrier, until the Man rises to his feet, and dancing lightly where he stands, takes his wife round the waist, and dances with her—his chaplet slipping down to one side as he does so. Meanwhile the Being in Grey looks on imperturbably—the candle in his hand continuing to burn steadily with a clear light.]
CURTAIN
ACT III—THE BALL GIVEN BY THE MAN
[A grand ball is in progress in the salon of the mansion which the Man has built for himself. The scene is a large, square, lofty room with smooth, white walls and ceiling and a polished floor. Yet a certain discrepancy in the proportions of some of the minor features of the apartment conveys to the beholder a sort of vague, unsatisfactory impression, as though something were wanting, or discordant, or superfluous, or bizarre—one cannot exactly tell which. For instance, the doors are small as compared with the windows, and constitute, with the latter, the only features breaking the monotony of the apartment's outline. The windows, too, are of immense size. Reaching almost to the ceiling, they are placed only in the rear wall, and in close juxtaposition to one another, while their panes show black with the darkness of the outer night, and neither spot nor speck breaks the wall spaces between them. Eloquent testimony to the wealth of the Man is afforded by the superabundance of gilding on the cornices, chairs, and picture-frames; yet the pictures are but few in number, and confined to the side walls, of which they form the sole adornment. Light is furnished by hoop-shaped lustres and a few scattered electric globes. Nevertheless, though the ceiling is in brilliant relief, the rest of the room is in slight shadow—a circumstance which imparts a kind of greyish tinge to the walls. In general, the scene has about it an air of pallor and chill.
[The ball is in full swing—the music being furnished by an orchestra of three players, each of whom bears a certain resemblance to his instrument. The fiddler has a long, thin neck and a small head ornamented on both sides with little tufts of hair. His body is grotesquely curved in outline, and he has a handkerchief neatly folded on his shoulder, to form a pad for his fiddle. The flute player resembles his flute in that he is exceedingly tall and thin, with long, lean face and taper legs; while the man with the double-bass is short, with broad, rounded shoulders, a fat body, and baggy trousers. All three executants play with an energy which is manifested even in their faces as they grind out the tune and sway their heads and bodies to and fro to the rhythm. The tune in question (which is never once changed throughout the ball) consists of a short, polka-like air, made up of two separate parts, and charged with a sort of vapid, jaunty, staccato lilt. All the instruments are slightly out of tune with one another, and this sometimes causes the discrepancies in pitch and tempo to give rise to an extraordinary series of dissonances and gaps in the melody. The following is the tune:—
[Original]
To these strains a number of young men and girls are dancing a legato measure in a graceful, refined manner. To the first phrase of the tune they advance and meet; to the second phrase they retire; to the third and fourth they advance and retire as before—all with a rather stately, old-fashioned demeanour.