{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13664/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13664","id":"gutenberg_13664","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13664","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Drama","Fantasy","Fantasy literature","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"Transcriber's Note:\n\n     Two names are accented with Macrons (a short horizontal bar over\n     the letter), for which there is no ASCII character. They are usually\n     marked as [=e], as in Argim[=e]n[=e]s. For legibility, they have been\n     replaced here by the bare letter. To restore the original accents,\n\n         change Oonrana to Oonr[=a]na\n         change Argimenes to Argim[=e]n[=e]s\n\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF LORD DUNSANY\n\nMCMXII\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n  The Gods of the Mountain\n  The First Act of King Argimenes and the Unknown Warrior\n  The Fall of Babbulkund\n  The Sphinx at Gizeh\n  Idle Days on the Yann\n  A Miracle\n  The Castle of Time\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nI\n\nLady Wilde once told me that when she was a young girl she was stopped\nin some Dublin street by a great crowd and turned into a shop to\nescape from it. She stayed there some time and the crowd still passed.\nShe asked the shopman what it was, and he said, 'the funeral of Thomas\nDavis, a poet.' She had never heard of Davis; but because she thought\na country that so honoured a poet must be worth something, she became\ninterested in Ireland and was soon a famous patriotic poet herself,\nbeing, as she once said to me half in mockery, an eagle in her youth.\n\nThat age will be an age of romance for an hundred years to come.\nIts poetry slid into men's ears so smoothly that a man still living,\nthough a very old man now, heard men singing at the railway stations\nhe passed upon a journey into the country the verses he had published\nbut that morning in a Dublin newspaper; and yet we should not regret\ntoo often that it has vanished, and left us poets even more unpopular\nthan are our kind elsewhere in Europe; for now that we are unpopular\nwe escape from crowds, from noises in the street, from voices that\nsing out of tune, from bad paper made one knows not from what refuse,\nfrom evil-smelling gum, from covers of emerald green, from that ideal\nof reliable, invariable men and women, which would forbid saint\nand connoisseur who always, the one in his simple, the other in his\nelaborate way, do what is unaccountable, and forbid life itself which,\nbeing, as the definition says, the only thing that moves itself,\nis always without precedent. When our age too has passed, when its\nmoments also, that are so common and many, seem scarce and precious,\nstudents will perhaps open these books, printed by village girls at\nDundrum, as curiously as at twenty years I opened the books of history\nand ballad verse of the old 'Library of Ireland.' They will notice\nthat this new 'Library,' where I have gathered so much that seems to\nme representative or beautiful, unlike the old, is intended for few\npeople, and written by men and women with that ideal condemned by\n'Mary of the Nation', who wished, as she said, to make no elaborate\nbeauty and to write nothing but what a peasant could understand. If\nthey are philosophic or phantastic, it may even amuse them to find\nsome analogy of the old with O'Connell's hearty eloquence, his winged\ndart shot always into the midst of the people, his mood of comedy;\nand of the new, with that lonely and haughty person below whose tragic\nshadow we of modern Ireland began to write.\n\n\nII\n\nThe melancholy, the philosophic irony, the elaborate music of a play\nby John Synge, the simplicity, the sense of splendour of living in\nLady Gregory's lamentation of Emer, Mr. James Stephens when he makes\nthe sea waves 'Tramp with banners on the shore' are as much typical\nof our thoughts and day, as was 'She dwelt beside the Anner with mild\neyes like the dawn,' or any stanza of the 'Pretty girl of Lough Dan,'\nor any novel of Charles Lever's of a time that sought to bring Irish\nmen and women into one nation by means of simple patriotism and a\ngenial taste for oratory and anecdotes. A like change passed over\nFerrara's brick and stone when its great Duke, where there had been\nbut narrow medieval streets, made many palaces and threw out one\nstraight and wide street, as Carducci said, to meet the Muses.\nDoubtless the men of 'Perd\u00f3ndaris that famous city' have such\nantiquity of manners and of culture that it is of small moment should\nthey please themselves with some tavern humour; but we must needs\ncling to 'our foolish Irish pride' and form an etiquette, if we would\nnot have our people crunch their chicken bones with too convenient\nteeth, and make our intellect architectural that we may not see them\nturn domestic and effusive nor nag at one another in narrow streets.\n\n\nIII\n\nSome of the writers of our school have intended, so far as any\ncreative art can have deliberate intention, to make this change, a\nchange having more meaning and implications than a few sentences can\ndefine. When I was first moved by Lord Dunsany's work I thought that\nhe would more help this change if he could bring his imagination into\nthe old Irish legendary world instead of those magic lands of his with\ntheir vague Eastern air; but even as I urged him I knew that he could\nnot, without losing his rich beauty of careless suggestion, and the\npersons and images that for ancestry have all those romantic ideas\nthat are somewhere in the background of all our minds. He could not\nhave made Slieve-na-Mon nor Slieve Fua incredible and phantastic\nenough, because that prolonged study of a past age, necessary before\nhe could separate them from modern association, would have changed\nthe spontaneity of his mood to something learned, premeditated, and\nscientific.\n\nWhen we approach subtle elaborate emotions we can but give our minds\nup to play or become as superstitious as an old woman, for we cannot\nhope to understand. It is one of my superstitions that we became\nentangled in a dream some twenty years ago; but I do not know whether\nthis dream was born in Ireland from the beliefs of the country men and\nwomen, or whether we but gave ourselves up to a foreign habit as our\nspirited Georgian fathers did to gambling, sometimes lying, as their\nhistory has it, on the roadside naked, but for the heap of straw they\nhad pulled over them, till they could wager a lock of hair or the\nparing of a nail against what might set them up in clothes again.\nWhether it came from Slieve-na-Mon or Mount Abora, \u00c6. found it with\nhis gods and I in my 'Land of Heart's Desire,' which no longer\npleases me much. And then it seemed far enough till Mr. Edward Martyn\ndiscovered his ragged Peg Inerney, who for all that was a queen in\nfaery; but soon John Synge was to see all the world as a withered and\nwitless place in comparison with the dazzle of that dream; and now\nLord Dunsany has seen it once more and as simply as if he were a child\nimagining adventures for the knights and ladies that rode out over the\ndrawbridges in the piece of old tapestry in its mother's room. But to\npersuade others that it is all but one dream, or to persuade them that\nLord Dunsany has his part in that change I have described I have but\nmy superstition and this series of little books where I have set his\ntender, pathetic, haughty fancies among books by Lady Gregory, by\n\u00c6., by Dr. Douglas Hyde, by John Synge, and by myself. His work which\nseems today so much on the outside, as it were, of life and daily\ninterest, may yet seem to those students I have imagined rooted in\nboth. Did not the Maeterlinck of 'Pelleas and Melisande' seem to be\noutside life? and now he has so influenced other writers, he has been\nso much written about, he has been associated with so much celebrated\nmusic, he has been talked about by so many charming ladies, that he is\nless a vapour than that Dumas _fils_ who wrote of such a living\nParis. And has not Edgar Allen Poe, having entered the imagination of\nBaudelaire, touched that of Europe? for there are seeds still carried\nupon a tree, and seeds so light they drift upon the wind and yet can\nprove that they, give them but time, carry a big tree. Had I read\n'The Fall of Babbulkund' or 'Idle Days on the Yann' when a boy I had\nperhaps been changed for better or worse, and looked to that first\nreading as the creation of my world; for when we are young the less\ncircumstantial, the further from common life a book is, the more\ndoes it touch our hearts and make us dream. We are idle, unhappy and\nexorbitant, and like the young Blake admit no city beautiful that is\nnot paved with gold and silver.\n\n\nIV\n\nThese plays and stories have for their continual theme the passing\naway of gods and men and cities before the mysterious power which is\nsometimes called by some great god's name but more often 'Time.' His\ntravellers, who travel by so many rivers and deserts and listen to\nsounding names none heard before, come back with no tale that does\nnot tell of vague rebellion against that power, and all the beautiful\nthings they have seen get something of their charm from the pathos\nof fragility. This poet who has imagined colours, ceremonies and\nincredible processions that never passed before the eyes of Edgar\nAllen Poe or of De Quincey, and remembered as much fabulous beauty as\nSir John Mandeville, has yet never wearied of the most universal of\nemotions and the one most constantly associated with the sense of\nbeauty; and when we come to examine those astonishments that seemed\nso alien we find that he has but transfigured with beauty the common\nsights of the world. He describes the dance in the air of large\nbutterflies as we have seen it in the sun-steeped air of noon. 'And\nthey danced but danced idly, on the wings of the air, as some haughty\nqueen of distant conquered lands might in her poverty and exile dance\nin some encampment of the gipsies for the mere bread to live by, but\nbeyond this would never abate her pride to dance for one fragment\nmore.' He can show us the movement of sand, as we have seen it where\nthe sea shore meets the grass, but so changed that it becomes the\ndeserts of the world: 'and all that night the desert said many things\nsoftly and in a whisper but I knew not what he said. Only the sand\nknew and arose and was troubled and lay down again and the wind knew.\nThen, as the hours of the night went by, these two discovered the\nfoot-tracks wherewith we had disturbed the holy desert and they\ntroubled over them and covered them up; and then the wind lay down and\nthe sand rested.' Or he will invent some incredible sound that will\nyet call before us the strange sounds of the night, as when he says,\n'sometimes some monster of the river coughed.' And how he can play\nupon our fears with that great gate of his carved from a single ivory\ntusk dropped by some terrible beast; or with his tribe of wanderers\nthat pass about the city telling one another tales that we know to\nbe terrible from the blanched faces of the listeners though they tell\nthem in an unknown tongue; or with his stone gods of the mountain, for\n'when we see rock walking it is terrible' 'rock should not walk in the\nevening.'\n\nYet say what I will, so strange is the pleasure that they give, so\nhard to analyse and describe, I do not know why these stories and\nplays delight me. Now they set me thinking of some old Irish jewel\nwork, now of a sword covered with Indian Arabesques that hangs in a\nfriend's hall, now of St. Mark's at Venice, now of cloud palaces at\nthe sundown; but more often still of a strange country or state of the\nsoul that once for a few weeks I entered in deep sleep and after lost\nand have ever mourned and desired.\n\n\nV\n\nNot all Lord Dunsany's moods delight me, for he writes out of a\ncareless abundance; and from the moment I first read him I have wished\nto have between two covers something of all the moods that do. I\nbelieve that I have it in this book, which I have just been reading\naloud to an imaginative young girl more French than English, whose\nunderstanding, that of a child and of a woman, and expressed not in\nwords but in her face, has doubled my own. Some of my selections,\nthose that I have called 'A Miracle' and 'The Castle of Time' are\npassages from stories of some length, and I give but the first act of\n'Argimenes,' a play in the repertory of the Abbey Theatre, but each\nselection can be read I think with no thoughts but of itself. If 'Idle\nDays on the Yann' is a fragment it was left so by its author, and if\nI am moved to complain I shall remember that perhaps not even his\nimagination could have found adventures worthy of a traveller who had\npassed 'memorable, holy Golnuz, and heard the pilgrims praying,' and\nsmelt burned poppies in Mandaroon.\n\n  Normandy 1912.\n\n  W. B. Yeats.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN\n\nACT I\n\nSCENE: The East. Outside a city wall; three beggars seated on the\nground.\n\n\nOOGNO These days are bad for beggary.\n\nTHAHN They are bad.\n\nULF (an older beggar but not grey) Some evil has befallen the rich\nones of this city. They take no joy any longer in benevolence, but are\nbecome sour and miserly at heart. Alas for them! I sometimes sigh for\nthem when I think of this.\n\nOOGNO Alas for them. A miserly heart must be a sore affliction.\n\nTHAHN A sore affliction indeed, and bad for our calling.\n\nOOGNO (reflectively) They have been thus for many months. What thing\nhas befallen them?\n\nTHAHN Some evil thing.\n\nULF There has been a comet come near to the earth of late and the\nearth has been parched and sultry so that the gods are drowsy and all\nthose things that are divine in man, such as benevolence, drunkenness,\nextravagance and song, have faded and died and have not been\nreplenished by the gods.\n\nOOGNO It has indeed been sultry.\n\nTHAHN I have seen the comet o' nights.\n\nULF The gods are drowsy.\n\nOOGNO If they awake not soon and make this city worthy again of our\norder, I for one shall forsake the calling and buy a shop and sit at\nease in the shade and barter for gain.\n\nTHAHN You will keep a shop? (Enter Agmar and Slag. Agmar, though\npoorly dressed, is tall, imperious, and older than Ulf. Slag follows\nbehind him.)\n\nAGMAR Is this a beggar who speaks?\n\nOOGNO Yes, master, a poor beggar.\n\nAGMAR How long has the calling of beggary existed?\n\nOOGNO Since the building of the first city, Master.\n\nAGMAR And when has a beggar ever followed a trade? When has he ever\nhaggled and bartered and sat in a shop?\n\nOOGNO Why, he has never done so.\n\nAGMAR Are you he that shall be first to forsake the calling?\n\nOOGNO Times are bad for the calling here.\n\nTHAHN They are bad.\n\nAGMAR So you would forsake the calling.\n\nOOGNO The city is unworthy of our calling. The gods are drowsy, and\nall that is divine in man is dead. (To third Beggar) Are not the gods\ndrowsy?\n\nULF They are drowsy in their mountains away at Marma. The seven green\nidols are drowsy. Who is this that rebukes us?\n\nTHAHN Are you some great merchant, Master? Perhaps you will help a\npoor man that is starving.\n\nSLAG My Master a Merchant! No, no. He is no merchant. My Master is no\nmerchant.\n\nOOGNO I perceive that he is some lord in disguise. The gods have woken\nand have sent him to save us.\n\nSLAG No, no. You do not know my Master. You do not know him.\n\nTHAHN Is he the Soldan's self that has come to rebuke us?\n\nAGMAR (with great pride) I am a beggar, and an old beggar.\n\nSLAG There is none like my Master. No traveller has met with cunning\nlike to his, not even those that come from Aethiopia.\n\nULF We make you welcome to our town, upon which an evil has fallen,\nthe days being bad for beggary.\n\nAGMAR Let none that has known the mystery of roads, or has felt the\nwind arising new in the morning, or who has called forth out of the\nsouls of men divine benevolence, ever speak any more of any trade or\nof the miserable gains of shops and the trading men.\n\nOOGNO I but spoke hastily, the times being bad.\n\nAGMAR I will put right the times.\n\nSLAG There is nothing that my Master cannot do.\n\nAGMAR (to Slag) Be silent and attend to me. I do not know this city, I\nhave travelled from far, having somewhat exhausted the city of Ackara.