{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41311/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41311","id":"gutenberg_41311","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41311","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","English drama"],"text":"THE MODERN DRAMA SERIES\n\nEDITED BY EDWIN BJ\u00d6RKMAN\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN : THE GOLDEN DOOM : KING ARGIMENES AND\nTHE UNKNOWN WARRIOR : THE GLITTERING GATE : THE LOST SILK HAT : BY LORD\nDUNSANY\n\n\n\nFIVE PLAYS\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN\nTHE GOLDEN DOOM\nKING ARGIMENES AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR\nTHE GLITTERING GATE\nTHE LOST SILK HAT\n\nBY\n\nLORD DUNSANY\n\n\n\nBOSTON\nLITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY\n1922\n\n_Copyright_, 1914,\nBY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY\n\n_All Dramatic rights reserved by the Author_\n\nThese plays are fully protected by the copyright law, all requirements\nof which have been complied with. In their present printed form they\nare dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance of them,\neither professional or amateur, may be given without the written\npermission of the owner of the acting rights, who may be addressed in\ncare of the publishers, Little, Brown, and Company.\n\nPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                        PAGE\n\nINTRODUCTION                                             vii\n\nCHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS                             xiii\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN                                   1\n\nTHE GOLDEN DOOM                                           39\n\nKING ARGIMNS AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR                      61\n\nTHE GLITTERING GATE                                       87\n\nTHE LOST SILK HAT                                        101\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nObservation and imagination are the basic principles of all poetry. It\nis impossible to conceive a poetical work from which one of them is\nwholly absent. Observation without imagination makes for obviousness;\nimagination without observation turns into nonsense. What marks the\nworld's greatest poetry is perhaps the presence in almost equal\nproportion of both these principles. But as a rule we find one of them\npredominating, and from this one-sided emphasis the poetry of the\nperiod derives its character as realistic or idealistic.\n\nThe poetry of the middle nineteenth century made a fetish of\nobservation. It came as near excluding imagination as it could without\nceasing entirely to be poetry. That such exaggeration should sooner or\nlater result in a sharp reaction was natural. The change began during\nthe eighties and gathered full headway in the early nineties.\nImagination, so long scorned, came into its rights once more, and it is\nrapidly becoming the dominant note in the literary production of our\nown day.\n\nThe new movement has been called \"neo-romantic\" and \"symbolistic.\" Both\nthese names apply, but neither of them exhausts the contents or meaning\nof the movement which received its first impetus from Ibsen and which\nlater found its typical embodiment in Maeterlinck. From this movement\ncame much of the inspiration that produced the poetical re-birth of\nIreland out of which has sprung the man whom I have now the pleasure of\nintroducing to American readers: a man with imagination as elfish as\nmoonlight mist.\n\nEdward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, Lord Dunsany, is the eighteenth\nmember of his family to bear the title which gives him a place in the\nIrish peerage. He was born in 1878 and received his education at Eton\nand Sandhurst. In 1899 he succeeded his father to the title and the\nfamily estate in Meath, Ireland. During the South African war he served\nat the front with the Coldstream Guards. He is passionately fond of\noutdoor life and often spends the whole day in the saddle before\nsitting down at his desk to write late at night.\n\nHis work proves, however, that he is as fond of spiritual as of\nphysical exercise, and that he is an inveterate traveller in those\nmysterious regions of the partly known or wholly unknown where the\nimagination alone can guide us. His first literary heroes were the\nbrothers Grimm and Andersen. Then the Greek world of Olympians was\nrevealed to him, making a lasting impression on his mind. But it was\nthe Bible that gave him the limpid style which makes his most fantastic\ntales as real as government reports--or rather much more so. \"For years\nno style seemed to me natural but that of the Bible,\" he said not long\nago, \"and I feared that I would never become a writer when I saw that\nother people did not use it.\"\n\nFor something like ten years he has been a pretty frequent and\nincreasingly valued contributor to English and Anglo-Irish periodicals.\nHe has previously published five volumes: \"The Gods of Pegana,\" 1905;\n\"Time and the Gods,\" 1906; \"The Sword of Welleran,\" 1908; \"A Dreamer's\nTales,\" 1910; and \"The Book of Wonder,\" 1912. All are collections of\nprose pieces that defy accepted classifications. They are fairy tales\nand short stories and essays and prose poems at the same time.\n\nThe reader has only to take a brief glance at one of those works to\nmake the astounding discovery that he is being introduced to worlds of\nwhich he has never heard before. Even the \"Arabian Nights\" have a\nclearly identifiable background of popular legend and myth. Nothing of\nthe kind is to be found in the writings of Lord Dunsany. He may be said\nto have created a new mythology wholly his own. He is not only the\nmaster but the maker of the countries to which he takes us on such\nfascinating jaunts. His commonest name for them is the Edge of the\nWorld, but sometimes he speaks of them as the Lands of Wonder. This\nlatter name is doubly significant, for the whole movement of which he\nforms such a striking manifestation has been defined as a \"renascence\nof wonder.\"\n\nThe names of places and persons appearing in the stories of Lord\nDunsany are worth a study in themselves. There are hundreds of them,\ngiving evidence of an inexhaustible imagination; and each one of them\nis as aptly suggestive as if generations of men had been at work\nshaping them. To hear of Sardathion, the city built by the Gods of Old,\nis to see its domes of marble rising sky-high in the sunset-lighted\nair. To hear of Slith and Sippy and Slorg, the three thieves who went\nto the Edge of the World in quest of the Golden Box, is to feel as if\none were dealing with historical characters like Aaron Burr or Chinese\nGordon. And as we learn more about them, these fanciful creatures of\nLord Dunsany's brain assume still more familiar characteristics, as if\nthey had been studied in some Irish village or English street. It is\nthis fact that reveals one of the main secrets of Lord Dunsany's\nappeal: that behind all his exuberant imagination lies a solid basis of\nobservation, enabling him to endow the most impossible adventures with\na homely and convincing air.\n\nThe five plays contained in the present volume have all been produced\non the stage. \"The Golden Doom\" and \"The Gods of the Mountain\" have\nbeen staged most successfully at the Haymarket Theatre, London. \"King\nArgimenes\" and \"The Glittering Gate\" have been given by the Irish\nPlayers, and \"The Lost Silk Hat\" has been put on by Iden Payne at\nManchester. In America, the first three have been in the repertoire of\nStuart Walker's Portmanteau Theatre, and \"The Glittering Gate\" has been\ngiven by the Neighborhood Players.\n\nAfter seeing \"The Gods of the Mountain,\" Frank Harris wrote: \"It was\none of the nights of my life; the only play, I said to myself, which\nmeant anything to me in twenty years or more.\" Without sharing the\nopinion of Mr. Harris about the dramatic output of the last twenty\nyears, I share fully his enthusiasm in regard to the play that caused\nhis remark. The note struck in it is so distinctly new as to make one\ngasp as under a sharp shock. But the surprise turns quickly into\npleasure such as only the originality of genius can confer.\n\nIt is hard to define just what makes these plays what they are. But\ncertain qualities are tangible. Their deep and rich symbolism is one.\nIt is the kind of symbolism for which the advances of modern psychology\nhad prepared us--the kind that is inseparable from life itself as we\nare only just beginning to understand it. Another quality is their\ncapacity for suggesting at once the intimate unity and appalling\nvastness of life. In \"The Golden Doom\" the fate of an empire and a\nlittle boy's desire for a new plaything become linked as facts of equal\nimportance in the web of fate. In \"The Gods of the Mountain\" we meet\nwith an atmosphere of fatality comparable only to that found in the\nGreek dramas. The crime of _hybris_, which to the Greeks was the\n\"unforgivable sin,\" is here made as real to us as it was to them.\n\nBut these remarks of mine about the inner significance of the plays\nshould not tempt anybody into thinking them deficient in that element\nof formal perfection without which they could not be classed as works\nof art. They are, indeed, \"things of beauty,\" and their beauty inheres\nin their design as well as in their style. Through all of them the\ngreatest possible economy of means has been observed, so that not a\nword, not a tone, not a gesture is wasted in obtaining the effect aimed\nat. The dialogue of Maeterlinck is suggested, but not more than\nsuggested. The words spoken by the characters of Maeterlinck are often\nso vague as to be practically meaningless. The characters of Lord\nDunsany speak as simply as those of Maeterlinck, but always sharply to\nthe point; there can be no mistaking of what they mean, and that\nmeaning serves always to carry the action of the play forward. And each\nplay of Lord Dunsany's is an exciting adventure, conveying to the\nreader an exhilarating sense of motion without ever descending to\nold-fashioned stage tricks for the production of that sense. This means\nthat they combine to an extraordinary degree the qualities which make\nseparately for theatrical or literary success.\n\nEDWIN BJ\u00d6RKMAN.\n\n\n\n\nCHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS BY LORD DUNSANY\n\n\n    THE GLITTERING GATE, 1909\n    KING ARGIMENES AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR, 1911\n    THE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN, 1911\n    THE GOLDEN DOOM, 1912\n    THE LOST SILK HAT, 1913\n    THE TENTS OF THE ARABS, 1915\n    A NIGHT AT AN INN, 1916\n    THE QUEEN'S ENEMIES, 1916\n    THE LAUGHTER OF THE GODS, 1917\n\n\n\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN\n\n\nPERSONS\n\n    AGMAR   }\n    SLAG    }\n    ULF     }\n    OOGNO   } _Beggars_\n    THAHN   }\n    MLAN    }\n    A THIEF }\n\n    OORANDER }\n    ILLANAUN } _Citizens_\n    AKMOS    }\n\n    THE DROMEDARY MEN\n    CITIZENS, ETC.\n    THE OTHERS\n\nSCENE: THE EAST\n\n\n\n\nTHE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST ACT\n\n\n_Outside a city wall. Three beggars are seated upon the ground._\n\nOOGNO\n\nThese days are bad for beggary.\n\nTHAHN\n\nThey are bad.\n\nULF (_an older beggar but not gray_)\n\nSome evil has befallen the rich ones of this city. They take no joy any\nlonger in benevolence, but are become sour and miserly at heart. Alas\nfor them! I sometimes sigh for them when I think of this.\n\nOOGNO\n\nAlas for them! A miserly heart must be a sore affliction.\n\nTHAHN\n\nA sore affliction indeed, and bad for our calling.\n\nOOGNO (_reflectively_)\n\nThey have been thus for many months. What thing has befallen them?\n\nTHAHN\n\nSome evil thing.\n\nULF\n\nThere has been a comet come near to the earth of late and the earth has\nbeen parched and sultry so that the gods are drowsy and all those\nthings 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\n\nIt has indeed been sultry.\n\nTHAHN\n\nI have seen the comet o' nights.\n\nULF\n\nThe gods are drowsy.\n\nOOGNO\n\nIf they awake not soon and make this city worthy again of our order I\nfor one shall forsake the calling and buy a shop and sit at ease in the\nshade and barter for gain.\n\nTHAHN\n\nYou will keep a shop?\n\n[_Enter Agmar and Slag. Agmar, though poorly dressed, is tall,\nimperious, and older than Ulf. Slag follows behind him._\n\nAGMAR\n\nIs this a beggar who speaks?\n\nOOGNO\n\nYes, master, a poor beggar.\n\nAGMAR\n\nHow long has the calling of beggary existed?\n\nOOGNO\n\nSince the building of the first city, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nAnd when has a beggar ever followed a trade? When has he ever haggled\nand bartered and sat in a shop?\n\nOOGNO\n\nWhy, he has never done so.\n\nAGMAR\n\nAre you he that shall be first to forsake the calling?\n\nOOGNO\n\nTimes are bad for the calling here.\n\nTHAHN\n\nThey are bad.\n\nAGMAR\n\nSo you would forsake the calling?\n\nOOGNO\n\nThe city is unworthy of our calling. The gods are drowsy and all that\nis divine in man is dead. (_To third beggar_) Are not the gods drowsy?\n\nULF\n\nThey are drowsy in their mountains away at Marma. The seven green idols\nare drowsy. Who is this that rebukes us?\n\nTHAHN\n\nAre you some great merchant, master? Perhaps you will help a poor man\nthat is starving.\n\nSLAG\n\nMy master a merchant! No, no. He is no merchant. My master is no\nmerchant.\n\nOOGNO\n\nI perceive that he is some lord in disguise. The gods have woken and\nhave sent him to save us.\n\nSLAG\n\nNo, no. You do not know my master. You do not know him.\n\nTHAHN\n\nIs he the Soldan's self that has come to rebuke us?\n\nAGMAR\n\nI am a beggar, and an old beggar.\n\nSLAG (_with great pride_)\n\nThere is none like my master. No traveller has met with cunning like to\nhis, not even those that come from \u00c6thiopia.\n\nULF\n\nWe make you welcome to our town, upon which an evil has fallen, the\ndays being bad for beggary.\n\nAGMAR\n\nLet none who has known the mystery of roads or has felt the wind\narising new in the morning, or who has called forth out of the souls of\nmen divine benevolence, ever speak any more of any trade or of the\nmiserable gains of shops and the trading men.\n\nOOGNO\n\nI but spoke hastily, the times being bad.\n\nAGMAR\n\nI will put right the times.\n\nSLAG\n\nThere is nothing that my master cannot do.\n\nAGMAR (_to Slag_)\n\nBe silent and attend to me. I do not know this city. I have travelled\nfrom far, having somewhat exhausted the city of Ackara.\n\nSLAG\n\nMy master was three times knocked down and injured by carriages there,\nonce he was killed and seven times beaten and robbed, and every time he\nwas generously compensated. He had nine diseases, many of them mortal--\n\nAGMAR\n\nBe silent, Slag.--Have you any thieves among the calling here?\n\nULF\n\nWe have a few that we call thieves here, master, but they would\nscarcely seem thieves to you. They are not good thieves.\n\nAGMAR\n\nI shall need the best thief you have.\n\n[_Enter two citizens richly clad, Illanaun and Oorander._\n\nILLANAUN\n\nTherefore we will send galleons to Ardaspes.\n\nOORANDER\n\nRight 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 no\nlonger. His right arm hangs limp and useless. He hobbles up to the\ncitizens imploring alms._\n\nILLANAUN\n\nI am sorry. I cannot help you. There have been too many beggars here\nand we must decline alms for the good of the town.\n\nAGMAR (_sitting down and weeping_)\n\nI have come from far.\n\n[_Illanaun presently returns and gives Agmar a coin. Exit Illanaun.