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THE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN : THE GOLDEN DOOM : KING ARGIMĒNĒS ANDTHE UNKNOWN WARRIOR : THE GLITTERING GATE : THE LOST SILK HAT :
BY LORDDUNSANY

FIVE PLAYS

GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN
THE GOLDEN DOOM
KING ARGIMĒNĒS AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR
THE GLITTERING GATE
THE LOST SILK HAT

These plays are fully protected by the copyright law, all requirementsof which have been complied with. In their present printed form theyare dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance of them,either professional or amateur, may be given without the writtenpermission of the owner of the acting rights, who may be addressed incare of the publishers, Little, Brown, and Company.

INTRODUCTION

Observation and imagination are the basic principles of all poetry. Itis impossible to conceive a poetical work from which one of them iswholly absent. Observation without imagination makes for obviousness;imagination without observation turns into nonsense. What marks theworld's greatest poetry is perhaps the presence in almost equalproportion of both these principles. But as a rule we find one of thempredominating, and from this one-sided emphasis the poetry of theperiod derives its character as realistic or idealistic.

The poetry of the middle nineteenth century made a fetish ofobservation. It came as near excluding imagination as it could withoutceasing entirely to be poetry. That such exaggeration should sooner orlater result in a sharp reaction was natural. The change began duringthe eighties and gathered full headway in the early nineties.Imagination, so long scorned, came into its rights once more, and it israpidly becoming the dominant note in the literary production of ourown day.

The new movement has been called "neo-romantic" and "symbolistic." Boththese names apply, but neither of them exhausts the contents or meaningof the movement which received its first impetus from Ibsen and whichlater found its typical embodiment in Maeterlinck. From this movementcame much of the inspiration that produced the poetical re-birth ofIreland out of which has sprung the man whom I have now the pleasure ofintroducing to American readers: a man with imagination as elfish asmoonlight mist.

Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, Lord Dunsany, is the eighteenthmember of his family to bear the title which gives him a place in theIrish peerage. He was born in 1878 and received his education at Etonand Sandhurst. In 1899 he succeeded his father to the title and thefamily estate in Meath, Ireland. During the South African war he servedat the front with the Coldstream Guards. He is passionately fond ofoutdoor life and often spends the whole day in the saddle beforesitting down at his desk to write late at night.

His work proves, however, that he is as fond of spiritual as ofphysical exercise, and that he is an inveterate traveller in thosemysterious regions of the partly known or wholly unknown where theimagination alone can guide us. His first literary heroes were thebrothers Grimm and Andersen. Then the Greek world of Olympians wasrevealed to him, making a lasting impression on his mind. But it wasthe Bible that gave him the limpid style which makes his most fantastictales as real as government reports—or rather much more so. "For yearsno style seemed to me natural but that of the Bible," he said not longago, "and I feared that I would never become a writer when I saw thatother people did not use it."

For something like ten years he has been a pretty frequent andincreasingly valued contributor to English and Anglo-Irish periodicals.He has previously published five volumes: "The Gods of Pegana," 1905;"Time and the Gods," 1906; "The Sword of Welleran," 1908; "A Dreamer'sTales," 1910; and "The Book of Wonder," 1912. All are collections ofprose pieces that defy accepted classifications. They are fairy talesand short stories and essays and prose poems at the same time.

The reader has only to take a brief glance at one of those works tomake the astounding discovery that he is being introduced to worlds ofwhich he has never heard before. Even the "Arabian Nights" have aclearly identifiable background of popular legend and myth. Nothing ofthe kind is to be found in the writings of Lord Dunsany. He may be saidto have created a new mythology wholly his own. He is not only themaster but the maker of the countries to which he takes us on suchfascinating jaunts. His commonest name for them is the Edge of theWorld, but sometimes he speaks of them as the Lands of Wonder. Thislatter name is doubly significant, for the whole movement of which heforms such a striking manifestation has been defined as a "renascenceof wonder."

The names of places and persons appearing in the stories of LordDunsany are worth a study in themselves. There are hundreds of them,giving evidence of an inexhaustible imagination; and each one of themis as aptly suggestive as if generations of men had been at workshaping them. To hear of Sardathion, the city built by the Gods of Old,is to see its domes of marble rising sky-high in the sunset-lightedair. To hear of Slith and Sippy and Slorg, the three thieves who wentto the Edge of the World in quest of the Golden Box, is to feel as ifone were dealing with historical characters like Aaron Burr or ChineseGordon. And as we learn more about them, these fanciful creatures ofLord Dunsany's brain assume still more familiar characteristics, as ifthey had been studied in some Irish village or English street. It isthis fact that reveals one of the main secrets of Lord Dunsany'sappeal: that behind all his exuberant imagination lies a solid basis ofobservation, enabling him to endow the most impossible adventures witha homely and convincing air.

The five plays contained in the present volume have all been producedon the stage. "The Golden Doom" and "The Gods of the Mountain" havebeen staged most successfully at the Haymarket Theatre, London. "KingArgimēnēs" and "The Glittering Gate" have been given by the IrishPlayers, and "The Lost Silk Hat" has been put on by Iden Payne atManchester. In America, the first three have been in the repertoire ofStuart Walker's Portmanteau Theatre, and "The Glittering Gate" has beengiven by the Neighborhood Players.