\n\nSLAG My Master was three times knocked down and injured by carriages\nthere, once he was killed and seven times beaten and robbed, and every\ntime he was generously compensated. He had nine diseases, many of them\nmortal....\n\nAGMAR Be silent, Slag.... Have you any thieves among the calling here?\n\nULF We have a few that we call thieves here, Master, but they would\nscarcely seem thieves to you. They are not good thieves.\n\nAGMAR I shall need the best thief you have.\n\n(Enter two citizens richly clad, Illanaun and Oorander)\n\nILLANAUN Therefore we will send galleons to Ardaspes.\n\nOORANDER Right to Ardaspes through the silver gates.\n\n(Agmar transfers the thick handle of his long staff to his left\narmpit, he droops on to it and it supports his weight, he is upright\nno longer. His right arm hangs limp and useless. He hobbles up to the\ncitizens imploring alms.)\n\nILLANAUN I am sorry. I cannot help you. There have been too many\nbeggars here, and we must decline alms for the good of the town.\n\nAGMAR (sitting down and weeping) I have come from far. (Illanaun\npresently returns and gives Agmar a coin. Exit Illanaun. Agmar, erect\nagain, walks back to the others.)\n\nAGMAR We shall need fine raiment, let the thief start at once. Let it\nrather be green raiment.\n\nBEGGAR I will go and fetch the thief. (Exit)\n\nULF We will dress ourselves as lords and impose upon the city.\n\nOOGNO Yes, yes; we will say we are ambassadors from a far land.\n\nULF And there will be good eating.\n\nSLAG (in an undertone to Ulf) But you do not know my Master. Now that\nyou have suggested that we shall go as lords, he will make a better\nsuggestion. He will suggest that we should go as kings.\n\nULF (incredulous) Beggars as kings!\n\nSLAG Ay. You do not know my Master.\n\nULF (to Agmar) What do you bid us do?\n\nAGMAR You shall first come by the fine raiment in the manner I have\nmentioned.\n\nULF And what then, Master?\n\nAGMAR Why then we shall go as gods.\n\nBEGGARS As gods?\n\nAGMAR As gods. Know you the land through which I have lately come in\nmy wanderings? Marma, where the gods are carved from green stone in\nthe mountains. They sit all seven of them against the hills. They sit\nthere motionless and travellers worship them.\n\nULF Yes, yes, we know those gods. They are much reverenced here; but\nthey are drowsy and send us nothing beautiful.\n\nAGMAR They are of green jade. They sit cross-legged with their right\nelbows resting on their left hands, the right forefinger pointing\nupwards. We will come into the city disguised, from the direction of\nMarma, and will claim to be these gods. We must be seven as they are.\nAnd when we sit, we must sit cross-legged as they do, with the right\nhand uplifted.\n\nULF This is a bad city in which to fall into the hands of oppressors,\nfor the judges lack amiability here as the merchants lack benevolence\never since the gods forgot them.\n\nAGMAR In our ancient calling a man may sit at one street corner for\nfifty years doing the one thing, and yet a day may come when it is\nwell for him to rise up and to do another thing, while the timorous\nman starves.\n\nULF Also it were well not to anger the gods.\n\nAGMAR Is not all life a beggary to the gods? Do they not see all men\nalways begging of them and asking alms with incense, and bells, and\nsubtle devices?\n\nOOGNO Yes, all men indeed are beggars before the gods.\n\nAGMAR Does not the mighty Soldan often sit by the agate altar in his\nroyal temple as we sit at a street corner or by a palace gate?\n\nULF It is even so.\n\nAGMAR Then will the gods be glad when we follow the holy calling with\nnew devices and with subtlety, as they are glad when the priests sing\na new song.\n\nULF Yet I have a fear.\n\nAGMAR (to Slag) Go you into the city before us, and let there be a\nprophecy there which saith that the gods who are carven from green\nrock in the mountain shall one day arise in Marma and come here in the\nguise of men.\n\nSLAG Yes, Master. Shall I make the prophecy myself? Or shall it be\nfound in some old document?\n\nAGMAR Let someone have seen it once in some rare document. Let it be\nspoken of in the market-place.\n\nSLAG It shall be spoken of, Master. (Slag lingers. Enter thief and\nThahn)\n\nOOGNO This is our thief.\n\nAGMAR (encouragingly) Ah, he is a quick thief.\n\nTHIEF I could only procure you three green raiments, Master. The city\nis not now well supplied with them; moreover it is a very suspicious\ncity, and without shame for the baseness of its suspicions.\n\nSLAG (to a beggar) This is not thieving.\n\nTHIEF I could do no more, Master. I have not practised thieving all my\nlife.\n\nAGMAR You have got something: it may serve our purpose. How long have\nyou been thieving?\n\nTHIEF I stole first when I was ten.\n\nSLAG When he was ten!\n\nAGMAR We must tear them up and divide them amongst the seven. (to\nThahn) Bring me another beggar.\n\nSLAG When my Master was ten he had already had to slip by night out of\ntwo cities.\n\nOOGNO (admiringly) Out of two cities!\n\nSLAG (nodding his head) In his native city they do not now know what\nbecame of the golden cup that stood in the Lunar Temple.\n\nAGMAR Yes, into seven pieces.\n\nULF We will each wear a piece of it over our rags.\n\nOOGNO Yes, yes, we shall look fine.\n\nAGMAR That is not the way that we shall disguise ourselves.\n\nOOGNO Not cover our rags?\n\nAGMAR No, no. The first who looked closely would say 'These are only\nbeggars. They have disguised themselves.'\n\nULF What shall we do?\n\nAGMAR Each of the seven shall wear a piece of the green raiment\nunderneath his rags. And peradventure here and there a little shall\nshow through; and men shall say 'These seven have disguised themselves\nas beggars. But we know not what they be.'\n\nSLAG Hear my wise Master.\n\nOOGNO (in admiration) _He_ is a beggar.\n\nULF He is an _old_ beggar.\n\n\n\nACT II\n\nSCENE: The Metropolitan Hall of the city of Kongros. Citizens, etc.\nEnter the seven beggars with green silk under their rags.\n\n\nOORANDER Who are you and whence come you?\n\nAGMAR Who may say what we are or whence we come?\n\nOORANDER What are these beggars and why do they come here?\n\nAGMAR Who said to you that we were beggars?\n\nOORANDER Why do these men come here?\n\nAGMAR Who said to you that we were men?\n\nILLANAUN Now, by the moon!\n\nAGMAR My sister.\n\nILLANAUN What?\n\nAGMAR My little sister.\n\nSLAG Our little sister the Moon. She comes to us at evenings away in\nthe mountain of Marma. She trips over the mountains when she is young:\nwhen she is young and slender she comes and dances before us: and when\nshe is old and unshapely she hobbles away from the hills.\n\nAGMAR Yet she is young again and forever nimble with youth: yet she\ncomes dancing back. The years are not able to curb her nor to bring\ngrey hairs to her brethren.\n\nOORANDER This is not wonted.\n\nILLANAUN It is not in accordance with custom.\n\nAKMOS Prophecy hath not thought it.\n\nSLAG She comes to us new and nimble remembering olden loves.\n\nOORANDER It were well that prophets should come and speak to us.\n\nILLANAUN This hath not been in the past. Let prophets come; let\nprophets speak to us of future things. (The beggars seat themselves\nupon the floor in the attitude of the seven gods of Marma.)\n\nCITIZEN I heard men speak to-day in the market-place. They speak of a\nprophecy read somewhere of old. It says the seven gods shall come from\nMarma in the guise of men.\n\nILLANAUN Is this a true prophecy?\n\nOORANDER It is all the prophecy we have. Man without prophecy is like\na sailor going by night over uncharted seas. He knows not where are\nthe rocks nor where the havens. To the man on watch all things ahead\nare black and the stars guide him not, for he knows not what they are.\n\nILLANAUN Should we not investigate this prophecy?\n\nOORANDER Let us accept it. It is as the small uncertain light of a\nlantern, carried it may be by a drunkard but along the shore of some\nhaven. Let us be guided.\n\nAKMOS It may be that they are but benevolent gods.\n\nAGMAR There is no benevolence greater than our benevolence.\n\nILLANAUN _Then_ we need do little: they portend no danger to us.\n\nAGMAR There is no anger greater than our anger.\n\nOORANDER Let us make sacrifice to them, if they be gods.\n\nAKMOS We humbly worship you, if ye be gods.\n\nILLANAUN (kneeling too) You are mightier than all men and hold high\nrank among other gods and are lords of this our city, and have the\nthunder as your plaything and the whirlwind and the eclipse and all\nthe destinies of human tribes, if ye be gods.\n\nAGMAR Let the pestilence not fall at once upon this city, as it had\nindeed designed to; let not the earthquake swallow it all immediately\nup amid the howls of the thunder; let not infuriate armies overwhelm\nthose that escape if we be gods.\n\nPOPULACE (in horror) If we be gods!\n\nOORANDER Come let us sacrifice.\n\nILLANAUN Bring lambs.\n\nAKMOS Quick, quick. (Exit some.)\n\nSLAG (with solemn air) This god is a very divine god.\n\nTHAHN He is no common god.\n\nMLAN Indeed he has made us.\n\nCITIZEN (A WOMAN) (to Slag) He will not punish us, Master? None of the\ngods will punish us? We will make a sacrifice, a good sacrifice.\n\nANOTHER We will sacrifice a lamb that the priests have blessed.\n\nFIRST CITIZEN Master, you are not wroth with us?\n\nSLAG Who may say what cloudy dooms are rolling up in the mind of the\neldest of the gods. He is no common god like us. Once a shepherd went\nby him in the mountains and doubted as he went. He sent a doom after\nthat shepherd.\n\nCITIZEN Master, we have not doubted.\n\nSLAG _And the doom found him on the hills at evening._\n\nSECOND CITIZEN It shall be a good sacrifice, Master. (Re-enter with a\ndead lamb and fruits. They offer the lamb on an altar where there is\nfire, and fruits before the altar.)\n\nTHAHN (stretching out a hand to a lamb upon an altar.) That leg is not\nbeing cooked at all.\n\nILLANAUN It is strange that gods should be thus anxious about the\ncooking of a leg of lamb.\n\nOORANDER It is strange certainly.\n\nILLANAUN Almost I had said that it was a man spoke then.\n\nOORANDER (Stroking his beard and regarding the second beggar.)\nStrange. Strange certainly.\n\nAGMAR Is it then strange that the gods love roasted flesh? For this\npurpose they keep the lightning. When the lightning flickers about the\nlimbs of men there comes to the gods in Marma a pleasant smell, even\na smell of roasting. Sometimes the gods, being pacific, are pleased to\nhave roasted instead the flesh of lamb. It is all one to the gods: let\nthe roasting stop.\n\nOORANDER No, no, gods of the mountain!\n\nOTHERS No, no.\n\nOORANDER Quick, let us offer the flesh to them. If they eat all is\nwell. (They offer it, the beggars eat, all but Agmar who watches.)\n\nILLANAUN One who was ignorant, one who did not know, had almost said\nthat they ate like hungry men.\n\nOTHERS Hush.\n\nAKMOS Yet they look as though they had not had a meal like this for a\nlong time.\n\nOORANDER They _have_ a hungry look.\n\nAGMAR (who has not eaten) I have not eaten since the world was very\nnew and the flesh of men was tenderer than now. These younger gods\nhave learned the habit of eating from the lions.\n\nOORANDER O oldest of divinities, partake, partake.\n\nAGMAR It is not fitting that such as I should eat. None eat but beasts\nand men and the younger gods. The Sun and the Moon and the nimble\nLightning and I, we may kill, and we may madden, but we do not eat.\n\nAKMOS If he but eat of our offering he cannot overwhelm us.\n\nALL O ancient deity, partake, partake.\n\nAGMAR Enough. Let it be enough that these have condescended to this\nbestial and human habit.\n\nILLANAUN (to Akmos) And yet he is not unlike a beggar whom I saw not\nso long since.\n\nOORANDER But beggars eat.\n\nILLANAUN Now I never knew a beggar yet who would refuse a bowl of\nWoldery wine.\n\nAKMOS This is no beggar.\n\nILLANAUN Nevertheless let us offer him a bowl of Woldery wine.\n\nAKMOS You do wrong to doubt him.\n\nILLANAUN I do but wish to prove his divinity. I will fetch the Woldery\nwine. (Exit)\n\nAKMOS He will not drink. Yet if he does, then he will not overwhelm\nus. Let us offer him the wine.\n\n(Re-enter Illanaun with a goblet.)\n\nFIRST BEGGAR It is Woldery wine!\n\nSECOND BEGGAR It is Woldery!\n\nTHIRD BEGGAR A goblet of Woldery wine!\n\nFOURTH BEGGAR O blessed day!\n\nMLAN O happy times!\n\nSLAG O my wise Master! (All the Beggars stretch out their hands,\nincluding Agmar. Illanaun gives it to Agmar. Agmar takes it solemnly,\nand very carefully pours it upon the ground.)\n\nFIRST BEGGAR He has spilt it.\n\nSECOND BEGGAR He has spilt it. (Agmar sniffs the fumes.)\n\nAGMAR It is a fitting libation. Our anger is somewhat appeased.\n\nANOTHER BEGGAR But it was Woldery!\n\nAKMOS (kneeling to Agmar) Master, I am childless, and I....\n\nAGMAR Trouble us not now. It is the hour at which the gods are\naccustomed to speak to the gods in the language of the gods, and if\nMan heard us he would guess the futility of his destiny, which were\nnot well for Man. Begone! Begone! (Exeunt all but one who lingers.)\n\nONE Master....\n\nAGMAR Begone! (exit one) (Agmar takes up a piece of meat and begins to\neat it: the beggars rise and stretch themselves: they laugh, but Agmar\neats hungrily.)\n\nOOGNO Ah, now we have come into our own.\n\nTHAHN Now we have alms.\n\nSLAG Master! My wise Master!\n\nULF These are the good days, the good days; and yet I have a fear.\n\nSLAG What do you fear? There is nothing to fear. No man is as wise as\nmy Master.\n\nULF I fear the gods whom we pretend to be.\n\nSLAG The gods?\n\nAGMAR (taking a chunk of meat from his lips) Come hither, Slag.\n\nSLAG (going up to him) Yes, Master.\n\nAGMAR Watch in the doorway while I eat. (Slag goes to the doorway)\nSit in the attitude of a god. Warn me if any of the citizens approach.\n(Slag sits in the doorway in the attitude of a god, back to the\naudience)\n\nOOGNO (to Agmar) But, Master, shall we not have Woldery wine?\n\nAGMAR We shall have all things if only we are wise at first for a\nlittle.\n\nTHAHN Master, do any suspect us?\n\nAGMAR We must be _very_ wise.\n\nTHAHN But if we are not wise, Master?\n\nAGMAR Why then death may come to us ...\n\nTHAHN O Master!\n\nAGMAR ... slowly. (All stir uneasily except Slag motionless in the\ndoorway.)\n\nOOGNO Do they believe us, master?\n\nSLAG (half turning his head) Someone comes. (Slag resumes his\nposition.)\n\nAGMAR (putting away his meat) We shall soon know now. (All take up the\nattitude. Enter one.)\n\nONE Master, I want the god that does not eat.\n\nAGMAR I am he.\n\nONE Master, my child was bitten in the throat by a death-adder at\nnoon. Spare him, Master; he still breathes, but slowly.\n\nAGMAR Is he indeed your child?\n\nONE He is surely my child, Master.\n\nAGMAR Was it your wont to thwart him in his play, while he was strong\nand well?\n\nONE I never thwarted him, Master.\n\nAGMAR Whose child is Death?\n\nONE Death is the child of the gods.\n\nAGMAR Do you that never thwarted your child in his play ask this of\nthe gods?\n\nONE (with some horror, perceiving Agmar's meaning) Master!\n\nAGMAR Weep not. For all the houses that men have builded are the\nplay-fields of this child of the gods. (The man goes away in silence\nnot weeping.)\n\nOOGNO (Taking Thahn by the wrist) Is this indeed a man?\n\nAGMAR A man, a man, and until just now a hungry one.\n\n\n\nACT III\n\nSame room. A few days have elapsed. Seven thrones shaped like\nmountain-crags stand along the back of the stage. On these the beggars\nare lounging. The Thief is absent.\n\n\nMLAN Never had beggars such a time.\n\nOOGNO Ah, the fruits and tender lamb!\n\nTHAHN The Woldery wine!\n\nSLAG It was better to see my Master's wise devices than to have fruit\nand lamb and Woldery wine.\n\nMLAN Ah, when they spied on him to see if he would eat when they went\naway!\n\nOOGNO When they questioned him concerning the gods and Man!\n\nTHAHN When they asked him why the gods permitted cancer!\n\nSLAG Ah! My wise Master.\n\nMLAN How well his scheme has succeeded.\n\nOOGNO How far away is hunger!\n\nTHAHN It is even like to one of last year's dreams, the trouble of a\nbrief night long ago.\n\nMLAN Ho, ho, ho, to see them pray to us!\n\nAGMAR (sternly) When we were beggars did we not speak as beggars? Did\nwe not whine as they? Was not our mien beggarly?\n\nMLAN We were the pride of our calling.\n\nAGMAR (sternly) Then now that we are gods let us _be_ as gods, and not\nmock our worshippers.\n\nULF I think the gods _do_ mock their worshippers.