\nAgmar, erect again, walks back to the others._\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe shall need fine raiment; let the thief start at once. Let it rather\nbe green raiment.\n\nBEGGAR\n\nI will go and fetch the thief. (_Exit_)\n\nULF\n\nWe will dress ourselves as lords and impose upon the city.\n\nOOGNO\n\nYes, yes; we will say we are ambassadors from a far land.\n\nULF\n\nAnd there will be good eating.\n\nSLAG (_in an undertone to Ulf_)\n\nBut you do not know my master. Now that you have suggested that we\nshall go as lords, he will make a better suggestion. He will suggest\nthat we should go as kings.\n\nULF\n\nBeggars as kings!\n\nSLAG\n\nAy. You do not know my master.\n\nULF (_to Agmar_)\n\nWhat do you bid us do?\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou shall first come by the fine raiment in the manner I have\nmentioned.\n\nULF\n\nAnd what then, master?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWhy, then we shall go as gods.\n\nBEGGARS\n\nAs gods!\n\nAGMAR\n\nAs gods. Know you the land through which I have lately come in my\nwanderings? Marma, where the gods are carved from green stone in the\nmountains. They sit all seven of them against the hills. They sit there\nmotionless and travellers worship them.\n\nULF\n\nYes, yes, we know those gods. They are much reverenced here, but they\nare drowsy and send us nothing beautiful.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey are of green jade. They sit cross-legged with their right elbows\nresting on their left hands, the right forefinger pointing upward. We\nwill come into the city disguised, from the direction of Marma, and\nwill claim to be these gods. We must be seven as they are. And when we\nsit we must sit cross-legged as they do, with the right hand uplifted.\n\nULF\n\nThis is a bad city in which to fall into the hands of oppressors, for\nthe judges lack amiability here as the merchants lack benevolence, ever\nsince the gods forgot them.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIn our ancient calling a man may sit at one street corner for fifty\nyears doing the one thing, and yet a day may come when it is well for\nhim to rise up and do another thing while the timorous man starves.\n\nULF\n\nAlso it were well not to anger the gods.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIs not all life a beggary to the gods? Do they not see all men always\nbegging of them and asking alms with incense, and bells, and subtle\ndevices?\n\nOOGNO\n\nYes, all men indeed are beggars before the gods.\n\nAGMAR\n\nDoes not the mighty Soldan often sit by the agate altar in his royal\ntemple as we sit at a street corner or by a palace gate?\n\nULF\n\nIt is even so.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThen will the gods be glad when we follow the holy calling with new\ndevices and with subtlety, as they are glad when the priests sing a new\nsong.\n\nULF\n\nYet I have a fear.\n\n[_Enter two men talking._\n\nAGMAR (_to Slag_)\n\nGo you into the city before us and let there be a prophecy there which\nsaith that the gods who are carven from green rock in the mountain\nshall one day arise in Marma and come here in the guise of men.\n\nSLAG\n\nYes, master. Shall I make the prophecy myself? Or shall it be found in\nsome old document?\n\nAGMAR\n\nLet someone have seen it once in some rare document. Let it be spoken\nof in the market place.\n\nSLAG\n\nIt shall be spoken of, master.\n\n[_Slag lingers. Enter Thief and Thahn._\n\nOOGNO\n\nThis is our thief.\n\nAGMAR (_encouragingly_)\n\nAh, he is a quick thief.\n\nTHIEF\n\nI could only procure you three green raiments, master. The city is not\nnow well supplied with them; moreover, it is a very suspicious city and\nwithout shame for the baseness of its suspicions.\n\nSLAG (_to a beggar_)\n\nThis is not thieving.\n\nTHIEF\n\nI could do no more, master. I have not practised thieving all my life.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou have got something: it may serve our purpose. How long have you\nbeen thieving?\n\nTHIEF\n\nI stole first when I was ten.\n\nSLAG (_in horror_)\n\nWhen he was ten!\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe must tear them up and divide them amongst the seven. (_To Thahn_)\nBring me another beggar.\n\nSLAG\n\nWhen my master was ten he had already to slip by night out of two\ncities.\n\nOOGNO (_admiringly_)\n\nOut of two cities?\n\nSLAG (_nodding his head_)\n\nIn his native city they do not now know what became of the golden cup\nthat stood in the Lunar Temple.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYes, into seven pieces.\n\nULF\n\nWe will each wear a piece of it over our rags.\n\nOOGNO\n\nYes, yes, we shall look fine.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThat is not the way that we shall disguise ourselves.\n\nOOGNO\n\nNot cover our rags?\n\nAGMAR\n\nNo, no. The first who looked closely would say, \"These are only\nbeggars. They have disguised themselves.\"\n\nULF\n\nWhat shall we do?\n\nAGMAR\n\nEach of the seven shall wear a piece of the green raiment underneath\nhis rags. And peradventure here and there a little shall show through;\nand men shall say, \"These seven have disguised themselves as beggars.\nBut we know not what they be.\"\n\nSLAG\n\nHear my wise master.\n\nOOGNO (_in admiration_)\n\n_He_ is a beggar.\n\nULF\n\nHe is an _old_ beggar.\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND ACT\n\n\n_The Metropolitan Hall of the city of Kongros. Citizens, etc._\n\n_Enter the seven beggars with green silk under their rags._\n\nOORANDER\n\nWho are you and whence come you?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWho may say what we are or whence we come?\n\nOORANDER\n\nWhat are these beggars and why do they come here?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWho said to you that we were beggars?\n\nOORANDER\n\nWhy do these men come here?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWho said to you that we were men?\n\nILLANAUN\n\nNow, by the moon!\n\nAGMAR\n\nMy sister.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nWhat?\n\nAGMAR\n\nMy little sister.\n\nSLAG\n\nOur little sister the moon. She comes to us at evenings away in the\nmountains 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\n\nYet is she young again and forever nimble with youth; yet she comes\ndancing back. The years are not able to curb her nor to bring gray\nhairs to her brethren.\n\nOORANDER\n\nThis is not wonted.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nIt is not in accordance with custom.\n\nAKMOS\n\nProphecy hath not thought it.\n\nSLAG\n\nShe comes to us new and nimble, remembering olden loves.\n\nOORANDER\n\nIt were well that prophets should come and speak to us.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nThis hath not been in the past. Let prophets come. Let prophets speak\nto us of future things.\n\n[_The beggars seat themselves upon the floor in the attitude of the\nseven gods of Marma._\n\nCITIZEN\n\nI heard men speak to-day in the market place. They speak of a prophecy\nread somewhere of old. It says the seven gods shall come from Marma in\nthe guise of men.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nIs this a true prophecy?\n\nOORANDER\n\nIt is all the prophecy we have. Man without prophecy is like a sailor\ngoing by night over uncharted seas. He knows not where are the rocks\nnor where the havens. To the man on watch all things ahead are black\nand the stars guide him not, for he knows not what they are.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nShould we not investigate this prophecy?\n\nOORANDER\n\nLet us accept it. It is as the small, uncertain light of a lantern,\ncarried it may be by a drunkard, but along the shore of some haven. Let\nus be guided.\n\nAKMOS\n\nIt may be that they are but benevolent gods.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThere is no benevolence greater than our benevolence.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nThen we need do little: they portend no danger to us.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThere is no anger greater than our anger.\n\nOORANDER\n\nLet us make sacrifice to them if they be gods.\n\nAKMOS\n\nWe humbly worship you, if ye be gods.\n\nILLANAUN (_kneeling too_)\n\nYou are mightier than all men and hold high rank among other gods and\nare lords of this our city, and have the thunder as your plaything and\nthe whirlwind and the eclipse and all the destinies of human tribes--if\nye be gods.\n\nAGMAR\n\nLet the pestilence not fall at once upon this city, as it had indeed\ndesigned to; let not the earthquake swallow it all immediately up amid\nthe howls of the thunder; let not infuriated armies overwhelm those\nthat escape--if we be gods--\n\nPOPULACE (_in horror_)\n\nIf we be gods!\n\nOORANDER\n\nCome, let us sacrifice.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nBring lambs.\n\nAKMOS\n\nQuick! Quick! (_Exeunt some_)\n\nSLAG (_with solemn air_)\n\nThis god is a very divine god.\n\nTHAHN\n\nHe is no common god.\n\nMLAN\n\nIndeed he has made us.\n\nCITIZEN (_to Slag_)\n\nHe will not punish us, master? None of the gods will punish us? We will\nmake a sacrifice, a good sacrifice.\n\nANOTHER\n\nWe will sacrifice a lamb that the priests have blessed.\n\nFIRST CITIZEN\n\nMaster, you are not wroth with us?\n\nSLAG\n\nWho may say what cloudy dooms are rolling up in the mind of the eldest\nof the gods? He is no common god like us. Once a shepherd went by him\nin the mountains and doubted as he went. He sent a doom after that\nshepherd.\n\nCITIZEN\n\nMaster, we have not doubted.\n\nSLAG\n\nAnd the doom found him on the hills at evening.\n\nSECOND CITIZEN\n\nIt shall be a good sacrifice, master.\n\n[_Re\u00ebnter with a dead lamb and fruits. They offer the lamb on an\naltar where there is fire, and fruits before the altar._\n\nTHAHN (_stretching out a hand to a lamb upon an altar_)\n\nThat leg is not being cooked at all.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nIt is strange that gods should be thus anxious about the cooking of a\nleg of lamb.\n\nOORANDER\n\nIt is strange certainly.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nAlmost I had said that it was a man spoke then.\n\nOORANDER (_stroking his beard and regarding the second beggar_)\n\nStrange. Strange, certainly.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIs it then strange that the gods love roasted flesh? For this purpose\nthey keep the lightning. When the lightning flickers about the limbs of\nmen there comes to the gods in Marma a pleasant smell, even a smell of\nroasting. Sometimes the gods, being pacific, are pleased to have\nroasted instead the flesh of lamb. It is all one to the gods; let the\nroasting stop.\n\nOORANDER\n\nNo, no, gods of the mountains!\n\nOTHERS\n\nNo, no.\n\nOORANDER\n\nQuick, let us offer the flesh to them. If they eat, all is well.\n\n[_They offer it; the beggars eat, all but Agmar, who watches._\n\nILLANAUN\n\nOne who was ignorant, one who did not know, had almost said that they\nate like hungry men.\n\nOTHERS\n\nHush!\n\nAKMOS\n\nYet they look as though they had not had a meal like this for a long\ntime.\n\nOORANDER\n\nThey have a hungry look.\n\nAGMAR (_who has not eaten_)\n\nI have not eaten since the world was very new and the flesh of men was\ntenderer than now. These younger gods have learned the habit of eating\nfrom the lions.\n\nOORANDER\n\nO oldest of divinities, partake, partake.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIt is not fitting that such as I should eat. None eat but beasts and\nmen and the younger gods. The sun and the moon and the nimble lightning\nand I--we may kill and we may madden, but we do not eat.\n\nAKMOS\n\nIf he but eat of our offering he cannot overwhelm us.\n\nALL\n\nOh, ancient deity, partake, partake.\n\nAGMAR\n\nEnough. Let it be enough that these have condescended to this bestial\nand human habit.\n\nILLANAUN (_to Akmos_)\n\nAnd yet he is not unlike a beggar whom I saw no so long since.\n\nOORANDER\n\nBut beggars eat.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nNow I never knew a beggar yet who would refuse a bowl of Woldery wine.\n\nAKMOS\n\nThis is no beggar.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nNevertheless let us offer him a bowl of Woldery wine.\n\nAKMOS\n\nYou do wrong to doubt him.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nI do but wish to prove his divinity. I will fetch the Woldery wine.\n(_Exit_)\n\nAKMOS\n\nHe will not drink. Yet if he does, then he will not overwhelm us. Let\nus offer him the wine.\n\n[_Re\u00ebnter Illanaun with a goblet._\n\nFIRST BEGGAR\n\nIt is Woldery wine!\n\nSECOND BEGGAR\n\nIt is Woldery!\n\nTHIRD BEGGAR\n\nA goblet of Woldery wine!\n\nFOURTH BEGGAR\n\nO blessed day!\n\nMLAN\n\nO happy times!\n\nSLAG\n\nO my wise master!\n\n[_Illanaun takes the goblet. 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\n\nHe has spilt it.\n\nSECOND BEGGAR\n\nHe has spilt it. (_Agmar sniffs the fumes, loquitur_)\n\nAGMAR\n\nIt is a fitting libation. Our anger is somewhat appeased.\n\nANOTHER BEGGAR\n\nBut it was Woldery!\n\nAKMOS (_kneeling to Agmar_)\n\nMaster, I am childless, and I--\n\nAGMAR\n\nTrouble us not now. It is the hour at which the gods are accustomed to\nspeak to the gods in the language of the gods, and if Man heard us he\nwould guess the futility of his destiny, which were not well for Man.\nBegone! Begone!\n\nONE LINGERS (_loquitur_)\n\nMaster--\n\nAGMAR\n\nBegone!\n\n[_Exeunt. Agmar takes up a piece of meat and begins to eat it; the\nbeggars rise and stretch themselves: they laugh, but Agmar eats\nhungrily._\n\nOOGNO\n\nAh! Now we have come into our own.\n\nTHAHN\n\nNow we have alms.\n\nSLAG\n\nMaster! My wise master!\n\nULF\n\nThese are the good days, the good days; and yet I have a fear.\n\nSLAG\n\nWhat do you fear? There is nothing to fear. No man is as wise as my\nmaster.\n\nULF\n\nI fear the gods whom we pretend to be.\n\nSLAG\n\nThe gods?\n\nAGMAR (_taking a chunk of meat from his lips_)\n\nCome hither, Slag.\n\nSLAG (_going up to him_)\n\nYes, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWatch in the doorway while I eat. (_Slag goes to the doorway_) Sit\nin the attitude of a god. Warn me if any of the citizens approach.\n\n[_Slag sits in the doorway in the attitude of a god, back to the\naudience._\n\nOOGNO (_to Agmar_)\n\nBut, master, shall we not have Woldery wine?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe shall have all things if only we are wise at first for a little.\n\nTHAHN\n\nMaster, do any suspect us?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe must be _very_ wise.\n\nTHAHN\n\nBut if we are not wise, master?\n\nAGMAR\n\nWhy, then death may come to us--\n\nTHAHN\n\nO master!\n\nAGMAR\n\n--slowly.\n\n[_All stir uneasily except Slag, who sits motionless in the doorway._\n\nOOGNO\n\nDo they believe us, master?\n\nSLAG (_half turning his head_)\n\nSomeone comes.\n\n[_Slag resumes his position._\n\nAGMAR (_putting away his meat_)\n\nWe shall soon know now.\n\n[_All take up the attitude. Enter One, loquitur._\n\nONE\n\nMaster, I want the god that does not eat.\n\nAGMAR\n\nI am he.\n\nONE\n\nMaster, my child was bitten in the throat by a death-adder at noon.\nSpare him, master; he still breathes, but slowly.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIs he indeed your child?\n\nONE\n\nHe is surely my child, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWas it your wont to thwart him in his play, while he was strong and\nwell?\n\nONE\n\nI never thwarted him, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWhose child is Death?\n\nONE\n\nDeath is the child of the gods.\n\nAGMAR\n\nDo you that never thwarted your child in his play ask this of the gods?