boards, lights and painted scenery; on the other a vast throng of spectators, a veritable ocean of curious faces and sympathetic eyes.  In the foreground, on the right, was Prometheus, in the act of fashioning men.  He was bound by a long chain and was working very fast and very hard.  Beside him stood several monstrous fellows who were constantly whipping and goading him on.  There was also an abundance of glue and other materials about, and he was getting fire out of a large coal-pan.  On the other side was a figure of the deified Hercules, with Hebe in his lap.  On the stage in the foreground a crowd of youthful forms were laughing and running about, all of whom were very happy and did not merely seem to live.  The youngest looked like amorettes, the older ones like images of women.  But each one of them had his own peculiar manner and a striking originality of expression; and they all bore a certain resemblance to the Christian painters’ and poets’ idea of the devil—­one might have called them little Satans.  One of the smallest said: 

“He who does not despise, cannot respect; one can only do either boundlessly, and good tone consists only in playing with men.  And so is not a certain amount of malice an essential part of harmonious culture?”

“Nothing is more absurd,” said another, “than when the moralists reproach you about your egoism.  They are altogether wrong; for what god, who is not his own god, can deserve respect from man?  You are, to be sure, mistaken in thinking that you have an ego; but if, in the meantime, you identify it with your body, your name and your property, you thereby at least make ready a place for it, in case by any chance an ego should come.”

“And this Prometheus you can all hold in deep reverence,” said one of the tallest.  “He has made you all and is constantly making more like you.”

And in fact just as soon as each new man was finished, the devils put him down with all the rest who were looking on, and immediately it was impossible to distinguish him from the others, so much alike were they all.

“The mistake he makes is in his method,” continued the Sataniscus.  “How can one want to do nothing but fashion men?  Those are not the right tools he has.”

And thereat he pointed to a rough figure of the God of the Gardens, which stood in the back part of the stage between an Amor and a very beautiful naked Venus.

“In regard to that our friend Hercules had better views, who could occupy fifty maidens in a single night for the welfare of humanity, and all of them heroic maids too.  He did those labors of his, too, and slew many a furious monster.  But the goal of his career was always a noble leisure, and for that reason he has gained entrance to Olympus.  Not so, however, with this Prometheus, the inventor of education and enlightenment.  To him you owe it that you can never be quiet and are always on the move.  Hence it is also, when you have absolutely nothing to do, that you foolishly aspire to develop character and observe and study one another.  It is a vile business.  But Prometheus, for having misled man to toil, now has to toil himself, whether he wants to or not.  He will soon get very tired of it, and never again will he be freed from his chains.”