\n\nAGMAR The gods have never mocked _us_. We are above all pinnacles that\nwe have ever gazed at in dreams.\n\nULF I think that when Man is high then most of all are the gods wont\nto mock him. (Enter Thief)\n\nTHIEF Master, I have been with those that see all and know all, I have\nbeen with the thieves, Master. They know me for one of the craft, but\nthey do not know me as being one of us.\n\nAGMAR Well, well ...\n\nTHIEF There is danger, Master, there is great danger.\n\nAGMAR You mean that they suspect that we are men?\n\nTHIEF That they have long done, Master. I mean that they will know it.\nThen we are lost.\n\nAGMAR Then they do not know it?\n\nTHIEF They do not know it yet, but they will know it, and we are lost.\n\nAGMAR When will they know it?\n\nTHIEF Three days ago they suspected us.\n\nAGMAR More than you think suspected us, but have any dared to say so?\n\nTHIEF No, Master.\n\nAGMAR Then forget your fears, my thief.\n\nTHIEF Two men went on dromedaries three days ago to see if the gods\nwere still at Marma.\n\nAGMAR They went to Marma!\n\nTHIEF Yes, three days ago.\n\nOOGNO We are lost.\n\nAGMAR They went three days ago?\n\nTHIEF Yes, on dromedaries.\n\nAGMAR They should be back to-day.\n\nOOGNO We are lost.\n\nTHAHN We are lost.\n\nTHIEF They must have seen the green jade idols sitting against the\nmountains. They will say, 'The gods are still at Marma.' And we shall\nbe burnt.\n\nSLAG My Master will yet devise a plan.\n\nAGMAR (to the Thief) Slip away to some high place and look towards the\ndesert and see how long we have to devise a plan. (Exit Thief.)\n\nSLAG My Master will devise a plan.\n\nOOGNO He has taken us into a trap.\n\nTHAHN His wisdom is our doom.\n\nSLAG He will find a wise plan yet. (Re-enter Thief.)\n\nTHIEF It is too late.\n\nAGMAR It is too late?\n\nTHIEF The dromedary men are here.\n\nOOGNO We are lost.\n\nAGMAR Be silent! I must think. (They all sit still. Citizens enter and\nprostrate themselves. Agmar sits deep in thought.)\n\nILLANAUN (to Agmar) Two holy pilgrims have gone to your sacred\nshrines, wherein you were wont to sit before you left the mountains.\n(Agmar says nothing) They return even now.\n\nAGMAR They left us here and went to find the gods. A fish once took a\njourney into a far country to find the sea.\n\nILLANAUN Most reverend Deity, their piety is so great that they have\ngone to worship even your shrines.\n\nAGMAR I know these men that have great piety. Such men have often\nprayed to me before, but their prayers are not acceptable. They little\nlove the gods, their only care is their piety. I know these pious\nones. They will say that the seven gods were still at Marma. So shall\nthey seem more pious to you all, pretending that they alone have seen\nthe gods. Fools shall believe them and share in their damnation.\n\nOORANDER (to Illanaun) Hush. You anger the gods.\n\nILLANAUN I am not sure whom I anger.\n\nOORANDER It may be they are the gods.\n\nILLANAUN Where are these men from Marma?\n\nCITIZEN Here are the dromedary men, they are coming now.\n\nILLANAUN (to Agmar) The holy pilgrims from your shrine are come to\nworship you.\n\nAGMAR The men are doubters. How the gods hate the word! Doubt ever\ncontaminated virtue. Let them be cast into prison and not besmirch\nyour purity, (rising) Let them not enter here.\n\nILLANAUN But O most reverened Deity from the mountain, we also doubt,\nmost reverend Deity.\n\nAGMAR You have chosen. You have chosen. And yet it is not too late.\nRepent and cast these men in prison and it may not be too late. _The\ngods have never wept_. And yet when they think upon damnation and the\ndooms that are withering a myriad bones, then almost, were they not\ndivine, they _could_ weep. Be quick. Repent of your doubt.\n\nILLANAUN Most reverend Deity, it is a mighty doubt.\n\nCITIZENS _Nothing has killed him! They are not the gods_!\n\nSLAG (to Agmar) You have a plan, my Master. You have a plan?\n\nAGMAR Not yet, Slag. (Enter the dromedary men.)\n\nILLANAUN (to Oorander) These are the men that went to the shrines at\nMarma.\n\nOORANDER (in a loud, clear voice) Were the gods of the mountain seated\nstill at Marma, or were they not there? (The beggars get up hurriedly\nfrom their thrones.)\n\nDROMEDARY MAN They were not there.\n\nILLANAUN They were not there?\n\nDROMEDARY MAN Their shrines were empty.\n\nOORANDER Behold the gods of the mountain!\n\nAKMOS They have indeed come from Marma.\n\nOORANDER Come. Let us go away to prepare a sacrifice, a mighty\nsacrifice to atone for our doubting. (Exeunt.)\n\nSLAG My most wise Master!\n\nAGMAR No, no, Slag. I do not know what has befallen. When I went by\nMarma only two weeks ago the idols of green jade were still seated\nthere.\n\nOOGNO We are saved now.\n\nTHAHN Aye, we are saved.\n\nAGMAR We are saved, but I know not how.\n\nOOGNO _Never_ had beggars such a time.\n\nTHIEF I will go out and watch. (He creeps out.)\n\nULF Yet I have a fear.\n\nOOGNO A fear? Why, we are saved.\n\nULF Last night I dreamed.\n\nOOGNO What was your dream?\n\nULF It was nothing. I dreamed that I was thirsty and one gave me\nWoldery wine; yet there was a fear in my dream.\n\nTHAHN When I drink Woldery wine I am afraid of nothing. (Re-enter\nThief.)\n\nTHIEF They are making a pleasant banquet ready for us; they are\nkilling lambs, and girls are there with fruits, and there is to be\nmuch Woldery wine.\n\nMLAN Never had beggars such a time.\n\nAGMAR Do any doubt us now?\n\nTHIEF I do not know.\n\nMLAN When will the banquet be?\n\nTHIEF When the stars come out.\n\nOOGNO Ah. It is sunset already. There will be good eating.\n\nTHAHN We shall see the girls come in with baskets upon their heads.\n\nOOGNO There will be fruits in the baskets.\n\nTHAHN All the fruits of the valley.\n\nMLAN Ah, how long we have wandered along the ways of the world.\n\nSLAG Ah, how hard they were.\n\nTHAHN And how dusty.\n\nOOGNO And how little wine.\n\nMLAN How long we have asked and asked, and for how much!\n\nAGMAR We to whom all things are coming now at last.\n\nTHIEF I fear lest my art forsake me now that good things come without\nstealing.\n\nAGMAR You will need your art no longer.\n\nSLAG The wisdom of my Master shall suffice us all our days. (Enter a\nfrightened man. He kneels before Agmar and abases his forehead.)\n\nMAN Master, we implore you, the people beseech you. (Agmar and the\nbeggars in the attitude of the gods sit silent.)\n\nMAN Master, it is terrible. (The beggars maintain silence) It is\nterrible when you wander in the evening. It is terrible on the edge of\nthe desert in the evening. Children die when they see you.\n\nAGMAR In the desert? When did you see us?\n\nMAN Last night, Master. You were terrible last night. You were\nterrible in the gloaming. When your hands were stretched out and\ngroping. You were feeling for the city.\n\nAGMAR Last night do you say?\n\nMAN You were terrible in the gloaming!\n\nAGMAR You yourself saw us?\n\nMAN Yes, Master, you were terrible. Children too saw you and they\ndied.\n\nAGMAR You say you saw us?\n\nMAN Yes, Master. Not as you are now, but otherwise. We implore you,\nMaster, not to wander at evening. You are terrible in the gloaming.\nYou are....\n\nAGMAR You say we appeared not as we are now. How did we appear to you?\n\nMAN Otherwise, Master, otherwise.\n\nAGMAR But how _did_ we appear to you?\n\nMAN You were all green, Master, all green in the gloaming, all of rock\nagain as you used to be in the mountains. Master, we can bear to see\nyou in flesh like men, but when we see rock walking it is terrible, it\nis terrible.\n\nAGMAR That is how we appeared to you?\n\nMAN Yes, Master. Rock should not walk. When children see it they do\nnot understand. Rock should not walk in the evening.\n\nAGMAR There have been doubters of late. Are they satisfied?\n\nMAN Master, they are terrified. Spare us, Master.\n\nAGMAR It is wrong to doubt. Go, and be faithful. (Exit Man.)\n\nSLAG What have they seen, Master?\n\nAGMAR They have seen their own fears dancing in the desert. They have\nseen something green after the light was gone, and some child has told\nthem a tale that it was us. I do not know what they have seen. What\nshould they have seen?\n\nULF Something was coming this way from the desert, he said.\n\nSLAG What should come from the desert?\n\nAGMAR They are a foolish people.\n\nULF That man's white face has seen some frightful thing.\n\nSLAG A frightful thing?\n\nULF That man's face has been near to some frightful thing.\n\nAGMAR It is only we that have frightened them, and their fears have\nmade them foolish. (Enter an attendant with a torch or lantern which\nhe places in a receptacle. Exit.)\n\nTHAHN Now we shall see the faces of the girls when they come to the\nbanquet.\n\nMLAN Never had beggars such a time.\n\nAGMAR Hark! They are coming. I hear footsteps.\n\nTHAHN The dancing girls. They are coming.\n\nTHIEF There is no sound of flutes; they said they would come with\nmusic.\n\nOOGNO What heavy boots they have, they sound like feet of stone.\n\nTHAHN I do not like to hear their heavy tread; those that would dance\nto _us_ must be light of foot.\n\nAGMAR I shall not smile at them if they are not airy.\n\nMLAN They are coming very slowly. They should come nimbly to us.\n\nTHAHN They should dance as they come. But the footfall is like the\nfootfall of heavy crabs.\n\nULF (in a loud voice, almost chaunting) I have a fear, an old fear and\na boding. We have done ill in the sight of the seven gods; beggars we\nwere and beggars we should have remained; we have given up our calling\nand come in sight of our doom: I will no longer let my fear be silent:\nit shall run about and cry: it shall go from me crying, like a dog\nfrom out of a doomed city; for my fear has seen calamity and has known\nan evil thing.\n\nSLAG (hoarsely) Master!\n\nAGMAR (rising) Come, come! (They listen. No one speaks. The stony\nboots come on. Enter in single file a procession of seven green men,\neven hands and faces are green; they wear greenstone sandals, they\nwalk with knees extremely wide apart, as having sat cross-legged for\ncenturies, their right arms and right forefingers point upwards, right\nelbows resting on left hands: they stoop grotesquely: halfway to the\nfootlights they wheel left. They pass in front of the seven beggars,\nnow in terrified attitudes and six of them sit down in the attitude\ndescribed, with their backs to the audience. The leader stands, still\nstooping. Just as they wheel left, OOGNO cries out.) The gods of the\nmountain!\n\nAGMAR (hoarsely) Be still. They are dazzled by the light, they may not\nsee us. (The leading green thing points his forefinger at the lantern,\nthe flame turns green. When the six are seated the leader points one\nby one at each of the seven beggars, shooting out his forefinger at\nthem. As he does this each beggar in his turn gathers himself back on\nto his throne and crosses his legs, his right arm goes stiffly upwards\nwith forefinger erect, and a staring look of horror comes into his\neyes. In this attitude the beggars sit motionless while a green light\nfalls upon their faces. The gods go out.\n\nPresently enter the Citizens, some with victuals and fruit. One\ntouches a beggar's arm and then another's.)\n\nCITIZEN They are cold; they have turned to stone. (All abase\nthemselves foreheads to the floor.)\n\nONE We have doubted them. We have doubted them. They have turned to\nstone because we have doubted them.\n\nANOTHER They were the true gods.\n\nALL They were the true gods.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST ACT OF KING ARGIMENES AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR\n\n\n  King Argimenes\n  Zarb (a slave born of slaves)\n  An Old Slave                       Slaves of King Darniak\n  A Young Slave\n  Slaves\n\n  King Darniak\n  The King's Overseer\n  A Prophet\n  The Idol-Guard\n  The Servant of the King's Dog\n\n  Queen Otharlia\n  Queen Oxara\n  Queen Cahafra                       Queens of King Darniak\n  Queen Thragolind\n  Guards and Attendants\n\n\n\nACT I\n\nTime: A long time ago. SCENE: The dinner-hour on the slave-fields of\nKing Darniak.\n\n\n(The Curtain rises upon King Argimenes, sitting upon the ground,\nbowed, ragged, and dirty, gnawing a bone. He has uncouth hair and a\ndishevelled beard. A battered spade lies near him. Two or three slaves\nsit at back of stage eating raw cabbage-leaves. The tear-song, the\nchaunt of the low-born, rises at intervals, monotonous and mournful,\ncoming from distant slave-fields.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES This is a good bone; there is juice in this bone.\n\nZARB I wish I were you, Argimenes.\n\nKING ARGIMENES I am not to be envied any longer. I have eaten up my\nbone.\n\nZARB I wish I were you, because you have been a King. Because men\nhave prostrated themselves before your feet. Because you have ridden a\nhorse and worn a crown and have been called Majesty.\n\nKING ARGIMENES When I remember that I have been a king it is very\nterrible.\n\nZARB But you are lucky to have such things in your memory as you have.\nI have nothing in my memory--Once I went for a year without being\nflogged, and I remember my cleverness in contriving it--I have nothing\nelse to remember.\n\nKING ARGIMENES It is very terrible to have been a king.\n\nZARB But we have nothing who have no good memories in the past. It is\nnot easy for us to hope for the future here.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Have you any god?\n\nZARB We may not have a god because he might make us brave and we might\nkill our guards. He might make a miracle and give us swords.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Ah, you have no hope then.\n\nZARB I have a little hope. Hush, and I will tell you a secret--The\nKing's great dog is ill and like to die. They will throw him to us. We\nshall have beautiful bones then.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Ah! Bones.\n\nZARB Yes. That is what _I_ hope for. And have _you_ no other hope? Do\nyou not hope that your nation will arise some day and rescue you\nand cast off the king and hang him up by his thumbs from the palace\ngateway?\n\nKING ARGIMENES No. I have no other hope, for my god was cast down in\nthe temple and broken into three pieces on the day that they surprised\nus and took me sleeping. But will they throw him to us? Will so\nhonourable a brute as the King's dog be thrown to us?\n\nZARB When he is dead his honours are taken away. Even the King when he\nis dead is given to the worms. Then why should not his dog be thrown\nto us?\n\nKING ARGIMENES We are not worms!\n\nZARB You do not understand, Argimenes. The worms are little and free,\nwhile we are big and enslaved. I did not say we were worms, but we are\n_like_ worms, and if they have the King when he is dead, why then--\n\nKING ARGIMENES Tell me more of the King's dog. Are there big bones on\nhim?\n\nZARB Ay, he is a big dog--a high, big, black one.\n\nKING ARGIMENES You know him then?\n\nZARB O yes, I know him. I know him well. I was beaten once because of\nhim, twenty-five strokes from the treble whips, two men beating me.\n\nKING ARGIMENES How did they beat you because of the King's dog?\n\nZARB They beat me because I spoke to him without making obeisance. He\nwas coming dancing alone over the slave-fields and I spoke to him. He\nwas a friendly great dog, and I spoke to him and patted his head, and\ndid not make obeisance.\n\nKING ARGIMENES And they saw you do it?\n\nZARB Yes, the slave-guard saw me. They came and seized me at once and\nbound my arms. The great dog wanted me to speak to him again, but I\nwas hurried away.\n\nKING ARGIMENES You should have made obeisance.\n\nZARB The great dog seemed so friendly that I forgot he was the King's\ngreat dog.\n\nKING ARGIMENES But tell me more. Was he hurt, or is it a sickness?\n\nZARB They say that it is a sickness.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Ah. Then he will grow thin if he does not die soon. If\nit had been a hurt!--but we should not complain. I complain more often\nthan you do because I had not learned to submit while I was yet young.\n\nZARB If your beautiful memories do not please you, you should hope\nmore. I wish I had your memories. I should not trouble to hope then.\nIt is very hard to hope.\n\nKING ARGIMENES There will be nothing more to hope for when we have\neaten the King's dog.\n\nZARB Why you might find gold in the earth while you were digging. Then\nyou might bribe the commander of the guard to lend you his sword; we\nwould all follow you if you had a sword. Then we might take the King\nand bind him and lay him on the ground and fasten his tongue outside\nhis mouth with thorns and put honey on it and sprinkle honey near.