\n\nONE (_with some horror, perceiving Agmar's meaning_)\n\nMaster!\n\nAGMAR\n\nWeep not. For all the houses that men have builded are the play-fields\nof this child of the gods.\n\n[_The Man goes away in silence, not weeping._\n\nOOGNO (_taking Thahn by the wrist_)\n\nIs this indeed a man?\n\nAGMAR\n\nA man, a man, and until just now a hungry one.\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD ACT\n\n\n_Same room._\n\n_A few days have elapsed._\n\n_Seven thrones shaped like mountain-crags stand along the back of the\nstage. On these the beggars are lounging. The Thief is absent._\n\nMLAN\n\nNever had beggars such a time.\n\nOOGNO\n\nAh, the fruits and tender lamb!\n\nTHAHN\n\nThe Woldery wine!\n\nSLAG\n\nIt was better to see my master's wise devices than to have fruit and\nlamb and Woldery wine.\n\nMLAN\n\nAh! When they spied on him to see if he would eat when they went away!\n\nOOGNO\n\nWhen they questioned him concerning the gods and Man!\n\nTHAHN\n\nWhen they asked him why the gods permitted cancer!\n\nSLAG\n\nAh, my wise master!\n\nMLAN\n\nHow well his scheme has succeeded!\n\nOOGNO\n\nHow far away is hunger!\n\nTHAHN\n\nIt is even like to one of last year's dreams, the trouble of a brief\nnight long ago.\n\nOOGNO (_laughing_)\n\nHo, ho, ho! To see them pray to us.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWhen we were beggars did we not speak as beggars? Did we not whine as\nthey? Was not our mien beggarly?\n\nOOGNO\n\nWe were the pride of our calling.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThen now that we are gods, let us be as gods, and not mock our\nworshippers.\n\nULF\n\nI think that the gods _do_ mock their worshippers.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThe gods have never mocked us. We are above all pinnacles that we have\never gazed at in dreams.\n\nULF\n\nI think that when man is high then most of all are the gods wont to\nmock him.\n\nTHIEF (_entering_)\n\nMaster! I have been with those that know all and see all. I have been\nwith the thieves, master. They know me for one of the craft, but they\ndo not know me as being one of us.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWell, well!\n\nTHIEF\n\nThere is danger, master, there is great danger.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou mean that they suspect that we are men.\n\nTHIEF\n\nThat they have long done, master. I mean that they will know it. Then\nwe are lost.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThen they do not know it.\n\nTHIEF\n\nThey do not know it yet, but they will know it, and we are lost.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWhen will they know it?\n\nTHIEF\n\nThree days ago they suspected us.\n\nAGMAR\n\nMore than you think suspected us, but have any dared to say so?\n\nTHIEF\n\nNo, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThen forget your fears, my thief.\n\nTHIEF\n\nTwo men went on dromedaries three days ago to see if the gods were\nstill at Marma.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey went to Marma!\n\nTHIEF\n\nYes, three days ago.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWe are lost!\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey went three days ago?\n\nTHIEF\n\nYes, on dromedaries.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey should be back to-day.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWe are lost!\n\nTHAHN\n\nWe are lost!\n\nTHIEF\n\nThey must have seen the green jade idols sitting against the mountains.\nThey will say, \"The gods are still at Marma.\" And we shall be burnt.\n\nSLAG\n\nMy master will yet devise a plan.\n\nAGMAR (_to the Thief_)\n\nSlip away to some high place and look toward the desert and see how\nlong we have to devise a plan.\n\nSLAG\n\nMy master will find a plan.\n\nOOGNO\n\nHe has taken us into a trap.\n\nTHAHN\n\nHis wisdom is our doom.\n\nSLAG\n\nHe will find a wise plan yet.\n\nTHIEF (_re\u00ebntering_)\n\nIt is too late!\n\nAGMAR\n\nIt is too late!\n\nTHIEF\n\nThe dromedary men are here.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWe are lost!\n\nAGMAR\n\nBe silent! I must think.\n\n[_They all sit still. Citizens enter and prostrate themselves. Agmar\nsits deep in thought._\n\nILLANAUN (_to Agmar_)\n\nTwo holy pilgrims have gone to your sacred shrines, wherein you were\nwont to sit before you left the mountains. (_Agmar says nothing_)\nThey return even now.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey left us here and went to find the gods? A fish once took a journey\ninto a far country to find the sea.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nMost reverend deity, their piety is so great that they have gone to\nworship even your shrines.\n\nAGMAR\n\nI know these men that have great piety. Such men have often prayed to\nme before, but their prayers are not acceptable. They little love the\ngods; their only care is their piety. I know these pious ones. They\nwill say that the seven gods were still at Marma. They will lie and say\nthat we were still at Marma. So shall they seem more pious to you all,\npretending that they alone have seen the gods. Fools shall believe them\nand share in their damnation.\n\nOORANDER (_to Illanaun_)\n\nHush! You anger the gods.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nI am not sure whom I anger.\n\nOORANDER\n\nIt may be they are the gods.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nWhere are these men from Marma?\n\nCITIZEN\n\nHere are the dromedary men; they are coming now.\n\nILLANAUN (_to Agmar_)\n\nThe holy pilgrims from your shrine are come to worship you.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThe men are doubters. How the gods hate the word! Doubt ever\ncontaminated virtue. Let them be cast into prison and not besmirch your\npurity. (_Rising_) Let them not enter here.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nBut oh, most reverend deity from the Mountain, we also doubt, most\nreverend deity.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou have chosen. You have chosen. And yet it is not too late. Repent\nand cast these men in prison and it may not be too late. _The gods\nhave 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\n[_Enter the Dromedary Men._\n\nILLANAUN\n\nMost reverend deity, it is a mighty doubt.\n\nCITIZENS\n\n_Nothing has killed him! They are not the gods!_\n\nSLAG (_to Agmar_)\n\nYou have a plan, my master. You have a plan.\n\nAGMAR\n\nNot yet, Slag.\n\nILLANAUN (_to Oorander_)\n\nThese are the men that went to the shrines at Marma.\n\nOORANDER (_in a loud, clear voice_)\n\nWere the Gods of the Mountain seated still at Marma, or were they not\nthere?\n\n[_The beggars get up hurriedly from their thrones._\n\nDROMEDARY MAN\n\nThey were not there.\n\nILLANAUN\n\nThey were not there?\n\nDROMEDARY MAN\n\nTheir shrines were empty.\n\nOORANDER\n\nBehold the Gods of the Mountain!\n\nAKMOS\n\nThey have indeed come from Marma.\n\nOORANDER\n\nCome. Let us go away to prepare a sacrifice. A mighty sacrifice to\natone for our doubting. (_Exeunt_)\n\nSLAG\n\nMy most wise master!\n\nAGMAR\n\nNo, no, Slag. I do not know what has befallen. When I went by Marma\nonly two weeks ago the idols of green jade were still seated there.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWe are saved now.\n\nTHAHN\n\nAy, we are saved.\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe are saved, but I know not how.\n\nOOGNO\n\nNever had beggars such a time.\n\nTHIEF\n\nI will go out and watch. (_He creeps out_)\n\nULF\n\nYet I have a fear.\n\nOOGNO\n\nA fear? Why, we are saved.\n\nULF\n\nLast night I dreamed.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWhat was your dream?\n\nULF\n\nIt was nothing. I dreamed that I was thirsty and one gave me Woldery\nwine; yet there was a fear in my dream.\n\nTHAHN\n\nWhen I drink Woldery wine I am afraid of nothing.\n\nTHIEF (_re\u00ebntering_)\n\nThey are making a pleasant banquet ready for us; they are killing\nlambs, and girls are there with fruits, and there is to be much Woldery\nwine.\n\nMLAN\n\nNever had beggars such a time.\n\nAGMAR\n\nDo any doubt us now?\n\nTHIEF\n\nI do not know.\n\nMLAN\n\nWhen will the banquet be?\n\nTHIEF\n\nWhen the stars come out.\n\nOOGNO\n\nAh! It is sunset already. There will be good eating.\n\nTHAHN\n\nWe shall see the girls come in with baskets upon their heads.\n\nOOGNO\n\nThere will be fruits in the baskets.\n\nTHAHN\n\nAll the fruits of the valley.\n\nMLAN\n\nOh, how long we have wandered along the ways of the world!\n\nSLAG\n\nOh, how hard they were!\n\nTHAHN\n\nAnd how dusty!\n\nOOGNO\n\nAnd how little wine!\n\nMLAN\n\nHow long we have asked and asked, and for how much!\n\nAGMAR\n\nWe to whom all things are coming now at last!\n\nTHIEF\n\nI fear lest my art forsake me now that good things come without\nstealing.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou will need your art no longer.\n\nSLAG\n\nThe wisdom of my master shall suffice us all our days.\n\n[_Enter a frightened Man. He kneels before Agmar and abates his\nforehead._\n\nMAN\n\nMaster, we implore you, the people beseech you.\n\n[_Agmar and the beggars in the attitude of the gods sit silent._\n\nMAN\n\nMaster, 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\n\nIn the desert? When did you see us?\n\nMAN\n\nLast night, master. You were terrible last night. You were terrible in\nthe gloaming. When your hands were stretched out and groping. You were\nfeeling for the city.\n\nAGMAR\n\nLast night do you say?\n\nMAN\n\nYou were terrible in the gloaming!\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou yourself saw us?\n\nMAN\n\nYes, master, you were terrible. Children too saw you and they died.\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou say you saw us?\n\nMAN\n\nYes, master. Not as you are now, but otherwise. We implore you, master,\nnot to wander at evening. You are terrible in the gloaming. You are--\n\nAGMAR\n\nYou say we appeared not as we are now. How did we appear to you?\n\nMAN\n\nOtherwise, master, otherwise.\n\nAGMAR\n\nBut how did we appear to you?\n\nMAN\n\nYou 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\n\nThat is how we appeared to you?\n\nMAN\n\nYes, master. Rock should not walk. When children see it they do not\nunderstand. Rock should not walk in the evening.\n\nAGMAR\n\nThere have been doubters of late. Are they satisfied?\n\nMAN\n\nMaster, they are terrified. Spare us, master.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIt is wrong to doubt. Go and be faithful.\n\n[_Exit Man._\n\nSLAG\n\nWhat have they seen, master?\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey have seen their own fears dancing in the desert. They have seen\nsomething green after the light was gone, and some child has told them\na tale that it was us. I do not know what they have seen. What should\nthey have seen?\n\nULF\n\nSomething was coming this way from the desert, he said.\n\nSLAG\n\nWhat should come from the desert?\n\nAGMAR\n\nThey are a foolish people.\n\nULF\n\nThat man's white face has seen some frightful thing.\n\nSLAG\n\nA frightful thing?\n\nULF\n\nThat man's face has been near to some frightful thing.\n\nAGMAR\n\nIt is only we that have frightened them and their fears have made them\nfoolish.\n\n[_Enter an Attendant with a torch or lantern which he places in a\nreceptacle. Exit._\n\nTHAHN\n\nNow we shall see the faces of the girls when they come to the banquet.\n\nMLAN\n\nNever had beggars such a time.\n\nAGMAR\n\nHark! They are coming. I hear footsteps.\n\nTHAHN\n\nThe dancing girls! They are coming!\n\nTHIEF\n\nThere is no sound of flutes, they said they would come with music.\n\nOOGNO\n\nWhat heavy boots they have; they sound like feet of stone.\n\nTHAHN\n\nI do not like to hear their heavy tread. Those that would dance to\n_us_ must be light of foot.\n\nAGMAR\n\nI shall not smile at them if they are not airy.\n\nMLAN\n\nThey are coming very slowly. They should come nimbly to us.\n\nTHAHN\n\nThey should dance as they come. But the footfall is like the footfall\nof heavy crabs.\n\nULF (_in a loud voice, almost chanting_)\n\nI have a fear, an old fear and a boding. We have done ill in the sight\nof the seven gods. Beggars we were and beggars we should have remained.\nWe have given up our calling and come in sight of our doom. I will no\nlonger let my fear be silent; it shall run about and cry; it shall go\nfrom me crying, like a dog from out of a doomed city; for my fear has\nseen calamity and has known an evil thing.\n\nSLAG (_hoarsely_)\n\nMaster!\n\nAGMAR (_rising_)\n\nCome, come!\n\n[_They listen. No one speaks. The stony boots come on. Enter in\nsingle file through door in right of back, a procession of seven green\nmen, even 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 upward, right\nelbows resting on left hands; they stoop grotesquely. Halfway to the\nfootlights they left wheel. 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._\n\nOOGNO (_cries out just as they wheel left_)\n\nThe Gods of the Mountain!\n\nAGMAR (_hoarsely_)\n\nBe still! They are dazzled by the light. They may not see us.\n\n[_The leading Green Thing points his forefinger at the lantern--the\nflame turns green. When the six are seated the leader points one by one\nat each of the seven beggars, shooting out his forefinger at them. As\nhe does this each beggar in his turn gathers himself back on to his\nthrone and crosses his legs, his right arm goes stiffly upward with\nforefinger erect, and a staring look of horror comes into his eyes. In\nthis attitude the beggars sit motionless while a green light falls upon\ntheir faces. The gods go out._\n\n_Presently enter the Citizens, some with victuals and fruit. One\ntouches a beggar's arm and then another's._\n\nCITIZEN\n\nThey are cold; they have turned to stone.\n\n[_All abase themselves, foreheads to the floor._\n\nONE\n\nWe have doubted them. We have doubted them. They have turned to stone\nbecause we have doubted them.\n\nANOTHER\n\nThey were the true gods.\n\nALL\n\nThey were the true gods.\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN DOOM\n\n\nPERSONS\n\n    THE KING\n    CHAMBERLAIN\n    CHIEF PROPHET\n    GIRL\n    BOY\n    SPIES\n    FIRST PROPHET\n    SECOND PROPHET\n    FIRST SENTRY\n    SECOND SENTRY\n    STRANGER\n    ATTENDANTS\n\n_Scene: Outside the King's great door in Zericon._\n\n_Time: Some while before the fall of Babylon._\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN DOOM\n\n\n_Two Sentries pace to and fro, then halt, one on each side of the\ngreat door._\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nThe day is deadly sultry.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nI would that I were swimming down the Gyshon, on the cool side, under\nthe fruit trees.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nIt is like to thunder or the fall of a dynasty.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nIt will grow cool by night-fall. Where is the King?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nHe rows in his golden barge with ambassadors or whispers with captains\nconcerning future wars. The stars spare him!\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nWhy do you say \"the stars spare him\"?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nBecause if a doom from the stars fall suddenly on a king it swallows up\nhis people and all things round about him, and his palace falls and the\nwalls of his city and citadel, and the apes come in from the woods and\nthe large beasts from the desert, so that you would not say that a king\nhad been there at all.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nBut why should a doom from the stars fall on the King?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nBecause he seldom placates them.