\nThen the grey ants would come from one of their big mounds. My father\nfound gold once when he was digging.\n\nKING ARGIMENES (pointedly) Did your father free himself?\n\nZARB No. Because the King's Overseer found him looking at the gold and\nkilled him. But he would have freed himself if he could have bribed\nthe guard. (A prophet walks across the stage attended by two guards.)\n\nSLAVES He is going to the King. He is going to the King.\n\nZARB He is going to the King.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Going to prophesy good things to the King. It is easy\nto prophesy good things to a king, and be rewarded when the good\nthings come. What else should come to a king? A prophet! a prophet! (A\ndeep bell tolls slowly. King Argimenes and Zarb pick up their spades\nat once, and the old slaves at the back of the stage go down on their\nknees immediately and grub in the soil with their hands. The white\nbeard of the oldest trails in the dirt as he works. King Argimenes\ndigs.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES What is the name of that song that we always sing? I\nlike the song.\n\nZARB It has no name. It is our song. There is no other song.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Once there were other songs. Has this no name?\n\nZARB I think the soldiers have a name for it.\n\nKING ARGIMENES What do the soldiers call it?\n\nZARB The soldiers call it the tear-song, the chaunt of the low-born.\n\nKING ARGIMENES It is a good song. I could sing no other now. (Zarb\nmoves away digging.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES (to himself as his spade touches something in the\nearth.) Metal! (Feels with his spade again.) Gold perhaps!--It is of\nno use here. (uncovers earth leisurely. Suddenly he drops on his knees\nand works excitedly in the earth with his hands. Then very slowly,\nstill kneeling, he lifts, lying flat on his hands, a long greenish\nsword, his eyes intent on it. About the level of his uplifted forehead\nhe holds it, still flat on both hands, and addresses it thus:)\n\nO holy and blessed thing. (Then he lowers it slowly till his hands\nrest on his knees, and looking all the while at the sword.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES Three years ago tomorrow King Darniak spat at me,\nhaving taken my kingdom from me. Three times in that year I was\nflogged, with twelve stripes, with seventeen stripes, and with twenty\nstripes. A year and eleven months ago, come Moon-day, the King's\nOverseer struck me in the face, and nine times in that year he called\nme dog. For one month two weeks and a day I was yoked with a bullock\nand pulled a rounded stone all day over the paths, except while we\nwere fed. I was flogged twice that year--with eighteen stripes and\nwith ten stripes. This year the roof of the slave-sty has fallen in\nand King Darniak will not repair it. Five weeks ago one of his queens\nlaughed at me as she came across the slave-fields. I was flogged again\nthis year and with thirteen stripes, and twelve times they have called\nme dog. And these things they have done to a king, and a king of the\nhouse of Ithara. (He listens attentively for a moment, then buries\nthe sword again and pats the earth over it with his hands, then digs\nagain. The old slaves do not see him: their faces are to the earth.)\n(Enter the King's Overseer carrying a whip. The slaves and King\nArgimenes kneel with their foreheads to the ground as he passes across\nthe stage. Exit the King's Overseer.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES (kneeling, hands outspread downwards.) O warrior\nspirit, wherever thou wanderest, whoever be thy gods; whether they\npunish thee or whether they bless thee; O kingly spirit that once laid\nhere this sword, behold I pray to thee having no gods to pray to, for\nthe god of my nation was broken in three by night. Mine arm is stiff\nwith three years' slavery and remembers not the sword. But guide thy\nsword till I have slain six men and armed the strongest slaves, and\nthou shalt have the sacrifice every year of a hundred goodly oxen. And\nI will build in Ithara a temple to thy memory wherein all that enter\nin shall remember thee, so shalt thou be honoured and envied among the\ndead, for the dead are very jealous of remembrance. Aye, though thou\nwert a robber that took men's lives unrighteously, yet shall rare\nspices smoulder in thy temple and little maidens sing and new-plucked\nflowers deck the solemn aisles; and priests shall go about it ringing\nbells that thy soul shall find repose. O but it has a good blade this\nold green sword; thou wouldst not like to see it miss its mark (if the\ndead see at all, as wise men teach,) thou wouldst not like to see it\ngo thirsting into the air; so huge a sword should find its marrowy\nbone. (Extending his right hand upward.) Come into my right arm, O\nancient spirit, O unknown warrior's soul. And if thou hast the ear of\nany gods, speak there against Illuriel, god of King Darniak. (He rises\nand goes on digging. Re-enter the King's Overseer.)\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER So you have been praying.\n\nKING ARGIMENES (kneeling) No, Master.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER The slave-guard saw you. (Strikes him) It is not\nlawful for a slave to pray.\n\nKING ARGIMENES I did but pray to Illuriel to make me a good slave, to\nteach me to dig well and to pull the rounded stone, and to make me not\nto die when the food is scarce, but to be a good slave to my master,\nthe great King.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER Who art thou to pray to Illuriel? Dogs may not\npray to an immortal god. (Exit. Zarb comes back, digging.)\n\nKING ARGIMENES (digging) Zarb.\n\nZARB (also digging) Do not look at me when you speak. The guards are\nwatching us. Look at your digging.\n\nKING ARGIMENES How do the guards know we are speaking because we look\nat one another?\n\nZARB You are very witless. Of course they know.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Zarb.\n\nZARB What is it?\n\nKING ARGIMENES How many guards are there in sight?\n\nZARB There are six of them over there. They are watching us.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Are there other guards in sight of these six guards?\n\nZARB No.\n\nKING ARGIMENES How do you know?\n\nZARB Because whenever their officer leaves them they sit upon the\nground and play with dice.\n\nKING ARGIMENES How does that show that there are not another six in\nsight of them?\n\nZARB How witless you are, Argimenes. Of course it shows there are\nnot. Because, if there were, another officer would see them, and their\nthumbs would be cut off.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Ah. (a pause.) Zarb. (a pause) Would the slaves follow\nme if I tried to kill the guards?\n\nZARB No, Argimenes.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Why would they not follow me?\n\nZARB Because you look like a slave. They will never follow a slave,\nbecause they are slaves themselves, and know how mean a creature is a\nslave. If you looked like a king they would follow you.\n\nKING ARGIMENES But I am a king. They know that I am a king.\n\nZARB It is better to look like a king. It is looks that they would go\nby.\n\nKING ARGIMENES If I had a sword would they follow me? A beautiful huge\nsword of bronze.\n\nZARB I wish I could think of things like that. It is because you were\nonce a king that you can think of a sword of bronze. I tried to hope\nonce that I should some day fight the guards, but I couldn't picture a\nsword, I couldn't imagine it; I could only picture whips.\n\nKING ARGIMENES Dig a little nearer, Zarb. (They both edge closer.) I\nhave found a very old sword in the earth. It is not a sword such as\ncommon soldiers wear. A king must have worn it, and an angry king. It\nmust have done fearful things; there are little dints in it. Perhaps\nthere was a battle here long ago where all were slain, and perhaps\nthat king died last and buried his sword, but the great birds\nswallowed him.\n\nZARB You have been thinking too much of the King's dog, Argimenes, and\nthat has made you hungry, and hunger has driven you mad.\n\nKING ARGIMENES I _have_ found such a sword. (A pause.)\n\nZARB Why--then you will wear a purple cloak again, and sit on a great\nthrone, and ride a prancing horse, and we shall call you Majesty.\n\nKING ARGIMENES I shall break a long fast first and drink much water,\nand sleep. But will the slaves follow me?\n\nZARB You will _make_ them follow you if you have a sword. Yet is\nIlluriel a very potent god. They say that none have prevailed against\nKing Darniak's dynasty so long as Illuriel stood. Once an enemy cast\nIlluriel into the river and overthrew the dynasty, but a fisherman\nfound him again and set him up, and the enemy was driven out and the\ndynasty returned.\n\nKING ARGIMENES If Illuriel could be cast down as my god was cast down\nperhaps King Darniak could be overcome as I was overcome in my sleep?\n\nZARB If Illuriel were cast down all the people would utter a cry and\nflee away. It would be a fearful portent.\n\nKING ARGIMENES How many men are there in the armoury at the palace?\n\nZARB There are ten men in the palace armoury when all the slave-guards\nare out. (They dig awhile in silence.)\n\nZARB The officer of the slave-guard has gone away--they are playing\nwith dice now. (Zarb throws down his spade and stretches his\narms)--The man with the big beard has won again, he is very nimble\nwith his thumbs--They are playing again, but it is getting dark, I\ncannot clearly see.\n\n(King Argimenes furtively uncovers the sword, he picks it up and grips\nit in his hand.)\n\nZARB Majesty! (King Argimenes crouches and steals away towards the\nslave-guard.)\n\nZARB (to the other slaves) Argimenes has found a terrible sword and\nhas gone to slay the slave-guard. It is not a common sword, it is some\nking's sword.\n\nAN OLD SLAVE Argimenes will be dreadfully flogged. We shall hear him\ncry all night. His cries will frighten us, and we shall not sleep.\n\nZARB No! no! The guards flog poor slaves, but Argimenes had an angry\nlook. The guards will be afraid when they see him look so angry and\nsee his terrible sword. It was a huge sword, and he looked very angry.\nHe will bring us the swords of the slave-guard. We must prostrate\nourselves before him and kiss his feet or he will be angry with us\ntoo.\n\nOLD SLAVE Will Argimenes give me a sword?\n\nZARB He will have swords for six of us if he slays the slave-guard.\nYes, he will give you a sword.\n\nSLAVE A sword! No, no, I must not; the King would kill me if he found\nthat I had a sword.\n\nSECOND SLAVE (slowly, as one who develops an idea) If the King found\nthat I had a sword, why then it would be an evil day for the King.\n(They all look off left.)\n\nZARB I think that they are playing at dice again.\n\nFIRST SLAVE I do not see Argimenes.\n\nZARB No, because he was crouching as he walked. The slave-guard is on\nthe sky-line.\n\nSECOND SLAVE What is that dark shadow behind the slave-guard?\n\nZARB It is too still to be Argimenes.\n\nSECOND SLAVE Look! It moves.\n\nZARB The evening is too dark, I cannot see. (They continue to gaze\ninto the gathering darkness. They raise themselves on their knees and\ncrane their necks. Nobody speaks. Then from their lips and from others\nfurther off goes up a long deep Oh! It is like the sound that goes up\nfrom the grand stand when a horse falls at a fence, or in England like\nthe first exclamation of the crowd at a great cricket match when a man\nis caught in the slips.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE FALL OF BABBULKUND\n\n\nI said: 'I will arise now and see Babbulkund, City of Marvel. She is\nof one age with the earth; the stars are her sisters. Pharaohs of\nthe old time coming conquering from Araby first saw her, a solitary\nmountain in the desert, and cut the mountain into towers and terraces.\nThey destroyed one of the hills of God, but they made Babbulkund. She\nis carven, not built; her palaces are one with her terraces, there is\nneither join nor cleft. Hers is the beauty of the youth of the world.\nShe deemeth herself to be the middle of Earth, and hath four gates\nfacing outward to the Nations. There sits outside her eastern gate a\ncolossal god of stone. His face flushes with the lights of dawn. When\nthe morning sunlight warms his lips they part a little, and he giveth\nutterance to the words 'Oon Oom,' and the language is long since dead\nin which he speaks, and all his worshippers are gathered to their\ntombs, so that none knoweth what the words portend that he uttereth at\ndawn. Some say that he greets the sun as one god greets another in the\nlanguage thereof, and others say that he proclaims the day, and others\nthat he uttereth warning. And at every gate is a marvel not credible\nuntil beholden.'\n\nAnd I gathered three friends and said to them: 'We are what we have\nseen and known. Let us journey now and behold Babbulkund, that our\nminds may be beautified with it and our spirits made holier.'\n\nSo we took ship and travelled over the lifting sea, and remembered not\nthings done in the towns we knew, but laid away the thoughts of them\nlike soiled linen and put them by, and dreamed of Babbulkund.\n\nBut when we came to the land of which Babbulkund is the abiding glory,\nwe hired a caravan of camels and Arab guides, and passed southwards\nin the afternoon on the three days' journey through the desert that\nshould bring us to the white walls of Babbulkund. And the heat of\nthe sun shone upon us out of the bright grey sky, and the heat of the\ndesert beat up at us from below.\n\nAbout sunset we halted and tethered our horses, while the Arabs\nunloaded the provisions from the camels and prepared a fire out of\nthe dry scrub, for at sunset the heat of the desert departs from it\nsuddenly, like a bird. Then we saw a traveller approaching us on a\ncamel coming from the south. When he was come near we said to him:\n\n'Come and encamp among us, for in the desert all men are brothers, and\nwe will give thee meat to eat and wine, or, if thou art bound by thy\nfaith, we will give thee some other drink that is not accursed by the\nprophet.'\n\nThe traveller seated himself beside us on the sand, and crossed his\nlegs and answered:\n\n'Hearken, and I will tell you of Babbulkund, City of Marvel.\nBabbulkund stands just below the meeting of the rivers, where Oonrana,\nRiver of Myth, flows into the Waters of Fable, even the old stream\nPleg\u00e1thanees. These, together, enter her northern gate rejoicing. Of\nold they flowed in the dark through the Hill that Nehemoth, the first\nof Pharaohs, carved into the City of Marvel. Sterile and desolate they\nfloat far through the desert, each in the appointed cleft, with life\nupon neither bank, but give birth in Babbulkund to the sacred purple\ngarden whereof all nations sing. Thither all the bees come on a\npilgrimage at evening by a secret way of the air. Once, from his\ntwilit kingdom, which he rules equally with the sun, the moon saw\nand loved Babbulkund, clad with her purple garden; and the moon wooed\nBabbulkund, and she sent him weeping away, for she is more beautiful\nthan all her sisters the stars. Her sisters come to her at night into\nher maiden chamber. Even the gods speak sometimes of Babbulkund, clad\nwith her purple garden. Listen, for I perceive by your eyes that\nye have not seen Babbulkund; there is a restlessness in them and an\nunappeased wonder. Listen. In the garden whereof I spoke there is a\nlake that hath no twin or fellow in the world; there is no companion\nfor it among all the lakes. The shores of it are of glass, and the\nbottom of it. In it are great fish having golden and scarlet scales,\nand they swim to and fro. Here it is the wont of the eighty-second\nNehemoth (who rules in the city to-day) to come, after the dusk has\nfallen, and sit by the lake alone, and at this hour eight hundred\nslaves go down by steps through caverns into vaults beneath the lake.\nFour hundred of them carrying purple lights march one behind the\nother, from east to west, and four hundred carrying green lights\nmarch one behind the other, from west to east. The two lines cross and\nre-cross each other in and out as the slaves go round and round, and\nthe fearful fish flash up and down and to and fro.'\n\nBut upon that traveller speaking night descended, solemn and cold, and\nwe wrapped ourselves in our blankets and lay down upon the sand in\nthe sight of the astral sisters of Babbulkund. And all that night the\ndesert said many things, softly and in a whisper, but I knew not what\nhe said. Only the sand knew and arose and was troubled and lay down\nagain, and the wind knew. Then, as the hours of the night went by,\nthese two discovered the foot-tracks wherewith we had disturbed the\nholy desert, and they troubled over them and covered them up; and then\nthe wind lay down and the sand rested. Then the wind rose again and\nthe sand danced. This they did many times. And all the while the\ndesert whispered what I shall not know.\n\nThen I slept awhile and awoke just before sunrise, very cold. Suddenly\nthe sun leapt up and flamed upon our faces; we all threw off our\nblankets and stood up. Then we took food, and afterwards started\nsouthwards, and in the heat of the day rested, and afterwards pushed\non again. And all the while the desert remained the same, like a dream\nthat will not cease to trouble a tired sleeper.\n\nAnd often travellers passed us in the desert, coming from the City of\nMarvel, and there was a light and a glory in their eyes from having\nseen Babbulkund. That evening, at sunset, another traveller neared us,\nand we hailed him, saying:\n\n'Wilt thou eat and drink with us, seeing that all men are brothers in\nthe desert?'\n\nAnd he descended from his camel and sat by us and said:\n\n'When morning shines on the colossus Neb and Neb speaks, at once the\nmusicians of King Nehemoth in Babbulkund awake.\n\n'At first their fingers wander over their golden harps, or they stroke\nidly their violins. Clearer and clearer the note of each instrument\nascends like larks arising from the dew, till suddenly they all blend\ntogether and a new melody is born. Thus, every morning, the musicians\nof King Nehemoth make a new marvel in the City of Marvel; for these\nare no common musicians, but masters of melody, raided by conquest\nlong since, and carried away in ships from the Isles of Song. And, at\nthe sound of the music, Nehemoth awakes in the eastern chamber of his\npalace, which is carved in the form of a great crescent, four miles\nlong, on the northern side of the city. Full in the windows of its\neastern chamber the sun rises, and full in the windows of its western\nchamber the sun sets.\n\n'When Nehemoth awakes he summons slaves who bring a palanquin with\nbells, which the King enters, having lightly robed. Then the slaves\nrun and bear him to the onyx Chamber of the Bath, with the sound of\nsmall bells ringing as they run. And when Nehemoth emerges thence,\nbathed and annointed, the slaves run on with their ringing palanquin\nand bear him to the Orient Chamber of Banquets, where the King takes\nthe first meal of the day. Thence, through the great white corridor\nwhose windows all face sunwards, Nehemoth, in his palanquin, passes\non to the Audience Chamber of Embassies from the North, which is all\ndecked with Northern wares.\n\n'All about it are ornaments of amber from the North and carven\nchalices of the dark brown Northern crystal, and on its floors lie\nfurs from Baltic shores.\n\n'In adjoining chambers are stored the wonted food of the hardy\nNorthern men, and the strong wine of the North, pale but terrible.\nTherein the King receives barbarian princes from the frigid lands.\nThence the slaves bear him swiftly to the Audience Chamber of\nEmbassies from the East, where the walls are of turquoise, studded\nwith the rubies of Ceylon, where the gods are the gods of the East,\nwhere all the hangings have been devised in the gorgeous heart of Ind,\nand where all the carvings have been wrought with the cunning of the\nisles. Here, if a caravan hath chanced to have come in from Ind or\nfrom Cathay, it is the King's wont to converse awhile with Moguls or\nMandarins, for from the East come the arts and knowledge of the world,\nand the converse of their people is polite. Thus Nehemoth passes on\nthrough the other Audience Chambers & receives, perhaps, some Sheihks\nof the Arab folk who have crossed the great desert from the West, or\nreceives an embassy sent to do him homage from the shy jungle people\nto the South. And all the while the slaves with the ringing palanquin\nrun westwards, following the sun, and ever the sun shines straight\ninto the chamber where Nehemoth sits, and all the while the music from\none or other of his bands of musicians comes tinkling to his ears.\nBut when the middle of the day draws near, the slaves run to the\ncool grooves that lie along the verandahs on the northern side of the\npalace, forsaking the sun, and as the heat overcomes the genius of the\nmusicians, one by one their hands fall from their instruments, till at\nlast all melody ceases. At this moment Nehemoth falls asleep, and the\nslaves put the palanquin down and lie down beside it. At this hour the\ncity becomes quite still, and the palace of Nehemoth and the tombs of\nthe Pharaohs of old face to the sunlight, all alike in silence. Even\nthe jewellers in the market-place, selling gems to princes, cease from\ntheir bargaining and cease to sing; for in Babbulkund the vendor of\nrubies sings the song of the ruby, and the vendor of sapphires sings\nthe song of the sapphire, and each stone hath its song, so that a man,\nby his song, proclaims and makes known his wares.\n\n'But all these sounds cease at the meridian hour, the jewellers in the\nmarket-place lie down in what shadow they can find, and the princes\ngo back to the cool places in their palaces, and a great hush in\nthe gleaming air hangs over Babbulkund. But in the cool of the late\nafternoon, one of the King's musicians will awake from dreaming of his\nhome and will pass his fingers, perhaps, over the strings of his harp\nand, with the music, some memory may arise of the wind in the glens of\nthe mountains that stand in the Isles of Song. Then the musician will\nwrench great cries out of the soul of his harp for the sake of the old\nmemory, and his fellows will awake and all make a song of home, woven\nof sayings told in the harbour when the ships came in, and of tales in\nthe cottages about the people of old time. One by one the other bands\nof musicians will take up the song, and Babbulkund, City of Marvel,\nwill throb with this marvel anew. Just now Nehemoth awakes, the slaves\nleap to their feet and bear the palanquin to the outer side of the\ngreat crescent palace between the south and the west, to behold the\nsun again. The palanquin, with its ringing bells, goes round once\nmore; the voices of the jewellers sing again in the market-place\nthe song of the emerald, the song of the sapphire; men talk on the\nhousetops, beggars wail in the streets, the musicians bend to their\nwork, all the sounds blend together into one murmur, the voice of\nBabbulkund speaking at evening. Lower and lower sinks the sun, till\nNehemoth, following it, comes with his panting slaves to the great\npurple garden of which surely thine own country has its songs, from\nwherever thou art come.\n\n'There he alights from his palanquin and goes up to a throne of ivory\nset in the garden's midst, facing full westwards, and sits there\nalone, long regarding the sunlight until it is quite gone. At this\nhour trouble comes into the face of Nehemoth. Men have heard him\nmuttering at the time of sunset: 'Even I too, even I too.' Thus do\nKing Nehemoth and the sun make their glorious ambits about Babbulkund.\n\n'A little later, when the stars come out to envy the beauty of the\nCity of Marvel, the King walks to another part of the garden and sits\nin an alcove of opal all alone by the marge of the sacred lake. This\nis the lake whose shores and floors are of glass, which is lit\nfrom beneath by slaves with purple lights and with green lights\nintermingling, and is one of the seven wonders of Babbulkund. Three of\nthe wonders are in the city's midst and four are at her gates. There\nis the lake, of which I tell thee, and the purple garden of which I\nhave told thee and which is a wonder even to the stars, and there is\nOng Zwarba, of which I shall tell thee also. And the wonders at the\ngates are these. At the eastern gate Neb. And at the northern gate\nthe wonder of the river and the arches, for the River of Myth, which\nbecomes one with the Waters of Fable in the desert outside the city,\nfloats under a gate of pure gold, rejoicing, and under many arches\nfantastically carven that are one with either bank. The marvel at the\nwestern gate is the marvel of Annolith and the dog Voth. Annolith sits\noutside the western gate facing towards the city. He is higher than\nany of the towers or palaces, for his head was carved from the summit\nof the old hill; he hath two eyes of sapphire wherewith he regards\nBabbulkund, and the wonder of the eyes is that they are to-day in the\nsame sockets wherein they glowed when first the world began, only the\nmarble that covered them has been carven away and the light of day let\nin and the sight of the envious stars. Larger than a lion is the dog\nVoth beside him; every hair is carven upon the back of Voth, his war\nhackles are erected and his teeth are bared. All the Nehemoths have\nworshipped the god Annolith, but all their people pray to the dog\nVoth, for the law of the land is that none but a Nehemoth may worship\nthe god Annolith. The marvel at the southern gate is the marvel of the\njungle, for he comes with all his wild untravelled sea of darkness and\ntrees and tigers and sunward-aspiring orchids right through a marble\ngate in the city wall and enters the city, and there widens and holds\na space in its midst of many miles across. Moreover, he is older than\nthe City of Marvel, for he dwelt long since in one of the valleys\nof the mountain which Nehemoth, first of Pharaohs, carved into\nBabbulkund.\n\n'Now the opal alcove in which the King sits at evening by the lake\nstands at the edge of the jungle, and the climbing orchids of the\njungle have long since crept from their homes through clefts of the\nopal alcove, lured by the lights of the lake, and now bloom there\nexultingly. Near to this alcove are the hareems of Nehemoth.\n\n'The King hath four hareems--one for the stalwart women from the\nmountains to the north, one for the dark and furtive jungle women, one\nfor the desert women that have wandering souls and pine in Babbulkund,\nand one for the princesses of his own kith, whose brown cheeks blush\nwith the blood of ancient Pharaohs and who exult with Babbulkund in\nher surpassing beauty, and who know nought of the desert or the jungle\nor the bleak hills to the north. Quite unadorned and clad in simple\ngarments go all the kith of Nehemoth, for they know well that he grows\nweary of pomp. Unadorned all save one, the Princess Linderith, who\nweareth Ong Zwarba and the three lesser gems of the sea. Such a\nstone is Ong Zwarba that there are none like it even in the turban of\nNehemoth nor in all the sanctuaries of the sea. The same god that made\nLinderith made long ago Ong Zwarba; she and Ong Zwarba shine together\nwith one light, and beside this marvellous stone gleam the three\nlesser ones of the sea.\n\n'Now when the King sitteth in his opal alcove by the sacred lake with\nthe orchids blooming around him all sounds are become still. The sound\nof the tramping of the weary slaves as they go round and round never\ncomes to the surface. Long since the musicians sleep, and their hands\nhave fallen dumb upon their instruments, and the voices in the city\nhave died away. Perhaps a sigh of one of the desert women has become\nhalf a song, or on a hot night in summer one of the women of the hills\nsings softly a song of snow; all night long in the midst of the purple\ngarden sings one nightingale; all else is still; the stars that look\non Babbulkund arise and set, the cold unhappy moon drifts lonely\nthrough them, the night wears on; at last the dark figure of Nehemoth,\neighty-second of his line, rises and moves stealthily away.'\n\nThe traveller ceased to speak. For a long time the clear stars,\nsisters of Babbulkund, had shone upon him speaking, the desert wind\nhad arisen and whispered to the sand, and the sand had long gone\nsecretly to and fro; none of us had moved, none of us had fallen\nasleep, not so much from wonder at his tale as from the thought that\nwe ourselves in two days' time should see that wondrous city. Then we\nwrapped our blankets around us and lay down with our feet towards the\nembers of our fire and instantly were asleep, and in our dreams we\nmultiplied the fame of the City of Marvel.\n\nThe sun arose and flamed upon our faces, and all the desert glinted\nwith its light. Then we stood up and prepared the morning meal, and,\nwhen we had eaten, the traveller departed. And we commended his soul\nto the god of the land whereto he went, of the land of his home to the\nnorthward, and he commended our souls to the god of the people of\nthe land wherefrom we had come. Then a traveller overtook us going on\nfoot; he wore a brown cloak that was all in rags and he seemed to have\nbeen walking all night, and he walked hurriedly but appeared weary, so\nwe offered him food and drink, of which he partook thankfully. When\nwe asked him where he was going, he answered 'Babbulkund.' Then we\noffered him a camel upon which to ride, for we said, 'We also go to\nBabbulkund.' But he answered strangely: 'Nay, pass on before me, for\nit is a sore thing never to have seen Babbulkund, having lived while\nyet she stood. Pass on before me and behold her, and then flee away at\nonce, returning northward.'\n\nThen, though we understood him not, we left him, for he was insistent,\nand passed on our journey southwards through the desert, and we came\nbefore the middle of the day to an oasis of palm trees standing by a\nwell and there we gave water to the haughty camels and replenished our\nwater-bottles and soothed our eyes with the sight of green things and\ntarried for many hours in the shade. Some of the men slept, but of\nthose that remained awake each man sang softly the songs of his own\ncountry, telling of Babbulkund. When the afternoon was far spent\nwe travelled a little way southwards, and went on through the cool\nevening until the sun fell low and we encamped, and as we sat in our\nencampment the man in rags overtook us, having travelled all the day,\nand we gave him food and drink again, and in the twilight he spoke,\nsaying:\n\n'I am the servant of the Lord the God of my people and I go to do his\nwork on Babbulkund. She is the most beautiful city in the world;\nthere hath been none like her, even the stars of God go envious of her\nbeauty. She is all white, yet with streaks of pink that pass through\nher streets and houses like flames in the white mind of a sculptor,\nlike desire in Paradise. She hath been carved of old out of a holy\nhill, no slaves wrought the City of Marvel, but artists toiling at the\nwork they loved. They took no pattern from the houses of men, but\neach man wrought what his inner eye had seen and carved in marble the\nvisions of his dream. All over the roof of one of the palace chambers\nwinged lions flit like bats, the size of every one is the size of the\nlions of God, and the wings are larger than any wing created; they are\none above the other more than a man can number, they are all carven\nout of one block of marble, the chamber itself is hollowed from it,\nand it is borne aloft upon the carven branches of a grove of clustered\ntree-ferns wrought by the hand of some jungle mason that loved the\ntall fern well. Over the River of Myth, which is one with the Waters\nof Fable, go bridges, fashioned like the wisteria tree and like the\ndrooping laburnum, and a hundred others of wonderful devices, the\ndesire of the souls of masons a long while dead. Oh! very beautiful is\nwhite Babbulkund, very beautiful she is, but proud; and the Lord the\nGod of my people hath seen her in her pride, and looking towards\nher hath seen the prayers of Nehemoth going up to the abomination\nAnnolith, and all the people following after Voth. She is very\nbeautiful, Babbulkund; alas that I may not bless her. I could live\nalways on one of her inner terraces looking on the mysterious jungle\nin her midst and the heavenward faces of the orchids that, clambering\nfrom the darkness, behold the sun. I could love Babbulkund with a\ngreat love, yet am I the servant of the Lord the God of my people,\nand the King hath sinned unto the abomination Annolith, and the people\nlust exceedingly for Voth. Alas for thee, Babbulkund, alas that I may\nnot even now turn back, for to-morrow I must prophesy against thee\nand cry out against thee, Babbulkund. But ye travellers that have\nentreated me hospitably, rise and pass on with your camels, for I can\ntarry no longer, and I go to do the work on Babbulkund of the Lord the\nGod of my people. Go now and see the beauty of Babbulkund before I cry\nout against her, and then flee swiftly northwards.'