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nAh! I have heard that said of him.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nWho are the stars that a man should scorn them? Should they that rule\nthe thunder, the plague and the earthquake withhold these things save\nfor much prayer? Always ambassadors are with the King, and his\ncommanders, come in from distant lands, prefects of cities and makers\nof the laws, but never the priests of the stars.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nHark! Was that thunder?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nBelieve me, the stars are angry.\n\n[_Enter a Stranger. He wanders toward the King's door, gazing about\nhim._\n\nSENTRIES (_lifting their spears at him_)\n\nGo back! Go back!\n\nSTRANGER\n\nWhy?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nIt is death to touch the King's door.\n\nSTRANGER\n\nI am a stranger from Thessaly.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nIt is death even for a stranger.\n\nSTRANGER\n\nYour door is strangely sacred.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nIt is death to touch it.\n\n[_The Stranger wanders off._\n\n[_Enter two children hand in hand._\n\nBOY (_to the Sentry_)\n\nI want to see the King to pray for a hoop.\n\n[_The Sentry smiles._\n\nBOY (_pushes the door; to girl_)\n\nI cannot open it. (_To the Sentry_) Will it do as well if I pray\nto the King's door?\n\nSENTRY\n\nYes, quite as well. (_Turns to talk to the other Sentry_) Is there\nanyone in sight?\n\nSECOND SENTRY (_shading his eyes_)\n\nNothing but a dog, and he far out on the plain.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nThen we can talk awhile and eat bash.\n\nBOY\n\nKing's door, I want a little hoop.\n\n[_The Sentries take a little bash between finger and thumb from\npouches and put that wholly forgotten drug to their lips._\n\nGIRL (_pointing_)\n\nMy father is a taller soldier than that.\n\nBOY\n\nMy father can write. He taught me.\n\nGIRL\n\nHo! Writing frightens nobody. My father is a soldier.\n\nBOY\n\nI have a lump of gold. I found it in the stream that runs down to\nGyshon.\n\nGIRL\n\nI have a poem. I found it in my own head.\n\nBOY\n\nIs it a long poem?\n\nGIRL\n\nNo. But it would have been only there were no more rhymes for sky.\n\nBOY\n\nWhat is your poem?\n\nGIRL\n\n    I saw a purple bird\n      Go up against the sky\n    And it went up and up\n      And round about did fly.\n\nBOY\n\nI saw it die.\n\nGIRL\n\nThat doesn't scan.\n\nBOY\n\nOh, that doesn't matter.\n\nGIRL\n\nDo you like my poem?\n\nBOY\n\nBirds aren't purple.\n\nGIRL\n\nMy bird was.\n\nBOY\n\nOh!\n\nGIRL\n\nOh, you don't like my poem!\n\nBOY\n\nYes, I do.\n\nGIRL\n\nNo, you don't; you think it horrid.\n\nBOY\n\nNo. I don't.\n\nGIRL\n\nYes, you do. Why didn't you say you liked it? It is the only poem I\never made.\n\nBOY\n\nI do like it. I do like it.\n\nGIRL\n\nYou don't, you don't!\n\nBOY\n\nDon't be angry. I'll write it on the door for you.\n\nGIRL\n\nYou'll write it?\n\nBOY\n\nYes, I can write it. My father taught me. I'll write it with my lump of\ngold. It makes a yellow mark on the iron door.\n\nGIRL\n\nOh, do write it! I would like to see it written like real poetry.\n\n[_The Boy begins to write. The Girl watches._\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nYou see, we'll be fighting again soon.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nOnly a little war. We never have more than a little war with the\nhill-folk.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nWhen a man goes to fight, the curtains of the gods wax thicker than\never before between his eyes and the future; he may go to a great or to\na little war.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nThere can only be a little war with the hill-folk.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nYet sometimes the gods laugh.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nAt whom?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nAt kings.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nWhy have you grown uneasy about this war in the hills?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nBecause the King is powerful beyond any of his fathers, and has more\nfighting men, more horses, and wealth that could have ransomed his\nfather and his grandfather and dowered their queens and daughters; and\nevery year his miners bring him more from the opal-mines and from the\nturquoise-quarries. He has grown very mighty.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nThen he will the more easily crush the hill-folk in a little war.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nWhen kings grow very mighty the stars grow very jealous.\n\nBOY\n\nI've written your poem.\n\nGIRL\n\nOh, have you really?\n\nBOY\n\nYes, I'll read it to you. (_He reads_)\n\n    I saw a purple bird\n      Go up against the sky\n    And it went up and up\n      And round about did fly.\n        I saw it die.\n\nGIRL\n\nIt doesn't scan.\n\nBOY\n\nThat doesn't matter.\n\n[_Enter furtively a Spy, who crosses stage and goes out. The Sentries\ncease to talk._\n\nGIRL\n\nThat man frightens me.\n\nBOY\n\nHe is only one of the King's spies.\n\nGIRL\n\nBut I don't like the King's spies. They frighten me.\n\nBOY\n\nCome on, then, we'll run away.\n\nSENTRY (_noticing the children again_)\n\nGo away, go away! The King is coming, he will eat you.\n\n[_The Boy throws a stone at the Sentry and runs out. Enter another\nSpy, who crosses the stage. Enter third Spy, who notices the door. He\nexamines it and utters an owl-like whistle. No. 2 comes back. They do\nnot speak. Both whistle. No. 3 comes. All examine the door. Enter the\nKing and his Chamberlain. The King wears a purple robe. The Sentries\nsmartly transfer their spears to their left hands and return their\nright arms to their right sides. They then lower their spears until\ntheir points are within an inch of the ground, at the same time raising\ntheir right hands above their heads. They stand for some moments thus.\nThen they lower their right arms to their right sides, at the same time\nraising their spears. In the next motion they take their spears into\ntheir right hands and lower the butts to the floor, where they were\nbefore, the spears slanting forward a little. Both Sentries must move\ntogether precisely._\n\nFIRST SPY (_runs forward to the King and kneels, abasing his\nforehead to the floor_)\n\nSomething has written on the iron door.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nOn the iron door!\n\nKING\n\nSome fool has done it. Who has been here since yesterday?\n\nFIRST SENTRY (_shifts his hand a little higher on his spear,\nbrings the spear to his side and closes his heels all in one motion; he\nthen takes one pace backward with his right foot; then he kneels on his\nright knee; when he has done this he speaks, but not before_)\n\nNobody, Majesty, but a stranger from Thessaly.\n\nKING\n\nDid he touch the iron door?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nNo, Majesty; he tried to, but we drove him away.\n\nKING\n\nHow near did he come?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nNearly to our spears, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nWhat was his motive in seeking to touch the iron door?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nI do not know, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nWhich way did he go?\n\nFIRST SENTRY (_pointing left_)\n\nThat way, Majesty, an hour ago.\n\n[_The King whispers with one of his Spies, who stoops and examines\nthe ground and steals away. The Sentry rises._\n\nKING (_to his two remaining Spies_)\n\nWhat does this writing say?\n\nA SPY\n\nWe cannot read, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nA good spy should know everything.\n\nSECOND SPY\n\nWe watch, Majesty, and we search out, Majesty. We read shadows, and we\nread footprints, and whispers in secret places. But we do not read\nwriting.\n\nKING (_to the Chamberlain_)\n\nSee what it is.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN (_goes up and reads_)\n\nIt is treason, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nRead it.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\n    I saw a purple bird\n      Go up against the sky,\n    And it went up and up\n      And round about did fly.\n        I saw it die.\n\nFIRST SENTRY (_aside_)\n\nThe stars have spoken.\n\nKING (_to the Sentry_)\n\nHas anyone been here but the stranger from Thessaly?\n\nSENTRY (_kneeling as before_)\n\nNobody, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nYou saw nothing?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nNothing but a dog far out upon the plain and the children of the guard\nat play.\n\nKING (_to the Second Sentry_)\n\nAnd you?\n\nSECOND SENTRY (_kneeling_)\n\nNothing, Majesty.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nThat is strange.\n\nKING\n\nIt is some secret warning.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nIt is treason.\n\nKING\n\nIt is from the stars.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nNo, no, Majesty. Not from the stars, not from the stars. Some man has\ndone it. Yet the thing should be interpreted. Shall I send for the\nprophets of the stars?\n\n[_The King beckons to his Spies. They run up to him._\n\nKING\n\nFind me some prophet of the stars. (_Exeunt Spies_) I fear that we\nmay go no more, my chamberlain, along the winding ways of unequalled\nZericon, nor play dahoori with the golden balls. I have thought more of\nmy people than of the stars and more of Zericon than of windy Heaven.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nBelieve me, Majesty, some idle man has written it and passed by. Your\nspies shall find him, and then his name will be soon forgotten.\n\nKING\n\nYes, yes. Perhaps you are right, though the sentries saw no one. No\ndoubt some beggar did it.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nYes, Majesty, some beggar has surely done it. But look, here come two\nprophets of the stars. They shall tell us that this is idle.\n\n[_Enter two Prophets and a Boy attending them. All bow deeply to the\nKing. The two Spies steal in again and stand at back._\n\nKING\n\nSome beggar has written a rhyme on the iron gate, and as the ways of\nrhyme are known to you I desired you, rather as poets than as prophets,\nto say whether there was any meaning in it.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\n'Tis but an idle rhyme.\n\nFIRST PROPHET (_bows again and goes up to door. He glances at the\nwriting_)\n\nCome hither, servant of those that serve the stars.\n\n[_Attendant approaches._\n\nFIRST PROPHET\n\nBring hither our golden cloaks, for this may be a matter for rejoicing;\nand bring our green cloaks also, for this may tell of young new\nbeautiful things with which the stars will one day gladden the King;\nand bring our black cloaks also, for it may be a doom. (_Exit the\nBoy; the Prophet goes up to the door and reads solemnly_) The stars\nhave spoken.\n\n[_Re\u00ebnter Attendant with cloaks._\n\nKING\n\nI tell you that some beggar has written this.\n\nFIRST PROPHET\n\nIt is written in pure gold. (_He dons the black cloak over body and\nhead_)\n\nKING\n\nWhat do the stars mean? What warning is it?\n\nFIRST PROPHET\n\nI cannot say.\n\nKING (_to Second Prophet_)\n\nCome you then and tell us what the warning is.\n\nSECOND PROPHET (_goes up to the door and reads_)\n\nThe stars have spoken. (_He cloaks himself in black_)\n\nKING\n\nWhat is it? What does it mean?\n\nSECOND PROPHET\n\nWe do not know, but it is from the stars.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nIt is a harmless thing; there is no harm in it, Majesty. Why should not\nbirds die?\n\nKING\n\nWhy have the prophets covered themselves in black?\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nThey are a secret people and look for inner meanings. There is no harm\nin it.\n\nKING\n\nThey have covered themselves in black.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nThey have not spoken of any evil thing. They have not spoken of it.\n\nKING\n\nIf the people see the prophets covered in black they will say that the\nstars are against me and believe that my luck has turned.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nThe people must not know.\n\nKING\n\nSome prophet must interpret to us the doom. Let the chief prophet of\nthe stars be sent for.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN (_going toward left exit_)\n\nSummon the chief prophet of the stars that look on Zericon.\n\nVOICES OFF\n\nThe chief prophet of the stars. The chief prophet of the stars.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nI have summoned the chief prophet, Majesty.\n\nKING\n\nIf he interpret this aright I will put a necklace of turquoises round\nhis neck with opals from the mines.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nHe will not fail. He is a very cunning interpreter.\n\nKING\n\nWhat if he covers himself with a huge black cloak and does not speak\nand goes muttering away, slowly with bended head, till our fear spreads\nto the sentries and they cry aloud?\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nThis is no doom from the stars, but some idle scribe hath written it in\nhis insolence upon the iron door, wasting his hoard of gold.\n\nKING\n\nNot for myself I have a fear of doom, not for myself; but I inherited a\nrocky land, windy and ill-nurtured, and nursed it to prosperity by\nyears of peace and spread its boundaries by years of war. I have\nbrought up harvests out of barren acres and given good laws unto\nnaughty towns, and my people are happy, and lo, the stars are angry!\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nIt is not the stars, it is not the stars, Majesty, for the prophets of\nthe stars have not interpreted it. Indeed, it was only some reveller\nwasting his gold.\n\n[_Meanwhile enter Chief Prophet of the stars that look on Zericon._\n\nKING\n\nChief Prophet of the Stars that look on Zericon, I would have you\ninterpret the rhyme upon yonder door.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET (_goes up to the door and reads_)\n\nIt is from the stars.\n\nKING\n\nInterpret it and you shall have great turquoises round your neck, with\nopals from the mines in the frozen mountains.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET (_cloaks himself like the others in a great black cloak_)\n\nWho should wear purple in the land but a King, or who go up against\nthe sky but he who has troubled the stars by neglecting their ancient\nworship? Such a one has gone up and up increasing power and wealth,\nsuch a one has soared above the crowns of those that went before him,\nsuch a one the stars have doomed, the undying ones, the illustrious.\n                                                 [_A pause._\n\nKING\n\nWho wrote it?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIt is pure gold. Some god has written it.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN\n\nSome god?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nSome god whose home is among the undying stars.\n\nFIRST SENTRY (_aside to the Second Sentry_)\n\nLast night I saw a star go flaming earthward.\n\nKING\n\nIs this a warning or is it a doom?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nThe stars have spoken.\n\nKING\n\nIt is, then, a doom?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nThey speak not in jest.\n\nKING\n\nI have been a great King--Let it be said of me \"The stars overthrew\nhim, and they sent a god for his doom.\" For I have not met my equal\namong kings that man should overthrow me; and I have not oppressed my\npeople that man should rise up against me.