\n\nA smouldering fragment fell in upon our camp fire and sent a strange\nlight into the eyes of the man in rags. He rose at once, and his\ntattered cloak swirled up with him like a great wing; he said no more,\nbut turned round from us instantly southwards, and strode away into\nthe darkness towards Babbulkund. Then a hush fell upon our encampment,\nand the smell of the tobacco of those lands arose. When the last flame\ndied down in our camp fire I fell asleep, but my rest was troubled by\nshifting dreams of doom.\n\nMorning came, and our guides told us that we should come to the city\nere nightfall. Again we passed southwards through the changeless\ndesert; sometimes we met travellers coming from Babbulkund, with the\nbeauty of its marvels still fresh in their eyes.\n\nWhen we encamped near the middle of the day we saw a great number of\npeople on foot coming towards us running, from the southwards. These\nwe hailed when they were come near, saying, 'What of Babbulkund?'\n\nThey answered: 'We are not of the race of the people of Babbulkund,\nbut were captured in youth and taken away from the hills that are to\nthe northward. Now we have all seen in visions of the stillness the\nLord the God of our people calling to us from His hills, and therefore\nwe all flee northward. But in Babbulkund King Nehemoth hath been\ntroubled in the nights by unkingly dreams of doom, and none may\ninterpret what the dreams portend. Now this is the dream that King\nNehemoth dreamed on the first night of his dreaming. He saw move\nthrough the stillness a bird all black, and beneath the beatings of\nhis wings Babbulkund gloomed and darkened; and after him flew a bird\nall white, beneath the beatings of whose wings Babbulkund gleamed and\nshone; and there flew by four more birds alternately black and white.\nAnd, as the black ones passed Babbulkund darkened, and when the white\nones appeared her streets and houses shone. But after the sixth bird\nthere came no more, and Babbulkund vanished from her place, and there\nwas only the empty desert where she had stood, and the rivers Oonrana\nand Pleg\u00e1thanees mourning alone. Next morning all the prophets of the\nKing gathered before their abominations and questioned them of the\ndream, and the abominations spake not. But when the second night\nstepped down from the halls of God, dowered with many stars, King\nNehemoth dreamed again; and in this dream King Nehemoth saw four birds\nonly, black and white alternately as before. And Babbulkund darkened\nagain as the black ones passed, and shone when the white came by; only\nafter the four birds came no more, and Babbulkund vanished from her\nplace, leaving only the forgetful desert and the mourning rivers.\n\n'Still the abominations spake not, and none could interpret the dream.\nAnd when the third night came forth from the divine halls of her home\ndowered like her sisters, again King Nehemoth dreamed. And he saw a\nbird all black go by again, beneath whom Babbulkund darkened, and then\na white bird and Babbulkund shone; and after them came no more,\nand Babbulkund passed away. And the golden day appeared, dispelling\ndreams, and still the abominations were silent, and the King's\nprophets answered not to portend the omen of the dream. One prophet\nonly spake before the King, saying: 'The sable birds, O King, are the\nnights, and the white birds are the days,...' This thing the King had\nfeared, and he arose and smote the prophet with his sword, whose soul\nwent crying away and had to do no more with nights and days.\n\n'It was last night that the King dreamed his third dream, and this\nmorning we fled away from Babbulkund. A great heat lies over it, and\nthe orchids of the jungle droop their heads. All night long the women\nin the hareem of the North have wailed horribly for their hills. A\nfear hath fallen upon the city, and a boding. Twice hath Nehemoth gone\nto worship Annolith, and all the people have prostrated themselves\nbefore Voth. Thrice the horologers have looked into the great crystal\nglobe wherein are foretold all happenings to be, and thrice the globe\nwas blank. Yea, though they went a fourth time yet was no vision\nrevealed; and the people's voice is hushed in Babbulkund.'\n\nSoon the travellers arose and pushed on northwards again, leaving us\nwondering. Through the heat of the day we rested as well as we might,\nbut the air was motionless and sultry and the camels ill at ease. The\nArabs said that it boded a desert storm, and that a great wind would\narise full of sand. So we arose in the afternoon, and travelled\nswiftly, hoping to come to shelter before the storm. And the air\nburned in the stillness between the baked desert and the glaring sky.\n\nSuddenly a wind arose out of the South, blowing from Babbulkund, and\nthe sand lifted and went by in great shapes, all whispering. And the\nwind blew violently, and wailed as it blew, and hundreds of sandy\nshapes went towering by, and there were little cries among them and\nthe sounds of a passing away. Soon the wind sank quite suddenly, and\nits cries died, and the panic ceased among the driven sands. And when\nthe storm departed the air was cool, and the terrible sultriness and\nthe boding were passed away, and the camels had ease among them. And\nthe Arabs said that the storm which was to be had been, as was willed\nof old by God.\n\nThe sun set and the gloaming came, and we neared the junction\nof Oonrana and Pleg\u00e1thanees, but in the darkness discerned not\nBabbulkund. We pushed on hurriedly to reach the city ere nightfall,\nand came to the junction of the River of Myth where he meets with the\nWaters of Fable, and still saw not Babbulkund. All round us lay the\nsand and rocks of the unchanging desert, save to the southwards where\nthe jungle stood with its orchids facing skywards. Then we perceived\nthat we had arrived too late, and that her doom had come to\nBabbulkund; and by the river in the empty desert on the sand the\nman in rags was seated, with his face hidden in his hands, weeping\nbitterly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus passed away in the hour of her iniquities before Annolith, in the\ntwo thousand and thirty-second year of her being, in the six thousand\nand fiftieth year of the building of the World, Babbulkund, City of\nMarvel, sometime called by those that hated her City of the Dog, but\nhourly mourned in Araby and Ind and wide through jungle and desert;\nleaving no memorial in stone to show that she had been, but remembered\nwith an abiding love, in spite of the anger of God, by all that knew\nher beauty, whereof still they sing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPHINX AT GIZEH\n\n\nI saw the other day the Sphinx's painted face.\n\nShe had painted her face in order to ogle Time.\n\nAnd he has spared no other painted face in all the world but hers.\n\nDelilah was younger than she, and Delilah is dust.\n\nTime hath loved nothing but this worthless painted face.\n\nI do not care that she is ugly, nor that she has painted her face, so\nthat she only lure his secret from Time.\n\nTime dallies like a fool at her feet when he should be smiting cities.\n\nTime never wearies of her silly smile.\n\nThere are temples all about her that he has forgotten to spoil.\n\nI saw an old man go by and Time never touched him.\n\nTime that has carried away the seven gates of Thebes!\n\nShe has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she had hoped to\noppress him with the Pyramids.\n\nHe lies there in the sun with his foolish hair all spread about her\npaws.\n\nIf she ever learns his secret we will put out his eyes, so that he\nshall find no more our beautiful things--there are lovely gates in\nFlorence that I fear he will carry away.\n\nWe have tried to bind him with song and with old customs, but they\nonly held him for a little while, and he has always smitten us and\nmocked us.\n\nWhen he is blind he shall dance to us and make sport.\n\nGreat clumsy Time shall stumble and dance, who liked to kill little\nchildren and can hurt even the daisies no longer.\n\nThen shall our children laugh at him who slew Babylon's winged bulls\nand smote great numbers of the elves and fairies, when he is shorn of\nhis hours and his years.\n\nWe will shut him up in the Pyramid of Cheops, in the great chamber\nwhere the sarcophagus is. Thence we will lead him out when we give our\nfeasts. He shall ripen our corn for us and do menial work.\n\nWe will kiss thy painted face, O Sphinx, if thou wilt betray to us\nTime.\n\nAnd yet I fear that in his ultimate anguish he may take hold blindly\nof the world and the moon and slowly pull down upon him the House of\nMan.\n\n\n\n\nIDLE DAYS ON THE YANN\n\n\nSo I came down through the wood to the bank of Yann and found, as\nhad been prophesied, the ship _Bird of the River_ about to loose her\ncable.\n\nThe captain sate cross-legged upon the white deck with his scimitar\nlying beside him in its jewelled scabbard, and the sailors toiled to\nspread the nimble sails to bring the ship into the central stream of\nYann, and all the while sang ancient soothing songs. And the wind of\nthe evening descending cool from the snowfields of some mountainous\nabode of distant gods came suddenly, like glad tidings to an anxious\ncity, into the wing-like sails.\n\nAnd so we came into the central stream, whereat the sailors lowered\nthe greater sails. But I had gone to bow before the captain, and to\ninquire concerning the miracles, and appearances among men, of the\nmost holy gods of whatever land he had come from. And the captain\nanswered that he came from fair Belzoond, and worshipped gods that\nwere the least and humblest, who seldom sent the famine or the\nthunder, and were easily appeased with little battles. And I told how\nI came from Ireland, which is of Europe, whereat the captain and all\nthe sailors laughed, for they said, 'There are no such places in all\nthe land of dreams.' When they had ceased to mock me, I explained that\nmy fancy mostly dwelt in the desert of Cuppar-Nombo, about a beautiful\nblue city called Golthoth the Damned, which was sentinelled all round\nby wolves and their shadows, and had been utterly desolate for years\nand years because of a curse which the gods once spoke in anger and\ncould never since recall. And sometimes my dreams took me as far as\nPungar Vees, the red-walled city where the fountains are, which trades\nwith the Isles and Thul. When I said this they complimented me upon\nthe abode of my fancy, saying that, though they had never seen these\ncities, such places might well be imagined. For the rest of that\nevening I bargained with the captain over the sum that I should pay\nhim for my fare if God and the tide of Yann should bring us safely as\nfar as the cliffs by the sea, which are named Bar-Wul-Yann, the Gate\nof Yann.\n\nAnd now the sun had set, and all the colours of the world and heaven\nhad held a festival with him, and slipped one by one away before the\nimminent approach of night. The parrots had all flown home to the\njungle on either bank, the monkeys in rows in safety on high branches\nof the trees were silent and asleep, the fireflies in the deeps of the\nforest were going up and down, and the great stars came gleaming out\nto look on the face of Yann. Then the sailors lighted lanterns and\nhung them round the ship, and the light flashed out on a sudden\nand dazzled Yann, and the ducks that fed along his marshy banks all\nsuddenly arose, and made wide circles in the upper air, and saw the\ndistant reaches of the Yann and the white mist that softly cloaked the\njungle, before they returned again into their marshes.\n\nAnd then the sailors knelt on the decks and prayed, not all together,\nbut five or six at a time. Side by side there kneeled down together\nfive or six, for there only prayed at the same time men of different\nfaiths, so that no god should hear two men praying to him at once.\nAs soon as any one had finished his prayer, another of the same faith\ntook his place. Thus knelt the row of five or six with bended heads\nunder the fluttering sail, while the central stream of the River Yann\ntook them on towards the sea, and their prayers rose up from among the\nlanterns and went towards the stars. And behind them in the after end\nof the ship the helmsman prayed aloud the helmsman's prayer, which is\nprayed by all who follow his trade upon the River Yann, of whatever\nfaith they be. And the captain prayed to his little lesser gods, to\nthe gods that bless Belzoond.\n\nAnd I too felt that I would pray. Yet I liked not to pray to a jealous\nGod there where the frail affectionate gods whom the heathen love were\nbeing humbly invoked; so I bethought me, instead, of Sheol Nugganoth,\nwhom the men of the jungle have long since deserted, who is now\nunworshipped and alone; and to him I prayed.\n\nAnd upon us praying the night came suddenly down, as it comes upon all\nmen who pray at evening and upon all men who do not; yet our prayers\ncomforted our own souls when we thought of the Great Night to come.\n\nAnd so Yann bore us magnificently onwards, for he was elate with\nmolten snow that the Poltiades had brought him from the Hills of Hap,\nand the Marn and Migris were swollen full with floods; and he bore us\nin his might past Kyph and Pir, and we saw the lights of Goolunza.\n\nSoon we all slept except the helmsman, who kept the ship in the\nmid-stream of Yann.\n\nWhen the sun rose the helmsman ceased to sing, for by song he cheered\nhimself in the lonely night. When the song ceased we suddenly all\nawoke, and another took the helm, and the helmsman slept.\n\nWe knew that soon we should come to Mandaroon. We made a meal, and\nMandaroon appeared. Then the captain commanded, and the sailors loosed\nagain the greater sails, and the ship turned and left the stream of\nYann and came into a harbour beneath the ruddy walls of Mandaroon.\nThen while the sailors went and gathered fruits I came alone to the\ngate of Mandaroon. A few huts were outside it, in which lived the\nguard. A sentinel with a long white beard was standing in the gate,\narmed with a rusty pike. He wore large spectacles, which were covered\nwith dust. Through the gate I saw the city. A deathly stillness was\nover all of it. The ways seemed untrodden, and moss was thick on\ndoorsteps; in the market-place huddled figures lay asleep. A scent\nof incense came wafted through the gateway, of incense and burned\npoppies, and there was a hum of the echoes of distant bells. I said\nto the sentinel in the tongue of the region of Yann, 'Why are they all\nasleep in this still city?'\n\nHe answered: 'None may ask questions in this gate for fear they wake\nthe people of the city. For when the people of this city wake the gods\nwill die. And when the gods die men may dream no more.' And I began to\nask him what gods that city worshipped, but he lifted his pike because\nnone might ask questions there. So I left him and went back to the\n_Bird of the River_.\n\nCertainly Mandaroon was beautiful with her white pinnacles peering\nover her ruddy walls and the green of her copper roofs.\n\nWhen I came back again to the _Bird of the River_, I found the sailors\nwere returned to the ship. Soon we weighed anchor, and sailed out\nagain, and so came once more to the middle of the river. And now the\nsun was moving towards his heights, and there had reached us on the\nRiver Yann the song of those countless myriads of choirs that attend\nhim in his progress round the world. For the little creatures that\nhave many legs had spread their gauze wings easily on the air, as\na man rests his elbows on a balcony, and gave jubilant, ceremonial\npraises to the sun, or else they moved together on the air in wavering\ndances intricate and swift, or turned aside to avoid the onrush of\nsome drop of water that a breeze had shaken from a jungle orchid,\nchilling the air and driving it before it, as it fell whirring in its\nrush to the earth; but all the while they sang triumphantly. 'For the\nday is for us,' they said, 'whether our great and sacred father the\nSun shall bring up more life like us from the marshes, or whether all\nthe world shall end to-night.' And there sang all those whose notes\nare known to human ears, as well as those whose far more numerous\nnotes have been never heard by man.\n\nTo these a rainy day had been as an era of war that should desolate\ncontinents during all the lifetime of a man.\n\nAnd there came out also from the dark and steaming jungle to behold\nand rejoice in the Sun the huge and lazy butterflies. And they danced,\nbut danced idly, on the ways of the air, as some haughty queen of\ndistant conquered lands might in her poverty and exile dance, in some\nencampment of the gipsies, for the mere bread to live by, but beyond\nthat would never abate her pride to dance for a fragment more.\n\nAnd the butterflies sung of strange and painted things, of purple\norchids and of lost pink cities and the monstrous colours of the\njungle's decay. And they, too, were among those whose voices are not\ndiscernible by human ears. And as they floated above the river, going\nfrom forest to forest, their splendour was matched by the inimical\nbeauty of the birds who darted out to pursue them. Or sometimes they\nsettled on the white and wax-like blooms of the plant that creeps and\nclambers about the trees of the forest; and their purple wings flashed\nout on the great blossoms as, when the caravans go from Nurl to Thace,\nthe gleaming silks flash out upon the snow, where the crafty merchants\nspread them one by one to astonish the mountaineers of the Hills of\nNoor.\n\nBut upon men and beasts the sun sent a drowsiness. The river monsters\nalong the river's marge lay dormant in the slime. The sailors pitched\na pavilion, with golden tassels, for the captain upon the deck, and\nthen went, all but the helmsman, under a sail that they had hung as an\nawning between two masts. Then they told tales to one another, each\nof his own city or of the miracles of his god, until all were fallen\nasleep. The captain offered me the shade of his pavilion with the gold\ntassels, and there we talked for awhile, he telling me that he was\ntaking merchandise to Perd\u00f3ndaris, and that he would take back to fair\nBelzoond things appertaining to the affairs of the sea. Then, as\nI watched through the pavilion's opening the brilliant birds and\nbutterflies that crossed and recrossed over the river, I fell asleep,\nand dreamed that I was a monarch entering his capital underneath\narches of flags, and all the musicians of the world were there,\nplaying melodiously their instruments; but no one cheered.\n\nIn the afternoon, as the day grew cooler again, I awoke and found the\ncaptain buckling on his scimitar, which he had taken off him while he\nrested.\n\nAnd now we were approaching the wide court of Astahahn, which opens\nupon the river. Strange boats of antique design were chained there\nto the steps. As we neared it we saw the open marble court, on three\nsides of which stood the city fronting on colonnades. And in the court\nand along the colonnades the people of that city walked with solemnity\nand care according to the rites of ancient ceremony. All in that city\nwas of ancient device; the carving on the houses, which, when age\nhad broken it, remained unrepaired, was of the remotest times, and\neverywhere were represented in stone beasts that have long since\npassed away from Earth--the dragon, the griffin, and the hippogriffin,\nand the different species of gargoyle. Nothing was to be found,\nwhether material or custom, that was new in Astahahn. Now they took no\nnotice at all of us as we went by, but continued their processions and\nceremonies in the ancient city, and the sailors, knowing their custom,\ntook no notice of them. But I called, as we came near, to one who\nstood beside the water's edge, asking him what men did in Astahahn and\nwhat their merchandise was, and with whom they traded. He said, 'Here\nwe have fettered and manacled Time, who would otherwise slay the\ngods.'\n\nI asked him what gods they worshipped in that city, and he said, 'All\nthose gods whom Time has not yet slain.' Then he turned from me and\nwould say no more, but busied himself in behaving in accordance with\nancient custom. And so, according to the will of Yann, we drifted\nonwards and left Astahahn.\n\nThe river widened below Astahahn, and we found in greater quantities\nsuch birds as prey on fishes. And they were very wonderful in their\nplumage, and they came not out of the jungle, but flew, with their\nlong necks stretched out before them, and their legs lying on the wind\nbehind, straight up the river over the mid-stream.\n\nAnd now the evening began to gather in. A thick white mist had\nappeared over the river, and was softly rising higher. It clutched\nat the trees with long impalpable arms, it rose higher and higher,\nchilling the air; and white shapes moved away into the jungle as\nthough the ghosts of shipwrecked mariners were searching stealthily in\nthe darkness for the spirits of evil that long ago had wrecked them on\nthe Yann.\n\nAs the sun sank behind the field of orchids that grew on the matted\nsummit of the jungle, the river monsters came wallowing out of the\nslime in which they had reclined during the heat of the day, and the\ngreat beasts of the jungle came down to drink. The butterflies a while\nsince were gone to rest. In little narrow tributaries that we\npassed night seemed already to have fallen, though the sun which had\ndisappeared from us had not yet set.\n\nAnd now the birds of the jungle came flying home far over us, with the\nsunlight glistening pink upon their breasts, and lowered their pinions\nas soon as they saw the Yann, and dropped into the trees. And the\nwidgeon began to go up the river in great companies, all whistling,\nand then would suddenly wheel and all go down again. And there shot by\nus the small and arrow-like teal; and we heard the manifold cries of\nflocks of geese, which the sailors told me had recently come in from\ncrossing over the Lispasian ranges; every year they come by the same\nway, close by the peak of Mluna, leaving it to the left, and the\nmountain eagles know the way they come and--men say--the very hour,\nand every year they expect them by the same way as soon as the snows\nhave fallen upon the Northern Plains.\n\nBut soon it grew so dark that we saw these birds no more, and only\nheard the whirring of their wings, and of countless others besides,\nuntil they all settled down along the banks of the river, and it was\nthe hour when the birds of the night went forth. Then the sailors lit\nthe lanterns for the night, and huge moths appeared, flapping about\nthe ship, and at moments their gorgeous colours would be revealed by\nthe lanterns, then they would pass into the night again, where all\nwas black. And again the sailors prayed, and thereafter we supped and\nslept, and the helmsman took our lives into his care.\n\nWhen I awoke I found that we had indeed come to Perd\u00f3ndaris, that\nfamous city. For there it stood upon the left of us, a city fair\nand notable, and all the more pleasant for our eyes to see after\nthe jungle that was so long with us. And we were anchored by the\nmarket-place, and the captain's merchandise was all displayed, and a\nmerchant of Perd\u00f3ndaris stood looking at it. And the captain had his\nscimitar in his hand, and was beating with it in anger upon the\ndeck, and the splinters were flying up from the white planks; for the\nmerchant had offered him a price for his merchandise that the captain\ndeclared to be an insult to himself and his country's gods, whom\nhe now said to be great and terrible gods, whose curses were to\nbe dreaded. But the merchant waved his hands, which were of great\nfatness, showing the pink palms, and swore that of himself he thought\nnot at all, but only of the poor folk in the huts beyond the city to\nwhom he wished to sell the merchandise for as low a price as possible,\nleaving no remuneration for himself. For the merchandise was mostly\nthe thick toomarund carpets that in the winter keep the wind from\nthe floor, and tollub which the people smoke in pipes. Therefore\nthe merchant said if he offered a piffek more the poor folk must\ngo without their toomarunds when the winter came, and without their\ntollub in the evenings, or else he and his aged father must starve\ntogether. Thereat the captain lifted his scimitar to his own throat,\nsaying that he was now a ruined man, and that nothing remained to him\nbut death. And while he was carefully lifting his beard with his left\nhand, the merchant eyed the merchandise again, and said that rather\nthan see so worthy a captain die, a man for whom he had conceived an\nespecial love when first he saw the manner in which he handled his\nship, he and his aged father should starve together and therefore he\noffered fifteen piffeks more.\n\nWhen he said this the captain prostrated himself and prayed to his\ngods that they might yet sweeten this merchant's bitter heart--to his\nlittle lesser gods, to the gods that bless Belzoond.\n\nAt last the merchant offered yet five piffeks more. Then the captain\nwept, for he said that he was deserted of his gods; and the merchant\nalso wept, for he said that he was thinking of his aged father, and\nof how he soon would starve, and he hid his weeping face with both\nhis hands, and eyed the tollub again between his fingers. And so the\nbargain was concluded, and the merchant took the toomarund and tollub,\npaying for them out of a great clinking purse. And these were packed\nup into bales again, and three of the merchant's slaves carried them\nupon their heads into the city. And all the while the sailors had sat\nsilent, cross-legged in a crescent upon the deck, eagerly watching the\nbargain, and now a murmur of satisfaction arose among them, and they\nbegan to compare it among themselves with other bargains that they\nhad known. And I found out from them that there are seven merchants\nin Perd\u00f3ndaris, and that they had all come to the captain one by one\nbefore the bargaining began, and each had warned him privately against\nthe others. And to all the merchants the captain had offered the wine\nof his own country, that they make in fair Belzoond, but could in no\nwise persuade them to it. But now that the bargain was over, and the\nsailors were seated at the first meal of the day, the captain appeared\namong them with a cask of that wine, and we broached it with care and\nall made merry together. And the captain was glad in his heart because\nhe knew that he had much honour in the eyes of his men because of\nthe bargain that he had made. So the sailors drank the wine of their\nnative land, and soon their thoughts were back in fair Belzoond and\nthe little neighbouring cities of Durl and Duz.\n\nBut for me the captain poured into a little glass some heavy yellow\nwine from a small jar which he kept apart among his sacred things.\nThick and sweet it was, even like honey, yet there was in its heart\na mighty, ardent fire which had authority over souls of men. It was\nmade, the captain told me, with great subtlety by the secret craft of\na family of six who lived in a hut on the mountains of Hian Min. Once\nin these mountains, he said, he followed the spoor of a bear, and he\ncame suddenly on a man of that family who had hunted the same bear,\nand he was at the end of a narrow way with precipice all about him,\nand his spear was sticking in the bear, and the wound not fatal, and\nhe had no other weapon. And the bear was walking towards the man, very\nslowly because his wound irked him--yet he was now very close. And\nwhat the captain did he would not say; but every year as soon as the\nsnows are hard, and travelling is easy on the Hian Min, that man comes\ndown to the market in the plains, and always leaves for the captain in\nthe gate of fair Belzoond a vessel of that priceless secret wine.\n\nAnd as I sipped the wine and the captain talked, I remembered me of\nstalwart noble things that I had long since resolutely planned, and my\nsoul seemed to grow mightier within me and to dominate the whole tide\nof the Yann. It may be that I then slept. Or, if I did not, I do not\nnow minutely recollect every detail of that morning's occupations.\nTowards evening, I awoke and wishing to see Perd\u00f3ndaris before we left\nin the morning, and being unable to wake the captain, I went ashore\nalone. Certainly Perd\u00f3ndaris was a powerful city; it was encompassed\nby a wall of great strength and altitude, having in it hollow ways for\ntroops to walk in, and battlements along it all the way, and fifteen\nstrong towers on it in every mile, and copper plaques low down where\nmen could read them, telling in all the languages of those parts of\nthe Earth--one language on each plaque--the tale of how an army\nonce attacked Perd\u00f3ndaris and what befel that army. Then I entered\nPerd\u00f3ndaris and found all the people dancing, clad in brilliant silks,\nand playing on the tambang as they danced. For a fearful thunderstorm\nhad terrified them while I slept, and the fires of death, they said,\nhad danced over Perd\u00f3ndaris, and now the thunder had gone leaping away\nlarge and black and hideous, they said, over the distant hills, and\nhad turned round snarling at them, showing his gleaming teeth, and had\nstamped, as he went, upon the hill-tops until they rang as though\nthey had been bronze. And often and again they stopped in their merry\ndances and prayed to the God they knew not, saying, 'O, God that we\nknow not, we thank Thee for sending the thunder back to his hills.'\nAnd I went on and came to the market-place, and lying there upon the\nmarble pavement I saw the merchant fast asleep and breathing heavily,\nwith his face and the palms of his hands towards the sky, and slaves\nwere fanning him to keep away the flies. And from the market-place I\ncame to a silver temple and then to a palace of onyx, and there were\nmany wonders in Perd\u00f3ndaris, and I would have stayed and seen them\nall, but as I came to the outer wall of the city I suddenly saw in it\na huge ivory gate. For a while I paused and admired it, then I came\nnearer and perceived the dreadful truth. The gate was carved out of\none solid piece!\n\nI fled at once through the gateway and down to the ship, and even as I\nran I thought that I heard far off on the hills behind me the tramp of\nthe fearful beast by whom that mass of ivory was shed, who was perhaps\neven then looking for his other tusk. When I was on the ship again I\nfelt safer, and I said nothing to the sailors of what I had seen.\n\nAnd now the captain was gradually awakening.\n\nNow night was rolling up from the East and North, and only the\npinnacles of the towers of Perd\u00f3ndaris still took the fallen sunlight.\nThen I went to the captain and told him quietly of the thing I had\nseen. And he questioned me at once about the gate, in a low voice,\nthat the sailors might not know; and I told him how the weight of the\nthing was such that it could not have been brought from afar, and the\ncaptain knew that it had not been there a year ago. We agreed that\nsuch a beast could never have been killed by any assault of man, and\nthat the gate must have been a fallen tusk, and one fallen near and\nrecently. Therefore he decided that it were better to flee at once; so\nhe commanded, and the sailors went to the sails, and others raised the\nanchor to the deck, and just as the highest pinnacle of marble lost\nthe last rays of the sun we left Perd\u00f3ndaris, that famous city. And\nnight came down and cloaked Perd\u00f3ndaris and hid it from our eyes,\nwhich as things have happened will never see it again; for I have\nheard since that something swift and wonderful has suddenly wrecked\nPerd\u00f3ndaris in a day--towers, and walls, and people.\n\nAnd the night deepened over the River Yann, a night all white with\nstars. And with the night there rose the helmsman's song. As soon as\nhe had prayed he began to sing to cheer himself all through the lonely\nnight. But first he prayed, praying the helmsman's prayer. And this\nis what I remember of it, rendered into English with a very feeble\nequivalent of the rhythm that seemed so resonant in those tropic\nnights.\n\nTo whatever god may hear.\n\nWherever there be sailors whether of river or sea: whether their way\nbe dark or whether through storm: whether their peril be of beast or\nof rock: or from enemy lurking on land or pursuing on sea: wherever\nthe tiller is cold or the helmsman stiff: wherever sailors sleep or\nhelmsmen watch: guard, guide, and return us to the old land that has\nknown us: to the far homes that we know.