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIt is better to give worship to the stars than to do good to man. It is\nbetter to be humble before the gods than proud in the face of your\nenemy though he do evil.\n\nKING\n\nLet the stars hearken yet and I will sacrifice a child to them--I will\nsacrifice a girl child to the twinkling stars and a male child to the\nstars that blink not, the stars of the steadfast eyes. (_To his\nSpies_) Let a boy and girl be brought for sacrifice. (_Exit a Spy\nto the right looking at footprints_) Will you accept this sacrifice\nto the god that the stars have sent? They say that the gods love\nchildren.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nI may refuse no sacrifice to the stars nor to the gods whom they send.\n(_To the other Prophets_) Make ready the sacrificial knives.\n\n[_The Prophets draw knives and sharpen them._\n\nKING\n\nIs it fitting that the sacrifice take place by the iron door where the\ngod from the stars has trod, or must it be in the temple?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nLet it be offered by the iron door. (_To the other Prophets_) Fetch\nhither the altar stone.\n\n[_The owl-like whistle is heard off right. The Third Spy runs\ncrouching toward it. Exit._\n\nKING\n\nWill this sacrifice avail to avert the doom?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nWho knows?\n\nKING\n\nI fear that even yet the doom will fall.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIt were wise to sacrifice some greater thing.\n\nKING\n\nWhat more can a man offer?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nHis pride.\n\nKING\n\nWhat pride?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nYour pride that went up against the sky and troubled the stars.\n\nKING\n\nHow shall I sacrifice my pride to the stars?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIt is upon your pride that the doom will fall, and will take away your\ncrown and will take away your kingdom.\n\nKING\n\nI will sacrifice my crown and reign uncrowned amongst you, so only I\nsave my kingdom.\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIf you sacrifice your crown which is your pride, and if the stars\naccept it, perhaps the god that they sent may avert the doom and you\nmay still reign in your kingdom though humbled and uncrowned.\n\nKING\n\nShall I burn my crown with spices and with incense or cast it into the\nsea?\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nLet it be laid here by the iron door where the god came who wrote the\ngolden doom. When he comes again by night to shrivel up the city or to\npour an enemy in through the iron door, he will see your cast-off pride\nand perhaps accept it and take it away to the neglected stars.\n\nKING (_to the Chamberlain_)\n\nGo after my spies and say that I make no sacrifice. (_Exit the\nChamberlain to the right; the King takes off his crown_) Good-bye,\nmy brittle glory; kings have sought you; the stars have envied you.\n(_The stage grows darker_)\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nEven now the sun has set who denies the stars, and the day is departed\nwherein no gods walk abroad. It is near the hour when spirits roam the\nearth and all things that go unseen, and the faces of the abiding stars\nwill be soon revealed to the fields. Lay your crown there and let us\ncome away.\n\nKING _(lays his crown before the iron door; then to the Sentries_)\n\nGo! And let no man come near the door all night.\n\nTHE SENTRIES (_kneeling_)\n\nYes, Majesty.\n\n[_They remain kneeling until after the King has gone. King and the\nChief Prophet walk away._\n\nCHIEF PROPHET\n\nIt was your pride. Let it be forgotten. May the stars accept it.\n(_Exeunt left_)\n\n[_The Sentries rise._\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nThe stars have envied him!\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nIt is an ancient crown. He wore it well.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nMay the stars accept it.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nIf they do not accept it what doom will overtake him?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nIt will suddenly be as though there were never any city of Zericon nor\ntwo sentries like you and me standing before the door.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nWhy! How do you know?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nThat is ever the way of the gods.\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nBut it is unjust.\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nHow should the gods know that?\n\nSECOND SENTRY\n\nWill it happen to-night?\n\nFIRST SENTRY\n\nCome! we must march away. (_Exeunt right_)\n\n[_The stage grows increasingly darker. Re\u00ebnter the Chamberlain from\nthe right. He walks across the Stage and goes out to the left. Re\u00ebnter\nSpies from the right. They cross the stage, which is now nearly\ndark._\n\nBOY (_enters from the right, dressed in white, his hands out\na little, crying_)\n\nKing's door, King's door, I want my little hoop. (_He goes up to the\nKing's door. When he sees the King's crown there, he utters a\nsatisfied_) O-oh! (_He takes it up, puts it on the ground, and,\nbeating it before him with the sceptre, goes out by the way that he\nentered_)\n\n[_The great door opens; there is light within; a furtive Spy slips\nout and sees that the crown is gone. Another Spy slips out. Their\ncrouching heads come close together._\n\nFIRST SPY (_hoarse whisper_)\n\nThe gods have come!\n\n[_They run back through the door and the door is closed. It opens\nagain and the King and the Chamberlain come through._\n\nKING\n\nThe stars are satisfied.\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nKING ARGIMENES AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR\n\n\nPERSONS\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 ATHARLIA   }\n    QUEEN OXARA      } _Queens of King Darniak_\n    QUEEN CAHAFRA    }\n    QUEEN THRAGOLIND }\n\n    GUARDS AND ATTENDANTS\n\n_Time: A long time ago._\n\n\n\n\nKING ARGIMENES AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST ACT\n\n\n_The dinner-hour on the slave-fields of King Darniak. King Argimenes is\nsitting upon the ground, bowed, ragged and dirty, gnawing a bone. He\nhas uncouth hair and a dishevelled beard. A battered spade lies near\nhim. Two or three slaves sit at back of stage eating raw\ncabbage-leaves. The tear-song, the chant of the low-born, rises at\nintervals, monotonous and mournful, coming from distant slave-fields._\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nThis is a good bone; there is juice in this bone.\n\nZARB\n\nI wish I were you, Argimenes.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nI am not to be envied any longer. I have eaten up my bone.\n\nZARB\n\nI wish I were you, because you have been a king. Because men have\nprostrated themselves before your feet. Because you have ridden a horse\nand worn a crown and have been called Majesty.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWhen I remember that I have been a king it is very terrible.\n\nZARB\n\nBut you are lucky to have such things in your memory as you have. I\nhave 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\n\nIt is very terrible to have been a king.\n\nZARB\n\nBut we have nothing who have no good memories in the past. It is not\neasy for us to hope for the future here.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHave you any god?\n\nZARB\n\nWe may not have a god because he might make us brave and we might kill\nour guards. He might make a miracle and give us swords.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAh, you have no hope, then.\n\nZARB\n\nI have a little hope. Hush, and I will tell you a secret--The King's\ngreat dog is ill and like to die. They will throw him to us. We shall\nhave beautiful bones then.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAh! Bones.\n\nZARB\n\nYes. That is what _I_ hope for. And have _you_ no other hope? Do you\nnot hope that your nation will arise some day and rescue you and cast\noff the king and hang him up by his thumbs from the palace gateway?\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nNo. I have no other hope, for my god was cast down in the temple and\nbroken into three pieces on the day that they surprised us and took me\nsleeping. But will they throw him to us? Will so honorable a brute as\nthe King's dog be thrown to us?\n\nZARB\n\nWhen he is dead his honors are taken away. Even the King when he is\ndead is given to the worms. Then why should not his dog be thrown to\nus?\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWe are not worms!\n\nZARB\n\nYou do not understand, Argimenes. The worms are little and free, while\nwe are big and enslaved. I did not say we were worms, but we are _like_\nworms, and if they have the King when he is dead, why then--\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nTell me more of the King's dog. Are there big bones on him?\n\nZARB\n\nAy, he is a big dog--a high, big, black one.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nYou know him then?\n\nZARB\n\nOh yes, I know him. I know him well. I was beaten once because of him,\ntwenty-five strokes from the treble whips, two men beating me.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow did they beat you because of the King's dog?\n\nZARB\n\nThey beat me because I spoke to him without making obeisance. He was\ncoming dancing along over the slave-fields and I spoke to him. He was a\nfriendly great dog, and I spoke to him and patted his head, and did not\nmake obeisance.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAnd they saw you do it?\n\nZARB\n\nYes, the slave-guard saw me. They came and seized me at once and bound\nmy arms. The great dog wanted me to speak to him again, but I was\nhurried away.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nYou should have made obeisance.\n\nZARB\n\nThe great dog seemed so friendly that I forgot he was the King's great\ndog.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nBut tell me more. Was he hurt or is it a sickness?\n\nZARB\n\nThey say that it is a sickness.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAh, then he will grow thin if he does not die soon. If it had been a\nhurt!--but we should not complain. I complain more often than you do\nbecause I had not learned to submit while I was yet young.\n\nZARB\n\nIf your beautiful memories do not please you, you should hope more. I\nwish I had your memories. I should not trouble to hope then. It is very\nhard to hope.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nThere will be nothing more to hope for when we have eaten the King's\ndog.\n\nZARB\n\nWhy, you might find gold in the earth while you were digging. Then you\nmight bribe the commander of the guard to lend you his sword; we would\nall follow you if you had a sword. Then we might take the King and bind\nhim and lay him on the ground and fasten his tongue outside his mouth\nwith thorns and put honey on it and sprinkle honey near. Then the gray\nants would come from one of their big mounds. My father found gold once\nwhen he was digging.\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_pointedly_)\n\nDid your father free himself?\n\nZARB\n\nNo. 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 the\nguard.\n\n[_A Prophet walks across the stage attended by two guards._\n\nSLAVES\n\nHe is going to the King. He is going to the King.\n\nZARB\n\nHe is going to the King.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nGoing to prophesy good things to the King. It is easy to prophesy good\nthings to a king, and be rewarded when the good things come. What else\nshould come to a king? A prophet! A prophet!\n\n[_A deep bell tolls slowly. King Argimenes and Zarb pick up their\nspades at once, and the old slaves at the back of the stage go down on\ntheir knees immediately and grub in the soil with their hands. The\nwhite beard of the oldest trails in the dirt as he works. King\nArgimenes digs._\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWhat is the name of that song that we always sing? I like the song.\n\nZARB\n\nIt has no name. It is our song. There is no other song.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nOnce there were other songs. Has this no name?\n\nZARB\n\nI think the soldiers have a name for it.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWhat do the soldiers call it?\n\nZARB\n\nThe soldiers call it the tear-song, the chant of the low-born.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nIt is a good song. I could sing no other now.\n\n[_Zarb moves away digging._\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_to himself as his spade touches something in the\nearth_)\n\nMetal! (_Feels with his spade again_) Gold perhaps!--It is of no use\nhere. (_Uncovers earth leisurely. Suddenly he drops on his knees and\nworks excitedly in the earth with his hands. Then very slowly, still\nkneeling, he lifts, lying flat on his hands, a long greenish sword, his\neyes intent on it. About the level of his uplifted forehead he holds\nit, still flat on both hands, and addresses it thus_) O holy and\nblessed thing! (_Then he lowers it slowly till his hands rest on his\nknees, and looking all the while at the sword, loquitur_) Three years\nago to-morrow King Darniak spat at me, having taken my kingdom from me.\nThree times in that year I was flogged, with twelve stripes, with\nseventeen stripes, and with twenty stripes. A year and eleven months\nago, come Moon-day, the King's Overseer struck me in the face, and nine\ntimes in that year he called me dog. For one month two weeks and a day\nI was yoked with a bullock and pulled a rounded stone all day over the\npaths, except while we were fed. I was flogged twice that year--with\neighteen stripes and with ten stripes. This year the roof of the\nslave-sty has fallen in and King Darniak will not repair it. Five\nweeks ago one of his Queens laughed at me as she came across the\nslave-fields. I was flogged again this year and with thirteen stripes,\nand twelve times they have called me dog. And these things they have\ndone to a king, and a king of the House of Ithara.(_He listens\nattentively for a moment, then buries the sword again and pats the\nearth over it with his hands, then digs again_)\n\n[_The old slaves do not see him: their faces are to the earth. Enter\nthe King's Overseer carrying a whip. The slaves and King Argimenes\nkneel with their foreheads to the ground as he passes across the stage.\nExit the King's Overseer._\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_kneeling, hands outspread downward_)\n\nO warrior spirit, wherever thou wanderest, whoever be thy gods, whether\nthey punish thee or whether they bless thee, O kingly spirit, that once\nlaid here this sword, behold, I pray to thee, having no gods to pray\nto, for the god of my nation was broken in three by night. Mine arm is\nstiff with three years' slavery, and remembers not the sword. But guide\nthy sword 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 in\nshall remember thee; so shalt thou be honored and envied among the\ndead, for the dead are very jealous of remembrance. Ay, 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. Oh, but it has a good blade,\nthis old green sword; thou wouldst not like to see it miss its mark (if\nthe dead see at all, as wise men teach), thou wouldst not like to see\nit go thirsting into the air; so huge a sword should find its marrowy\nbone. (_Extending his right hand upward_) Come into my right arm,\nO ancient spirit, O unknown warrior's soul! And if thou hast the ear of\nany gods, speak there against Illuriel, god of King Darniak. (_He\nrises and goes on digging_)\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER (_re\u00ebntering_)\n\nSo you have been praying.