\n\nTo all the gods that are.\n\nTo whatever god may hear.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo he prayed, and there was silence. And the sailors laid them down to\nrest for the night. The silence deepened, and was only broken by the\nripples of Yann that lightly touched our prow. Sometimes some monster\nof the river coughed.\n\nSilence and ripples, ripples and silence again.\n\nAnd then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he began to\nsing. And he sang the market songs of Durl and Duz, and the old\ndragon-legends of Belzoond.\n\nMany a song he sang, telling to spacious and exotic Yann the little\ntales and trifles of his city of Durl. And the songs welled up over\nthe black jungle and came into the clear cold air above, and the great\nbands of stars that look on Yann began to know the affairs of Durl and\nDuz, and of the shepherds that dwelt in the fields between, and the\nflocks that they had, and the loves that they had loved, and all the\nlittle things that they hoped to do. And as I lay wrapped up in skins\nand blankets, listening to those songs, and watching the fantastic\nshapes of the great trees like to black giants stalking through the\nnight, I suddenly fell asleep.\n\nWhen I awoke great mists were trailing away from the Yann. And the\nflow of the river was tumbling now tumultuously, and little waves\nappeared; for Yann had scented from afar the ancient crags of Glorm,\nand knew that their ravines lay cool before him wherein he should meet\nthe merry wild Irillion rejoicing from fields of snow. So he shook\noff from him the torpid sleep that had come upon him in the hot and\nscented jungle, and forgot its orchids and its butterflies, and swept\non turbulent, expectant, strong; and soon the snowy peaks of the Hills\nof Glorm came glittering into view. And now the sailors were waking\nup from sleep. Soon we all eat, and then the helmsman laid him down\nto sleep while a comrade took his place, and they all spread over him\ntheir choicest furs.\n\nAnd in a while we heard the sound that the Irillion made as she came\ndown dancing from the fields of snow.\n\nAnd then we saw the ravine in the Hills of Glorm lying precipitous and\nsmooth before us, into which we were carried by the leaps of Yann.\nAnd now we left the steamy jungle and breathed the mountain air; the\nsailors stood up and took deep breaths of it, and thought of their own\nfar-off Acroctian hills on which were Durl and Duz--below them in the\nplains stands fair Belzoond.\n\nA great shadow brooded between the cliffs of Glorm, but the crags were\nshining above us like gnarled moons, and almost lit the gloom. Louder\nand louder came the Irillion's song, and the sound of her dancing down\nfrom the fields of snow. And soon we saw her white and full of mists,\nand wreathed with rainbows delicate and small that she had plucked up\nnear the mountain's summit from some celestial garden of the Sun. Then\nshe went away seawards with the huge grey Yann and the ravine widened,\nand opened upon the world, and our rocking ship came through to the\nlight of the day.\n\nAnd all that morning and all the afternoon we passed through the\nmarshes of Pondoovery; and Yann widened there, and flowed solemnly and\nslowly, and the captain bade the sailors beat on bells to overcome the\ndreariness of the marches.\n\nAt last the Irusian mountains came in sight, nursing the villages\nof Pen-Kai and Blut, and the wandering streets of Mlo, where priests\npropitiate the avalanche with wine and maize. Then night came down\nover the plains of Tlun, and we saw the lights of Cappadarnia.\nWe heard the Pathnites beating upon drums as we passed Imaut and\nGolzunda, then all but the helmsman slept. And villages scattered\nalong the banks of the Yann heard all that night in the helmsman's\nunknown tongue the little songs of cities that they knew not.\n\nI awoke before dawn with a feeling that I was unhappy before I\nremembered why. Then I recalled that by the evening of the approaching\nday, according to all foreseen probabilities, we should come to\nBar-Wul-Yann, and I should part from the captain and his sailors. And\nI had liked the man because he had given me of his yellow wine that\nwas set apart among his sacred things, and many a story he had told me\nabout his fair Belzoond between the Acroctian hills and the Hian Min.\nAnd I had liked the ways that his sailors had, and the prayers that\nthey prayed at evening side by side, grudging not one another their\nalien gods. And I had a liking too for the tender way in which they\noften spoke of Durl and Duz, for it is good that men should love their\nnative cities and the little hills that hold those cities up.\n\nAnd I had come to know who would meet them when they returned to their\nhomes, and where they thought the meetings would take place, some in\na valley of the Acroctian hills where the road comes up from Yann,\nothers in the gateway of one or another of the three cities, and\nothers by the fireside in the home. And I thought of the danger that\nhad menaced us all alike outside Perd\u00f3ndaris, a danger that, as things\nhave happened, was very real.\n\nAnd I thought too of the helmsman's cheery song in the cold and lonely\nnight, and how he had held our lives in his careful hands. And as I\nthought of this the helmsman ceased to sing, and I looked up and saw\na pale light had appeared in the sky, and the lonely night had passed;\nand the dawn widened, and the sailors awoke.\n\nAnd soon we saw the tide of the Sea himself advancing resolute between\nYann's borders, and Yann sprang lithely at him and they struggled\nawhile; then Yann and all that was his were pushed back northward,\nso that the sailors had to hoist the sails and, the wind being\nfavourable, we still held onwards.\n\nAnd we passed G\u00f3ndara and Narl and Haz. And we saw memorable, holy\nGolnuz, and heard the pilgrims praying.\n\nWhen we awoke after the midday rest we were coming near to Nen, the\nlast of the cities on the River Yann. And the jungle was all about us\nonce again, and about Nen; but the great Mloon ranges stood up over\nall things, and watched the city from beyond the jungle.\n\nHere we anchored, and the captain and I went up into the city and\nfound that the Wanderers had come into Nen.\n\nAnd the Wanderers were a weird, dark tribe, that once in every seven\nyears came down from the peaks of Mloon, having crossed by a pass that\nis known to them from some fantastic land that lies beyond. And the\npeople of Nen were all outside their houses, and all stood wondering\nat their own streets. For the men and women of the Wanderers had\ncrowded all the ways, and every one was doing some strange thing. Some\ndanced astounding dances that they had learned from the desert wind,\nrapidly curving and swirling till the eye could follow no longer.\nOthers played upon instruments beautiful wailing tunes that were full\nof horror, which souls had taught them lost by night in the desert,\nthat strange far desert from which the Wanderers came.\n\nNone of their instruments were such as were known in Nen nor in any\npart of the region of the Yann; even the horns out of which some were\nmade were of beasts that none had seen along the river, for they were\nbarbed at the tips. And they sang, in the language of none, songs that\nseemed to be akin to the mysteries of night and to the unreasoned fear\nthat haunts dark places.\n\nBitterly all the dogs of Nen distrusted them. And the Wanderers told\none another fearful tales; for though no one in Nen knew ought of\ntheir language yet they could see the fear on the listeners' faces,\nand as the tale wound on the whites of their eyes showed vividly in\nterror as the eyes of some little beast whom the hawk has seized. Then\nthe teller of the tale would smile and stop, and another would tell\nhis story, and the teller of the first tale's lips would chatter with\nfear. And if some deadly snake chanced to appear the Wanderers would\ngreet him as a brother, and the snake would seem to give his greetings\nto them before he passed on again. Once that most fierce and lethal of\ntropic snakes, the giant lythra, came out of the jungle and all down\nthe street, the central street of Nen, and none of the Wanderers moved\naway from him, but they all played sonorously on drums, as though\nhe had been a person of much honour; and the snake moved through the\nmidst of them and smote none.\n\nEven the Wanderers' children could do strange things, for if any one\nof them met with a child of Nen the two would stare at each other in\nsilence with large grave eyes; then the Wanderer's child would slowly\ndraw from his turban a live fish or snake. And the children of Nen\ncould do nothing of that kind at all.\n\nMuch I should have wished to stay and hear the hymn with which they\ngreet the night, that is answered by the wolves on the heights of\nMloon, but it was now time to raise the anchor again that the captain\nmight return from Bar-Wul-Yann upon the landward tide. So we went on\nboard and continued down the Yann. And the captain and I spoke little,\nfor we were thinking of our parting, which should be for long, and we\nwatched instead the splendour of the westering sun. For the sun was a\nruddy gold, but a faint mist cloaked the jungle, lying low, and into\nit poured the smoke of the little jungle cities; and the smoke of\nthem met together in the mist and joined into one haze, which became\npurple, and was lit by the sun, as the thoughts of men become hallowed\nby some great and sacred thing. Sometimes one column from a lonely\nhouse would rise up higher than the cities' smoke, and gleam by itself\nin the sun.\n\nAnd now as the sun's last rays were nearly level, we saw the sight\nthat I had come to see; for from two mountains that stood on either\nshore two cliffs of pink marble came out into the river, all glowing\nin the light of the low sun, and they were quite smooth and of\nmountainous altitude, and they nearly met, and Yann went tumbling\nbetween them and found the sea.\n\nAnd this was Bar-Wul-Yann, the gate of Yann, and in the distance\nthrough that barrier's gap I saw the azure indescribable sea, where\nlittle fishing-boats went gleaming by.\n\nAnd the sun set, and the brief twilight came, and the exultation of\nthe glory of Bar-Wul-Yann was gone, yet still the pink cliffs glowed,\nthe fairest marvel that the eye beheld--and this in a land of wonders.\nAnd soon the twilight gave place to the coming out of stars, and the\ncolours of Bar-Wul-Yann went dwindling away. And the sight of those\ncliffs was to me as some chord of music that a master's hand had\nlaunched from the violin, and which carries to Heaven or Faery the\ntremulous spirits of men.\n\nAnd now by the shore they anchored and went no further, for they were\nsailors of the river and not of the sea, and knew the Yann but not the\ntides beyond.\n\nAnd the time was come when the captain and I must part, he to go back\nagain to his fair Belzoond in sight of the distant peaks of the Hian\nMin, and I to find my way by strange means back to those hazy fields\nthat all poets know, wherein stand small mysterious cottages through\nwhose windows, looking westwards, you may see the fields of men, and\nlooking eastwards see glittering elfin mountains, tipped with snow,\ngoing range on range into the region of Myth, and beyond it into the\nkingdom of Fantasy, which pertain to the Lands of Dream.\n\nLong we regarded one another, knowing that we should meet no more, for\nmy fancy is weakening as the years slip by, and I go ever more seldom\ninto the Lands of Dream. Then we clasped hands, uncouthly on his part,\nfor it is not the method of greeting in his country, and he commended\nmy soul to the care of his own gods, to his little lesser gods, the\nhumble ones, to the gods that bless Belzoond.\n\n\n\n\nA MIRACLE\n\n\nThere is a road in Rome that runs through an ancient temple that once\nthe gods had loved; it runs along the top of a great wall, and the\nfloor of the temple lies far down beneath it, of marble, pink and\nwhite.\n\nUpon the temple floor I counted to the number of thirteen hungry cats.\n\n'Sometimes,' they said among themselves, 'it was the gods that lived\nhere, sometimes it was men, and now it's cats. So let us enjoy the sun\non the hot marble before another people comes.'\n\nFor it was at that hour of a warm afternoon when my fancy is able to\nhear the silent voices.\n\nAnd the fearful leanness of all those thirteen cats moved me to go\ninto a neighbouring fish shop, and there to buy a quantity of fishes.\nThen I returned and threw them all over the railing at the top of the\ngreat wall, and they fell for thirty feet, and hit the sacred marble\nwith a smack.\n\nNow, in any other town but Rome, or in the minds of any other cats,\nthe sight of fishes falling out of heaven had surely excited wonder.\nThey rose slowly, and all stretched themselves; then they came\nleisurely towards the fishes. 'It is only a miracle,' they said in\ntheir hearts.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CASTLE OF TIME\n\n\nPresently there was a stir in one of the houses, and a bat flew out\nof the door into the daylight, and three mice came running out of the\ndoorway down the step, an old stone cracked in two and held together\nby moss; and there followed an old man bending on a stick with a white\nbeard coming to the ground, wearing clothes that were glossed with\nuse, and presently there came others out of the other houses, all of\nthem as old, and all hobbling on sticks. These were the oldest people\nthat the King had ever beheld, and he asked them the name of the\nvillage and who they were; and one of them answered: 'This is the City\nof the Aged in the Territory of Time.'\n\nAnd the King said; 'Is Time then here?'\n\nAnd one of the old men pointed to a great castle standing on a steep\nhill and said: 'Therein dwells Time, and we are his people;' and\nthey all looked curiously at King Karnith Zo, and the eldest of the\nvillagers spoke again and said: 'Whence do you come, you that are so\nyoung?' and Karnith Zo told him how he had come to conquer Time, to\nsave the world and the gods, and asked them whence they came.\n\nAnd the villagers said:\n\n'We are older than always, and know not whence we came, but we are the\npeople of Time, and here from the Edge of Everything he sends out his\nhours to assail the world, and you may never conquer Time.' But the\nKing went back to his armies, and pointed toward the castle on the\nhill and told them that at last they had found the Enemy of the Earth;\nand they that were older than always went back slowly into their\nhouses with the creaking of olden doors. And they went across the\nfields and passed the village. From one of his towers Time eyed them\nall the while, and in battle order they closed in on the steep hill as\nTime sat still in his great tower and watched.\n\nBut as the feet of the foremost touched the edge of the hill Time\nhurled five years against them, and the years passed over their heads\nand the army still came on, an army of older men. But the slope seemed\nsteeper to the King and to every man in his army, and they breathed\nmore heavily. And Time summoned up more years, and one by one he\nhurled them at Karnith Zo and at all his men. And the knees of the\narmy stiffened, and their beards grew and turned grey, and the hours\nand days and the months went singing over their heads, and their hair\nturned whiter and whiter, and the conquering hours bore down, and the\nyears rushed on and swept the youth of that army clear away till they\ncame face to face under the walls of the castle of Time with a mass of\nhowling years, and found the top of the slope too steep for aged men.\nSlowly and painfully, harassed with agues and chills, the King rallied\nhis aged army that tottered down the slope. Slowly the King led back\nhis warriors over whose heads had shrieked the triumphant years. Year\nin, year out, they straggled southwards, always towards Zoon; they\ncame, with rust upon their spears and long beards flowing, again into\nAstarma, and none knew them there.\n\n\nHERE ENDS 'SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF LORD DUNSANY.'\nFINISHED ON LADY DAY, IN THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE.","title":"Selections from the Writings of Lord Dunsany","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":23975}