\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_kneeling_)\n\nNo, master.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nThe slave-guard saw you. (_Strikes him_) It is not lawful for a\nslave to pray.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nI did but pray to Illuriel to make me a good slave, to teach me to dig\nwell and to pull the rounded stone and to make me not to die when the\nfood is scarce, but to be a good slave to my master the great King.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nWho art thou to pray to Illuriel? Dogs may not pray to an immortal god.\n(_Exit_)\n\n[_Zarb comes back, digging._\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_digging_)\n\nZarb!\n\nZARB (_also digging_)\n\nDo not look at me when you speak. The guards are watching us. Look at\nyour digging.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow do the guards know we are speaking because we look at one another?\n\nZARB\n\nYou are very witless. Of course they know.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nZarb!\n\nZARB\n\nWhat is it?\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow many guards are there in sight?\n\nZARB\n\nThere are six of them over there. They are watching us.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAre there other guards in sight of these six guards?\n\nZARB\n\nNo.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow do you know?\n\nZARB\n\nBecause whenever their officer leaves them they sit upon the ground and\nplay with dice.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow does that show that there are not another six in sight of them?\n\nZARB\n\nHow witless you are, Argimenes! Of course it shows there are not.\nBecause, if there were, another officer would see them, and their\nthumbs would be cut off.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nAh! (_A pause_) Zarb! (_A pause_) Would the slaves follow me if I\ntried to kill the guards?\n\nZARB\n\nNo, Argimenes.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWhy would they not follow me?\n\nZARB\n\nBecause you look like a slave. They will never follow a slave, because\nthey are slaves themselves, and know how mean a creature is a slave. If\nyou looked like a king they would follow you.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nBut I am a king. They know that I am a king.\n\nZARB\n\nIt is better to look like a king. It is looks that they would go by.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nIf I had a sword would they follow me? A beautiful huge sword of\nbronze.\n\nZARB\n\nI wish I could think of things like that. It is because you were once a\nking that you can think of a sword of bronze. I tried to hope once that\nI should some day fight the guards, but I couldn't picture a sword, I\ncouldn't imagine it; I could only picture whips.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nDig a little nearer, Zarb. (_They both edge closer_) I have found\na very old sword in the earth. It is not a sword such as common\nsoldiers wear. A king must have worn it, and an angry king. It must\nhave done fearful things; there are little dints in it. Perhaps there\nwas a battle here long ago where all were slain, and perhaps that king\ndied last and buried his sword, but the great birds swallowed him.\n\nZARB\n\nYou have been thinking too much of the King's dog, Argimenes, and that\nhas made you hungry, and hunger has driven you mad.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nI _have_ found such a sword.                     [_A pause._\n\nZARB\n\nWhy--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\n\nI shall break a long fast first and drink much water, and sleep. But\nwill the slaves follow me?\n\nZARB\n\nYou will _make_ them follow you if you have a sword. Yet is Illuriel a\nvery potent god. They say that none have prevailed against King\nDarniak'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\n\nIf Illuriel could be cast down as my god was cast down perhaps King\nDarniak could be overcome as I was overcome in my sleep?\n\nZARB\n\nIf Illuriel were cast down all the people would utter a cry and flee\naway. It would be a fearful portent.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nHow many men are there in the armory at the palace?\n\nZARB\n\nThere are ten men in the palace armory when all the slave-guards are\nout.\n\n[_They dig awhile in silence._\n\nZARB\n\nThe officer of the slave-guard has gone away--They are playing with\ndice now. (_He throws down his spade and stretches his arms_) The\nman with the big beard has won again, he is very nimble with his\nthumbs--They are playing again, but it is getting dark, I cannot\nclearly see.\n\n[_King Argimenes furtively uncovers the sword, he picks it up and\ngrips it in his hand._\n\nZARB\n\nMajesty!\n\n[_King Argimenes crouches and steals away towards the slave-guard._\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nZARB (_to the other slaves_)\n\nArgimenes has found a terrible sword and has gone to slay the\nslave-guard. It is not a common sword, it is some king's sword.\n\nAN OLD SLAVE\n\nArgimenes will be dreadfully flogged. We shall hear him cry all night.\nHis cries will frighten us, and we shall not sleep.\n\nZARB\n\nNo, no! The guards flog poor slaves, but Argimenes had an angry look.\nThe guards will be afraid when they see him look so angry and see his\nterrible sword. It was a huge sword, and he looked very angry. He will\nbring us the swords of the slave-guard. We must prostrate ourselves\nbefore him and kiss his feet or he will be angry with us too.\n\nOLD SLAVE\n\nWill Argimenes give me a sword?\n\nZARB\n\nHe will have swords for six of us if he slays the slave-guard. Yes, he\nwill give you a sword.\n\nSLAVE\n\nA sword! No, no, I must not; the King would kill me if he found that I\nhad a sword.\n\nSECOND SLAVE (_slowly, as one who develops an idea_)\n\nIf the King found that I had a sword, why, then it would be an evil day\nfor the King.\n\n[_They all look off left._\n\nZARB\n\nI think that they are playing at dice again.\n\nFIRST SLAVE\n\nI do not see Argimenes.\n\nZARB\n\nNo, because he was crouching as he walked. The slave-guard is on the\nsky-line.\n\nSECOND SLAVE\n\nWhat is that dark shadow behind the slave-guard?\n\nZARB\n\nIt is too still to be Argimenes.\n\nSECOND SLAVE\n\nLook! It moves.\n\nZARB\n\nThe evening is too dark, I cannot see.\n\n[_They continue to gaze into the gathering darkness. They raise\nthemselves on their knees and crane their necks. Nobody speaks. Then\nfrom their lips and from others farther off goes up a long, deep \"Oh!\"\nIt is like the sound that goes up from the grandstand when a horse\nfalls at a fence, or, in England, like the first exclamation of the\ncrowd at a great cricket match when a man is caught in the slips._\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND ACT\n\n\n_The Throne Hall of King Darniak. The King is seated on his throne in\nthe centre at the back of the stage; a little to his left, but standing\nout from the wall, a dark-green seated idol is set up. His Queens are\nseated about him on the ground, two on his right and two between him\nand the idol. All wear crowns. Beside the dark-green idol a soldier\nwith a pike is kneeling upon one knee. The tear-song, the chant of the\nlow-born, drifts faintly up from the slave-fields._\n\nFIRST QUEEN\n\nDo show us the new prophet, Majesty; it would be very interesting to\nsee another prophet.\n\nTHE KING\n\nAh, yes.\n\n[_He strikes upon a gong, and an Attendant enters, walks straight\npast the King and bows before the idol; he then walks back to the\ncentre of the stage and bows before the King._\n\nTHE KING\n\nBring the new prophet hither.\n\n[_Exit Attendant. Enter the King's Overseer holding a roll of paper.\nHe passes the King, bows to the idol, returns to the front of the King,\nkneels, and remains kneeling with bended head._\n\nTHE KING (_speaking in the meanwhile to the Second Queen on his\nimmediate right_)\n\nWe are making a beautiful arbor for you, O Atharlia, at an end of the\ngreat garden. There shall be iris-flowers that you love and all things\nthat grow by streams. And the stream there shall be small and winding\nlike one of those in your country. I shall bring a stream a new way\nfrom the mountains. (_Turning to Queen Oxara on his extreme right_) And\nfor you, too, O Oxara, we shall make a pleasance. I shall have rocks\nbrought from the quarries for you, and my idle slaves shall make a hill\nand plant it with mountain shrubs, and you can sit there in the winter\nthinking of the North. (_To the kneeling Overseer_) Ah, what is here?\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nThe plans of your royal garden, Majesty. The slaves have dug it for\nfive years and rolled the paths.\n\nTHE KING (_takes the plans_)\n\nWas there not a garden in Babylon?\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nThey say there was a garden there of some sort, Majesty.\n\nTHE KING\n\nI will have a greater garden. Let the world know and wonder. (_Looks\nat the plans_)\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nIt shall know at once, Majesty.\n\nTHE KING (_pointing at the plan_)\n\nI do not like that hill, it is too steep.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nNo, Majesty.\n\nTHE KING\n\nRemove it.\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nYes, Majesty.\n\nTHE KING\n\nWhen will the garden be ready for the Queens to walk in?\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER\n\nWork is slow, Majesty, at this season of the year because the green\nstuff is scarce and the slaves grow idle. They even become insolent and\nask for bones.\n\nQUEEN CAHAFRA (_to the King's Overseer_)\n\nThen why are they not flogged? (_To Queen Thragolind_) It is so simple,\nthey _only_ have to flog them, but these people are so silly sometimes.\nI want to walk in the great garden, and then they tell me: \"It is not\nready, Majesty. It is not ready, Majesty,\" as though there were any\nreason why it should _not_ be ready.\n\nFOURTH QUEEN\n\nYes, they are a great trouble to us.\n\n[_Meanwhile the King hands back the plans. Exit the King's Overseer.\nRe\u00ebnter Attendant with the Prophet, who is dressed in a long dark brown\ncloak; his face is solemn; he has a long dark beard and long hair.\nHaving bowed before the idol, he bows before the King and stands\nsilent. The attendant, having bowed to both, stands by the doorway._\n\nTHE KING (_meanwhile to Queen Atharlia_)\n\nPerhaps we shall lure the ducks when the marshes are frozen to come and\nswim in your stream; it will be like your own country. (_To the\nProphet_) Prophesy unto us.\n\nTHE PROPHET (_speaks at once in a loud voice_)\n\nThere was once a King that had slaves to hate him and to toil for him,\nand he had soldiers to guard him and to die for him. And the number of\nthe slaves that he had to hate him and to toil for him was greater than\nthe number of the soldiers that he had to guard him and to die for him.\nAnd the days of that King were few. And the number of thy slaves, O\nKing, that thou hast to hate thee is greater than the number of thy\nsoldiers.\n\nQUEEN CAHAFRA (_to Queen Thragolind_)\n\n--and I wore the crown with the sapphires and the big emerald in it,\nand the foreign prince said that I looked very sweet.\n\n[_The King, who has been smiling at Atharlia, gives a gracious nod to\nthe Prophet when he hears him stop speaking. When the Queens see the\nKing nod graciously, they applaud the Prophet by idly clapping their\nhands._\n\nTHIRD QUEEN\n\nDo ask him to make us another prophecy, Majesty! He is so interesting.\nHe looks so clever.\n\nTHE KING\n\nProphesy unto us.\n\nTHE PROPHET\n\nThine armies camped upon thy mountainous borders descry no enemy in the\nplains afar. And within thy gates lurks he for whom thy sentinels seek\nupon lonely guarded frontiers. There is a fear upon me and a boding.\nEven yet there is time, even yet; but _little_ time. And my mind\nis dark with trouble for thy kingdom.\n\nQUEEN CAHAFRA (_to Queen Thragolind_)\n\nI do not like the way he does his hair.\n\nQUEEN THRAGOLIND\n\nIt would be all right if he would only have it cut.\n\nTHE KING (_to the Prophet, dismissing him with a nod of the head_)\n\nThank you, that has been very interesting.\n\nQUEEN THRAGOLIND\n\nHow clever he is! I wonder how he thinks of things like that?\n\nQUEEN CAHAFRA\n\nYes, but I hate a man who is conceited about it. Look how he wears his\nhair.\n\nQUEEN THRAGOLIND\n\nYes, of course, it is perfectly dreadful.\n\nQUEEN CAHAFRA\n\nWhy can't he wear his hair like other people, even if he does say\nclever things?\n\nQUEEN THRAGOLIND\n\nYes, I hate a conceited man.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: It is not necessary for the prophet's hair to be at all\nunusual.]\n\n[_Enter an Attendant. He bows before the idol, then kneels to the\nKing._\n\nTHE ATTENDANT\n\nThe guests are all assembled in the Chamber of Banquets.\n\n[_All rise. The Queens walk two abreast to the Chamber of Banquets._\n\nQUEEN ATHARLIA (_to Queen Oxara_)\n\nWhat was he talking about?\n\nQUEEN OXARA\n\nHe was talking about the armies on the frontier.\n\nQUEEN ATHARLIA\n\nAh! That reminds me of that young captain in the Purple Guard. They say\nthat he loves Linoora.\n\nQUEEN OXARA\n\nOh, Thearkos! Linoora probably said that.\n\n[_When the Queens come to the doorway they halt on each side of it.\nThen they turn facing one another. Then the King leaves his throne and\npasses between them into the Chamber of Banquets, each couple\ncourtseying low to him as he passes. The Queens follow, then the\nattendants. There rises the wine-song, the chant of the nobles,\ndrowning the chant of the low-born. Only the Idol-Guard remains behind,\nstill kneeling beside Illuriel._\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD\n\nI do not like those things the Prophet said--It would be terrible if\nthey were true--It would be very terrible if they were false, for he\nprophesies in the name of Illuriel--Ah! They are singing the wine-song,\nthe chant of the nobles. The Queens are singing. How merry they are!--I\nshould like to be a noble and sit and look at the Queens. (_He joins\nin the song_)\n\nTHE VOICE OF A SENTINEL\n\nGuard, turn out. (_The wine-song still continues_)\n\nTHE VOICE OF ONE HAVING AUTHORITY\n\nTurn out the guard there! Wake up, you accursed pigs!\n\n[_Still the wine-song. A faint sound as of swords._\n\nA VOICE CRYING\n\nTo the armory! To the armory! Reinforce! The Slaves have come to the\narmory. Ah! mercy! (_For awhile there is silence_)\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_in the doorway_)\n\nGo you to the slave-fields. Say that the palace-guard is dead and that\nwe have taken the armory. Ten of you, hold the armory till our men come\nfrom the slave-fields. (_He comes into the hall with his slaves armed\nwith swords_) Throw down Illuriel.\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD\n\nYou must take my life before you touch my god.\n\nA SLAVE\n\nWe only want your pike.\n\n[_All attack him; they seize his sword and bind his hands behind him.\nThey all pull down Illuriel, the dark-green idol, who breaks into seven\npieces._\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nIlluriel is fallen and broken asunder.\n\nZARB (_with some awe_)\n\nImmortal Illuriel is dead at last.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nMy god was broken into three pieces, but Illuriel is broken into seven.\nThe fortunes of Darniak will prevail over mine no longer. (_A slave\nbreaks off a golden arm from the throne_) Come, we will arm all the\nslaves. (_Exeunt_)\n\nKING DARNIAK (_enters with Retinue_)\n\nMy throne is broken. Illuriel is turned against me.\n\nAN ATTENDANT\n\nIlluriel is fallen.\n\nALL (_with King Darniak_)\n\nIlluriel is fallen, is fallen. (_Some drop their spears_)\n\nKING DARNIAK (_to the Idol-Guard_)\n\nWhat envious god or sacrilegious man has dared to do this thing?\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD\n\nIlluriel is fallen.\n\nKING DARNIAK\n\nHave men been here?\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD\n\nIs fallen.\n\nKING DARNIAK\n\nWhat way did they go?\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD\n\nIlluriel is fallen.\n\nKING DARNIAK\n\nThey shall be tortured here before Illuriel, and their eyes shall be\nhung on a thread about his neck, so that Illuriel shall see it, and on\ntheir bones we will set him up again. Come!\n\n[_Those that have dropped their spears pick them up, but trail them\nalong behind them on the ground. All follow dejectedly._\n\nVOICES OF LAMENTATION (_growing fainter and fainter off_)\n\nIlluriel is fallen, Illuriel is fallen. Illuriel, Illuriel, Illuriel.\nIs fallen. Is fallen. (_The song of the low-born ceases suddenly.\nThen voices of the slaves in the slave-fields chanting very loudly_)\nIlluriel is fallen, is fallen, is fallen. Illuriel is fallen and broken\nasunder. Illuriel is fallen, fallen, fallen.\n\n[_Clamor of fighting is heard, the clash of swords, and voices, and\nnow and then the name of Illuriel._\n\nTHE IDOL-GUARD (_kneeling over a fragment of Illuriel_)\n\nIlluriel is broken. They have overthrown Illuriel. They have done great\nharm to the courses of the stars. The moon will be turned to blackness\nor fall and forsake the nights. The sun will rise no more. They do not\nknow how they have wrecked the world.\n\n[_Re\u00ebnter King Argimenes and his men._\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_in the doorway_)\n\nGo you to the land of Ithara and tell them that I am free. And do you\ngo to the army on the frontier. Offer them death, or the right arm of\nthe throne to be melted and divided amongst them all. Let them choose.\n(_The armed slaves go to the throne and stand on each side of it,\nloquitur_) Majesty, ascend your throne. (_King Argimenes, standing\nwith his face toward the audience, lifts the sword slowly, lying on\nboth his hands, a little above his head, then looking up at it,\nloquitur_) Praise to the unknown warrior and to all gods that bless\nhim. (_He ascends the throne. Zarb prostrates himself at the foot of\nit and remains prostrated for the rest of the Act, muttering at\nintervals \"Majesty.\" An armed slave enters dragging the King's\nOverseer. King Argimenes sternly watches him. He is dragged before the\nThrone. He still has the roll of parchment in his hand. For some\nmoments King Argimenes does not speak. Then pointing at the\nparchment_) What have you there?\n\nTHE KING'S OVERSEER (_kneeling_)\n\nIt is a plan of the great garden, Majesty. It was to have been a wonder\nto the world. (_Unfolds it_)\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_grimly_)\n\nShow me the place that I digged for three years. (_The King's Overseer\nshows it with trembling hands; the parchment shakes visibly_) Let there\nbe built there a temple to an Unknown Warrior. And let this sword be\nlaid on its altar evermore, that the ghost of that Warrior wandering by\nnight (if men do walk by night from across the grave) may see his sword\nagain. And let slaves be allowed to pray there and those that are\noppressed; nevertheless the noble and the mighty shall not fail to\nrepair there too, that the Unknown Warrior shall not lack due\nreverence.\n\n[_Enter, running, a Man of the household of King Darniak. He starts\nand stares aghast on seeing King Argimenes._\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWho are you?\n\nMAN\n\nI am the servant of the King's dog.\n\nKING ARGIMENES\n\nWhy do you come here?\n\nMAN\n\nThe King's dog is dead.\n\nKING ARGIMENES AND HIS MEN (_savagely and hungrily_)\n\nBones!\n\nKING ARGIMENES (_remembering suddenly what has happened and where he\nis_)\n\nLet him be buried with the late King.\n\nZARB (_in a voice of protest_)\n\nMajesty!\n\n    CURTAIN\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLITTERING GATE\n\n\nPERSONS\n\n    JIM, _lately a burglar_  }\n    BILL, _lately a burglar_ } _Both dead_\n\n_Scene: A Lonely Place._\n\n_Time: The present._\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLITTERING GATE\n\n\n_The Lonely Place is strewn with large black rocks and uncorked\nbeer-bottles, the latter in great profusion. At back is a wall of\ngranite built of great slabs, and in it the Gate of Heaven. The door is\nof gold._\n\n_Below the Lonely Place is an abyss hung with stars._\n\n_The rising curtain reveals Jim wearily uncorking a beer-bottle. Then\nhe tilts it slowly and with infinite care. It proves to be empty. Faint\nand unpleasant laughter is heard off. This action and the accompanying\nfar laughter are repeated continually throughout the play. Corked\nbottles are discovered lying behind rocks, and more descend constantly\nthrough the air, within reach of Jim. All prove to be empty._\n\n_Jim uncorks a few bottles._\n\nJIM (_weighing one carefully_)\n\nThat's a full one. (_It is empty, like all_)\n\n[_Singing is heard off left._\n\nBILL (_enters from left with a bullet-hole over his eye, singing_)\n\nRule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves. (_Breaking off his song_)\nWhy, 'ullo. 'Ere's a bottle of beer. (_Finds it empty; looking off and\ndownward_) I'm getting a bit tired of those blooming great stars down\nthere and this rocky ledge. I've been walking along under this wall\never since. Why, it must be twenty-four hours since that house-holder\nshot me. And he needn't have done it, either, _I_ wasn't going to hurt\nthe bloke. I only wanted a bit of his silver stuff. It felt funny, that\ndid. Hullo, a gate. Why, that's the Gate of Heaven. Well, well. So\nthat's all right. (_Looks up and up for some time_) No. I can't climb\n_that_ wall. Why, it's got no top to it. Up and up it goes. (_Knocks at\nthe door and waits_)\n\nJIM\n\nThat isn't for the likes of us.\n\nBILL\n\nWhy, hullo, there's another bloke. Why, somebody's been hanging him.\nWhy, if it isn't old Jim! Jim!\n\nJIM (_wearily_)\n\nHullo.\n\nBILL\n\nWhy, Jim! 'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?\n\nJIM\n\nI _am_ 'ere always.\n\nBILL\n\nWhy, Jim, don't you remember me? Why, you taught Bill to pick locks\nyears and years ago when he was a little boy, and had never learnt a\ntrade and hadn't a penny in the world, and never would have had but for\nyou, Jim. (_Jim stares vaguely_) I never forgot _you_, Jim. I broke\ninto scores of houses. And then I took on big houses. Out in the\ncountry, you know, real big ones. I got rich, Jim, and respected by all\nwho knew me. I was a citizen, Jim, one who dwelt in our midst. And of\nan evening, sitting over the fire, I used to say, \"I am as clever as\nJim.\" But I wasn't, Jim. I couldn't climb like you. And I couldn't walk\nlike you on a creaky stair, when everything's quite still and there's a\ndog in the house and little rattly things left lying about, and a door\nthat whines if you touch it, and someone ill upstairs that you didn't\nknow of, who has nothing to do but to listen for _you_ 'cause she can't\nget to sleep. Don't you remember little Bill?\n\nJIM\n\nThat would be somewhere else.\n\nBILL\n\nYes, Jim, yes. Down on Earth.\n\nJIM\n\nBut there isn't anywhere else.\n\nBILL\n\nI never forgot _you_, Jim. I'd be pattering away with my tongue,\nin Church, like all the rest, but all the time I'd be thinking of you\nin that little room at Putney and the man searching every corner of it\nfor you with a revolver in one hand and a candle in the other, and you\nalmost going round with him.\n\nJIM\n\nWhat is Putney?\n\nBILL\n\nOh, Jim, can't you remember? Can't you remember the day you taught me a\nlivelihood? I wasn't more than twelve, and it was spring, and all the\nmay was in blossom outside the town. And we cleared out No. 25 in the\nnew street. And next day we saw the man's fat, silly face. It was\nthirty years ago.\n\nJIM\n\nWhat are years?\n\nBILL\n\nOh, _Jim_!\n\nJIM\n\nYou see there isn't any hope here. And when there isn't any hope there\nisn't any future. And when there isn't any future there isn't any past.\nIt's just the present here. I tell you we're stuck. There aren't no\nyears here. Nor no nothing.\n\nBILL\n\nCheer up, Jim. You're thinking of a quotation, \"Abandon hope, all ye\nthat enter here.\" I used to learn quotations; they are awfully genteel.\nA fellow called Shakespeare used to make them. But there isn't any\nsense in them. What's the use of saying _ye_ when you mean _you_? Don't\nbe thinking of quotations, Jim.\n\nJIM\n\nI tell you there is no hope here.\n\nBILL\n\nCheer up, Jim. There's plenty of hope there, isn't there? (_Points to\nthe Gate of Heaven_)\n\nJIM\n\nYes, and that's why they keep it locked up so. They won't let us have\nany. No. I begin to remember Earth again now since you've been\nspeaking. It was just the same there. The more they'd got the more they\nwanted to keep _you_ from having a bit.\n\nBILL\n\nYou'll cheer up a bit when I tell you what I've got. I say, Jim, have\nyou got some beer? Why, so you have. Why, _you_ ought to cheer up,\nJim.\n\nJIM\n\nAll the beer you're ever likely to see again. They're empty.\n\nBILL (_half rising from the rock on which he has seated himself, and\npointing his finger at Jim as he rises; very cheerfully_)\n\nWhy, you're the chap that said there was no hope here, and you're\nhoping to find beer in every bottle you open.\n\nJIM\n\nYes; I _hope_ to see a drop of beer in one some day, but I _know_ I\nwon't. Their trick _might_ not work just once.\n\nBILL\n\nHow many have you tried, Jim?\n\nJIM\n\nOh, I don't know. I've always been at it, working as fast as I can,\never since--ever since--(_Feels his neck meditatively and up toward\nhis ear_) Why, ever since, Bill.\n\nBILL\n\nWhy don't you stop it?\n\nJIM\n\nI'm too thirsty, Bill.\n\nBILL\n\nWhat do you think _I've got_, Jim?\n\nJIM\n\nI don't know. Nothing's any use.\n\nBILL (_as yet another bottle is shown to be empty_)\n\nWho's that laughing, Jim?\n\nJIM (_astonished at such a question, loudly and emphatically_)\n\nWho's that laughing?\n\nBILL (_looks a little disconcerted at having apparently asked a silly\nquestion_)\n\nIs it a pal?\n\nJIM\n\nA pal!--(_laughs_) (_The laugh off joins in loudly and for long_)\n\nBILL\n\nWell, I don't know. But, Jim, what do you think I've got?\n\nJIM\n\nIt isn't any good to you whatever it is. Not even if it is a ten-pound\nnote.\n\nBILL\n\nIt's better than a ten-pound note, Jim. Jim, try and remember, Jim.\nDon't you remember the way we used to go for those iron safes? Do you\nremember anything, Jim?\n\nJIM\n\nYes, I am beginning to remember now. There used to be sunsets. And then\nthere were great yellow lights. And one went in behind them through a\nswinging door.\n\nBILL\n\nYes, yes, Jim. That was the Blue Bear down at Wimbledon.\n\nJIM\n\nYes, and the room was all full of golden light. And there was beer with\nlight in it, and some would be spilt on the counter and there was light\nin that too. And there was a girl standing there with yellow hair.\nShe'd be the other side of that door now, with lamplight in her hair\namong the angels, and the old smile on her lips if one of them chaffed\nher, and her pretty teeth a-shining. She would be very near the throne;\nthere was never any harm in Jane.\n\nBILL\n\nNo, there was never any 'arm in Jane, Jim.\n\nJIM\n\nOh, I don't want to see the angels, Bill. But if I could see Jane again\n(_points in direction of laugh_) he might laugh as much as he cared to\nwhenever I wanted to cry. You can't cry here, you know, Bill.\n\nBILL\n\nYou shall see her again, Jim.\n\n[_Jim takes no interest in this remark; he lowers his eyes and goes\non with his work._\n\nBILL\n\nJim, you shall see her again. You want to get into Heaven, don't you?\n\nJIM (_not raising his eyes_)\n\nWant!\n\nBILL\n\nJim. Do you know what I've got, Jim?\n\n[_Jim makes no answer, goes on wearily with his work._\n\nBILL\n\nYou remember those iron safes, Jim, how we used to knock them open like\nwalnuts with \"Old Nut-cracker\"?\n\nJIM (_at work, wearily_)\n\nEmpty again.\n\nBILL\n\nWell, I've got Old Nut-cracker. I had him in my hand at the time, and\nthey let me keep him. They thought it would be a nice proof against me.\n\nJIM\n\nNothing is any good here.\n\nBILL\n\nI'll get in to Heaven, Jim. And you shall come with me because you\ntaught me a livelihood. I couldn't be happy there, like those angels,\nif I knew of anyone being outside. I'm not like that.\n\n[_Jim goes on with his work._\n\nBILL\n\nJim, Jim. You'll see Jane there.\n\nJIM\n\nYou'll never get through those gates, Bill. You'll never do it.\n\nBILL\n\nThey're only gold, Jim. Gold's soft like lead. Old Nut-cracker would do\nit if they were steel.\n\nJIM\n\nYou'll never do it, Bill.\n\n[_Bill puts a rock against the gates, stands on it to reach the lock\nand gets to work on the lock. A good instrument to use is an\negg-whipper. Jim goes on wearily with his work. As Bill works away,\nfragments and golden screws begin to fall on the floor._\n\nBILL\n\nJim! Old Nut-cracker thinks nothing of it. It's just like cheese to old\nNut-cracker.\n\nJIM\n\nThey won't let you do it, Bill.\n\nBILL\n\nThey don't know what I've got. I'm getting through it like cheese, Jim.\n\nJIM\n\nSuppose it's a mile thick. Suppose it's a million miles thick. Suppose\nit's a hundred million miles thick.\n\nBILL\n\nCan't be, Jim. These doors are meant to open outward. They couldn't do\nthat if they were more than four inches at the most, not for an\nArchbishop. They'd stick.\n\nJIM\n\nYou remember that great safe we broke open once, what had coal in it.\n\nBILL\n\nThis isn't a safe, Jim, this is Heaven. There'll be the old saints with\ntheir halos shining and flickering, like windows o' wintry nights.\n(_Creak, creak, creak_) And angels thick as swallows along a cottage\nroof the day before they go. (_Creak, creak, creak_) And orchards full\nof apples as far as you can see, and the rivers of Tigris and\nEuphrates, so the Bible says; and a city of gold, for those that care\nfor cities, all full of precious stones; but I'm a bit tired of cities\nand precious stones. (_Creak, creak, creak_) I'll go out into the\nfields where the orchards are, by the Tigris and the Euphrates. I\nshouldn't be surprised if my old mother was there. She never cared much\nfor the way I earned my livelihood (_creak, creak_), but she was a good\nmother to me. I don't know if they want a good mother in there who\nwould be kind to the angels and sit and smile at them when they sang\nand soothe them if they were cross. If they let all the good ones in\nshe'll be there all right. (_Suddenly_) Jim! They won't have brought me\nup against her, will they? That's not fair evidence, Jim.\n\nJIM\n\nIt would be just like them to. Very like them.\n\nBILL\n\nIf there's a glass of beer to be got in Heaven, or a dish of tripe and\nonions, or a pipe of 'bacca she'll have them for me when I come to her.\nShe used to know my ways wonderful; and what I liked. And she used to\nknow when to expect me almost anywhere. I used to climb in through the\nwindow at any hour and she always knew it was me. (_Creak, creak_)\nShe'll know it's me at the door now, Jim. (_Creak, creak_) It will\nbe all a blaze of light, and I'll hardly know it's her till I get used\nto it.... But I'll know her among a million angels. There weren't none\nlike her on Earth and there won't be none like her in Heaven.... Jim!\nI'm through, Jim! One more turn, and old Nut-cracker's done it! It's\ngiving! It's giving! I know the feel of it. _Jim!_\n\n[_At last there is a noise of falling bolts; the gates swing out an\ninch and are stopped by the rock._\n\nBILL\n\nJim! Jim! I've opened it, Jim. I've opened the Gate of Heaven! Come and\nhelp me.\n\nJIM (_looks up for a moment with open mouth. Then he mournfully shakes\nhis head and goes on drawing a cork_)\n\nAnother one empty.\n\nBILL (_looks down once into the abyss that lies below the Lonely\nPlace_)\n\nStars. Blooming great stars.\n\n[_Then he moves away the rock on which he stood. The gates move\nslowly. Jim leaps up and runs to help; they each take a gate and move\nbackward with their faces against it._\n\nBILL\n\nHullo, mother! You there? Hullo! You there? It's Bill, mother.\n\n[_The gates swing heavily open, revealing empty night and stars._\n\nBILL (_staggering and gazing into the revealed Nothing, in which far\nstars go wandering_)\n\nStars. Blooming great stars. There _ain't_ no Heaven, Jim.\n\n[_Ever since the revelation a cruel and violent laugh has arisen off.\nIt increases in volume and grows louder and louder._\n\nJIM\n\nThat's like them. That's very like them. Yes, they'd do that!\n\n    _The curtain falls and the laughter still howls on._\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST SILK HAT\n\n\nPERSONS\n\n    THE CALLER\n    THE LABORER\n    THE CLERK\n    THE POET\n    THE POLICEMAN\n\n_Scene: A fashionable London street._\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST SILK HAT\n\n\n_The Caller stands on a doorstep, \"faultlessly dressed,\" but without\na hat. At first he shows despair, then a new thought engrosses him._\n\n_Enter the Laborer._\n\nTHE CALLER\n\nExcuse me a moment. Excuse me--but--I'd be greatly obliged to you\nif--if you could see your way--in fact, you can be of great service to\nme if--\n\nTHE LABORER\n\nGlad to do what I can, sir.\n\nCALLER\n\nWell, all I really want you to do is just to ring that bell and go up\nand say--er--say that you've come to see to the drains, or anything\nlike that, you know, and get hold of my hat for me.\n\nLABORER\n\nGet hold of your 'at!\n\nCALLER\n\nYes. You see, I left my hat behind most unfortunately. It's in the\ndrawing-room (_points to window_), that room there, half under the long\nsofa, the far end from the door. And if you could possibly go and get\nit, why I'd be (_The Laborer's expression changes_)--Why, what's the\nmatter?\n\nLABORER (_firmly_)\n\nI don't like this job.\n\nCALLER\n\nDon't like this job! But my dear fellow, don't be silly, what possible\nharm--?\n\nLABORER\n\nAh-h. That's what I don't know.\n\nCALLER\n\nBut what harm can there possibly be in so simple a request? What harm\ndoes there seem to be?\n\nLABORER\n\nOh, it seems all right.\n\nCALLER\n\n_Well_, then.\n\nLABORER\n\nAll these crack jobs do seem all right.\n\nCALLER\n\nBut I'm not asking you to rob the house.\n\nLABORER\n\nDon't seem as if you are, certainly, but I don't like the looks of it;\nwhat if there's things what I can't 'elp taking when I gets inside?\n\nCALLER\n\nI only want my hat--Here, I say, please don't go away--here's a\nsovereign, it will only take you a minute.\n\nLABORER\n\n_What I want to know_--\n\nCALLER\n\nYes?\n\nLABORER\n\n--Is what's _in_ that hat?\n\nCALLER\n\nWhat's _in_ the hat?\n\nLABORER\n\nYes; that's what I want to know.\n\nCALLER\n\nWhat's _in_ the hat?\n\nLABORER\n\nYes, you aren't going to give me a sovereign--?\n\nCALLER\n\nI'll give you two sovereigns.\n\nLABORER\n\nYou aren't going to give me a sovereign, and rise it to two sovereigns,\nfor an _empty_ hat?\n\nCALLER\n\nBut I must have my hat. I can't be seen in the streets like this.\nThere's nothing _in_ the hat. What do you think's in the hat?\n\nLABORER\n\nAh, I'm not clever enough to say that, but it looks as if the papers\nwas in that hat.\n\nCALLER\n\nThe papers?\n\nLABORER\n\nYes, papers proving, if you can get them, that you're the heir to that\nbig house, and some poor innocent will be defrauded.\n\nCALLER\n\nLook here, the hat's absolutely empty. I _must_ have my hat. If there's\nanything in it you shall have it yourself as well as the two pounds,\nonly get me my hat.\n\nLABORER\n\nWell, that seems all right.\n\nCALLER\n\nThat's right, then you'll run up and get it?\n\nLABORER\n\nSeems all right to me and seems all right to you. But it's the police\nwhat you and I have got to think of. Will it seem all right to them?\n\nCALLER\n\nOh, for heaven's sake--\n\nLABORER\n\nAh!\n\nCALLER\n\nWhat a hopeless fool you are.\n\nLABORER\n\nAh!\n\nCALLER\n\nLook here.\n\nLABORER\n\nAh, I got you there, mister.\n\nCALLER\n\nLook here, for goodness sake don't go.\n\nLABORER\n\nAh! (_Exit_)\n\n[_Enter the Clerk._\n\nCALLER\n\nExcuse me, sir. Excuse my asking you, but, as you see, I am without a\nhat. I shall be extraordinarily obliged to you if you would be so very\ngood as to get it for me. Pretend you have come to wind the clocks, you\nknow. I left it in the drawing-room of this house, half under the long\nsofa, the far end.\n\nCLERK\n\nOh, er--all right, only--\n\nCALLER\n\nThanks so much, I am immensely indebted to you. Just say you've come to\nwind the clocks, you know.\n\nCLERK\n\nI--er--don't think I'm very good at winding clocks, you know.\n\nCALLER\n\nOh, that's all right, just stand in front of the clock and fool about\nwith it. That's all they ever do. I must warn you there's a lady in the\nroom.\n\nCLERK\n\nOh!\n\nCALLER\n\nBut that's all right, you know. Just walk past up to the clock.\n\nCLERK\n\nBut I think, if you don't mind, as there's someone there--\n\nCALLER\n\nOh, but she's quite young and very, very beautiful and--\n\nCLERK\n\nWhy don't you get it yourself?\n\nCALLER\n\nThat is impossible.\n\nCLERK\n\nImpossible?\n\nCALLER\n\nYes, I have sprained my ankle.\n\nCLERK\n\nOh! Is it bad?\n\nCALLER\n\nYes, very bad indeed.\n\nCLERK\n\nI don't mind trying to carry you up.\n\nCALLER\n\nNo, that would be worse. My foot has to be kept on the ground.\n\nCLERK\n\nBut how will you get home?\n\nCALLER\n\nI can walk all right on the flat.\n\nCLERK\n\nI'm afraid I have to be going on. It's rather later than I thought.\n\nCALLER\n\nBut for goodness sake don't leave me. You can't leave me here like this\nwithout a hat.\n\nCLERK\n\nI'm afraid I must, it's later than I thought.\n\n(_Exit_)\n\n[_Enter the Poet._\n\nCALLER\n\nExcuse me, sir. Excuse my stopping you. But I should be immensely\nobliged to you if you would do me a very great favor. I have\nunfortunately left my hat behind while calling at this house. It is\nhalf under the long sofa, at the far end. If you could possibly be so\nkind as to pretend you have come to tune the piano and fetch my hat for\nme I should be enormously grateful to you.\n\nPOET\n\nBut why cannot you get it for yourself?\n\nCALLER\n\nI cannot.\n\nPOET\n\nIf you would tell me the reason perhaps I could help you.\n\nCALLER\n\nI cannot. I can never enter that house again.\n\nPOET\n\nIf you have committed a murder, by all means tell me. I am not\nsufficiently interested in ethics to wish to have you hanged for it.\n\nCALLER\n\nDo I look like a murderer?\n\nPOET\n\nNo, of course not. I am only saying that you can safely trust me, for\nnot only does the statute book and its penalties rather tend to bore\nme, but murder itself has always had a certain fascination for me. I\nwrite delicate and fastidious lyrics, yet, strange as it may appear, I\nread every murder trial, and my sympathies are always with the\nprisoner.\n\nCALLER\n\nBut I tell you I am not a murderer.\n\nPOET\n\nThen what have you done?\n\nCALLER\n\nI have quarrelled with a lady in that house and have sworn to join the\nBosnians and die in Africa.\n\nPOET\n\nBut this is beautiful.\n\nCALLER\n\nUnfortunately I forgot my hat.\n\nPOET\n\nYou go to die for a hopeless love, and in a far country; it was the\nwont of the troubadours.\n\nCALLER\n\nBut you will get my hat for me?\n\nPOET\n\nThat I will gladly do for you. But we must find an adequate reason for\nentering the house.\n\nCALLER\n\nYou pretend to tune the piano.\n\nPOET\n\nThat, unfortunately, is impossible. The sound of a piano being\nunskilfully handled is to me what the continual drop of cold water on\nthe same part of the head is said to be in countries where that\ninteresting torture is practised. There is--\n\nCALLER\n\nBut what are we to do?\n\nPOET\n\nThere is a house where kind friends of mine have given me that security\nand comfort that are a poet's necessity. But there was a governess\nthere and a piano. It is years and years since I was able even to see\nthe faces of those friends without an inward shudder.\n\nCALLER\n\nWell, we'll have to think of something else.\n\nPOET\n\nYou are bringing back to these unhappy days the romance of an age of\nwhich the ballads tell us that kings sometimes fought in no other armor\nthan their lady's nightshirt.\n\nCALLER\n\nYes, but you know first of all I must get my _hat_.\n\nPOET\n\nBut why?\n\nCALLER\n\nI cannot possibly be seen in the streets without a hat.\n\nPOET\n\nWhy not?\n\nCALLER\n\nIt can't be done.\n\nPOET\n\nBut you confuse externals with essentials.\n\nCALLER\n\nI don't know what you call essentials, but being decently dressed in\nLondon seems pretty essential to me.\n\nPOET\n\nA hat is not one of the essential things of life.\n\nCALLER\n\nI don't want to appear rude, but my hat isn't quite like yours.\n\nPOET\n\nLet us sit down and talk of things that matter, things that will be\nremembered after a hundred years. (_They sit_) Regarded in this\nlight one sees at once the triviality of hats. But to die, and die\nbeautifully for a hopeless love, that is a thing one could make a lyric\nabout. That is the test of essential things--try and imagine them in a\nlyric. One could not write a lyric about a hat.\n\nCALLER\n\nI don't care whether you could write a lyric about my hat or whether\nyou couldn't. All I know is that I am not going to make myself\nabsolutely ridiculous by walking about in London without a hat. Will\nyou get it for me or will you not?\n\nPOET\n\nTo take any part in the tuning of a piano is impossible to me.\n\nCALLER\n\nWell, pretend you've come to look at the radiator. They have one under\nthe window, and I happen to know it leaks.\n\nPOET\n\nI suppose it has an artistic decoration on it.\n\nCALLER\n\nYes, I think so.\n\nPOET\n\nThen I decline to look at it or to go near it. I know these decorations\nin cast iron. I once saw a pot-bellied Egyptian god, named Bes, and\nhe was _meant_ to be ugly, but he wasn't as ugly as these\ndecorations that the twentieth century can make with machinery. What\nhas a plumber got to do with art that he should dare to attempt\ndecoration?\n\nCALLER\n\nThen you won't help me.\n\nPOET\n\nI won't look at ugly things and I won't listen to ugly noises, but if\nyou can think of any reasonable plan I don't mind helping you.\n\nCALLER\n\nI can think of nothing else. You don't look like a plumber or a\nclock-winder. I can think of nothing more. I have had a terrible ordeal\nand I am not in the condition to think calmly.\n\nPOET\n\nThen you will have to leave your hat to its altered destiny.\n\nCALLER\n\nWhy can't you think of a plan? If you're a poet, thinking's rather in\nyour line.\n\nPOET\n\nIf I could bring my thoughts to contemplate so absurd a thing as a hat\nfor any length of time no doubt I could think of a plan, but the very\ntriviality of the theme seems to scare them away.\n\nCALLER (_rising_)\n\nThen I must get it myself.\n\nPOET\n\nFor Heaven's sake, don't do that! Think what it means!\n\nCALLER\n\nI know it will seem absurd, but not so absurd as walking through London\nwithout it.\n\nPOET\n\nI don't mean that. But you will make it up. You will forgive each\nother, and you will marry her and have a family of noisy, pimply\nchildren like everyone else, and Romance will be dead. No, don't ring\nthat bell. Go and buy a bayonet, or whatever one does buy, and join the\nBosnians.\n\nCALLER\n\nI tell you I can't without a hat.\n\nPOET\n\nWhat is a hat! Will you sacrifice for it a beautiful doom? Think of\nyour bones, neglected and forgotten, lying forlornly because of\nhopeless love on endless golden sands. \"Lying forlorn!\" as Keats said.\nWhat a word! Forlorn in Africa. The careless Bedouins going past by\nday, at night the lion's roar, the grievous voice of the desert.\n\nCALLER\n\nAs a matter of fact, I don't think you're right in speaking of it as\ndesert. The Bosnians, I believe, are only taking it because it is\nsupposed to be the most fertile land in the world.\n\nPOET\n\nWhat of that? You will not be remembered by geography and statistics,\nbut by golden-mouthed Romance. And that is how Romance sees Africa.\n\nCALLER\n\nWell, I'm going to get my hat.\n\nPOET\n\nThink! Think! If you enter by that door you will never fall among the\nforemost Bosnians. You will never die in a far-off, lonely land to lie\nby immense Sahara. And she will never weep for your beautiful doom and\ncall herself cruel in vain.\n\nCALLER\n\nHark! She is playing the piano. It seems to me that she might be\nunhappy about it for years. I don't see much good in that.\n\nPOET\n\nNo. _I_ will comfort her.\n\nCALLER\n\nI'm damned if you do! Look here! I don't mind saying, I'm damned if you\ndo.\n\nPOET\n\nCalm yourself. Calm yourself. I do not mean in that way.\n\nCALLER\n\nThen what on earth do you mean?\n\nPOET\n\nI will make songs about your beautiful death, glad songs and sad songs.\nThey shall be glad because they tell again the noble tradition of the\ntroubadours, and sad because they tell of your sorrowful destiny and of\nyour hopeless love.\n\nI shall make legends also about your lonely bones, telling perhaps how\nsome Arabian men, finding them in the desert by some oasis, memorable\nin war, wonder who loved them. And then as I read them to her, she\nweeps perhaps a little, and I read instead of the glory of the soldier,\nhow it overtops our transitory--\n\nCALLER\n\nLook here, I'm not aware that you've ever been introduced to her.\n\nPOET\n\nA trifle, a trifle.\n\nCALLER\n\nIt seems to me that you're in rather an undue hurry for me to get a\nJubu spear in me; but I'm going to get my hat first.\n\nPOET\n\nI appeal to you. I appeal to you in the name of beautiful battles, high\ndeeds, and lost causes; in the name of love-tales told to cruel maidens\nand told in vain. In the name of stricken hearts broken like beautiful\nharp-strings, I appeal to you.\n\nI appeal in the ancient holy name of Romance: _do not ring that bell_.\n\n[_Caller rings the bell._\n\nPOET (_sits down, abject_)\n\nYou will marry. You will sometimes take a ticket with your wife as far\nas Paris. Perhaps as far as Cannes. Then the family will come; a large\nsprawling family as far as the eye can see (I speak in hyperbole).\nYou'll earn money and feed it and be like all the rest. No monument\nwill ever be set up to your memory but--\n\n[_Servant answers bell. Caller says something inaudible. Exit through\ndoor._\n\nPOET (_rising, lifting hand_)\n\nBut let there be graven in brass upon this house: Romance was born\nagain here out of due time and died young. (_He sits down_)\n\n[_Enter Laborer and Clerk with Policeman. The music stops._\n\nPOLICEMAN\n\nAnything wrong here?\n\nPOET\n\nEverything's wrong. They're going to kill Romance.\n\nPOLICEMAN (_to Laborer_)\n\nThis gentleman doesn't seem quite right somehow.\n\nLABORER\n\nThey're none of them quite right to-day.\n\n[_Music starts again._\n\nPOET\n\nMy God! It is a duet.\n\nPOLICEMAN\n\nHe seems a bit wrong somehow.\n\nLABORER\n\nYou should 'a seen the other one.\n\n    CURTAIN","title":"Five Plays","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":20941}