After seeing "The Gods of the Mountain," Frank Harris wrote: "It wasone of the nights of my life; the only play, I said to myself, whichmeant anything to me in twenty years or more." Without sharing theopinion of Mr. Harris about the dramatic output of the last twentyyears, I share fully his enthusiasm in regard to the play that causedhis remark. The note struck in it is so distinctly new as to make onegasp as under a sharp shock. But the surprise turns quickly intopleasure such as only the originality of genius can confer.

It is hard to define just what makes these plays what they are. Butcertain qualities are tangible. Their deep and rich symbolism is one.It is the kind of symbolism for which the advances of modern psychologyhad prepared us—the kind that is inseparable from life itself as weare only just beginning to understand it. Another quality is theircapacity for suggesting at once the intimate unity and appallingvastness of life. In "The Golden Doom" the fate of an empire and alittle boy's desire for a new plaything become linked as facts of equalimportance in the web of fate. In "The Gods of the Mountain" we meetwith an atmosphere of fatality comparable only to that found in theGreek dramas. The crime ofhybris, which to the Greeks was the"unforgivable sin," is here made as real to us as it was to them.

But these remarks of mine about the inner significance of the playsshould not tempt anybody into thinking them deficient in that elementof formal perfection without which they could not be classed as worksof art. They are, indeed, "things of beauty," and their beauty inheresin their design as well as in their style. Through all of them thegreatest possible economy of means has been observed, so that not aword, not a tone, not a gesture is wasted in obtaining the effect aimedat. The dialogue of Maeterlinck is suggested, but not more thansuggested. The words spoken by the characters of Maeterlinck are oftenso vague as to be practically meaningless. The characters of LordDunsany speak as simply as those of Maeterlinck, but always sharply tothe point; there can be no mistaking of what they mean, and thatmeaning serves always to carry the action of the play forward. And eachplay of Lord Dunsany's is an exciting adventure, conveying to thereader an exhilarating sense of motion without ever descending toold-fashioned stage tricks for the production of that sense. This meansthat they combine to an extraordinary degree the qualities which makeseparately for theatrical or literary success.

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS BY LORD DUNSANY

THE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN

PERSONS

THE FIRST ACT

Some evil has befallen the rich ones of this city. They take no joy anylonger in benevolence, but are become sour and miserly at heart. Alasfor them! I sometimes sigh for them when I think of this.

There has been a comet come near to the earth of late and the earth hasbeen parched and sultry so that the gods are drowsy and all thosethings that are divine in man, such as benevolence, drunkenness,extravagance, and song, have faded and died and have not beenreplenished by the gods.

If they awake not soon and make this city worthy again of our order Ifor one shall forsake the calling and buy a shop and sit at ease in theshade and barter for gain.

[Enter Agmar and Slag. Agmar, though poorly dressed, is tall,imperious, and older than Ulf. Slag follows behind him.

And when has a beggar ever followed a trade? When has he ever haggledand bartered and sat in a shop?

The city is unworthy of our calling. The gods are drowsy and all thatis divine in man is dead. (To third beggar) Are not the godsdrowsy?

They are drowsy in their mountains away at Marma. The seven green idolsare drowsy. Who is this that rebukes us?

Are you some great merchant, master? Perhaps you will help a poor manthat is starving.

I perceive that he is some lord in disguise. The gods have woken andhave sent him to save us.

There is none like my master. No traveller has met with cunning like tohis, not even those that come from Æthiopia.

We make you welcome to our town, upon which an evil has fallen, thedays being bad for beggary.

Let none who has known the mystery of roads or has felt the windarising new in the morning, or who has called forth out of the souls ofmen divine benevolence, ever speak any more of any trade or of themiserable gains of shops and the trading men.

Be silent and attend to me. I do not know this city. I have travelledfrom far, having somewhat exhausted the city of Ackara.

My master was three times knocked down and injured by carriages there,once he was killed and seven times beaten and robbed, and every time hewas generously compensated. He had nine diseases, many of them mortal—

We have a few that we call thieves here, master, but they wouldscarcely seem thieves to you. They are not good thieves.

[Agmar transfers the thick handle of his long staff to his leftarmpit, he droops on to it and it supports his weight; he is upright nolonger. His right arm hangs limp and useless. He hobbles up to thecitizens imploring alms.

I am sorry. I cannot help you. There have been too many beggars hereand we must decline alms for the good of the town.

[Illanaun presently returns and gives Agmar a coin. Exit Illanaun.Agmar, erect again, walks back to the others.

We shall need fine raiment; let the thief start at once. Let it ratherbe green raiment.

But you do not know my master. Now that you have suggested that weshall go as lords, he will make a better suggestion. He will suggestthat we should go as kings.

As gods. Know you the land through which I have lately come in mywanderings? Marma, where the gods are carved from green stone in themountains. They sit all seven of them against the hills. They sit theremotionless and travellers worship them.

Yes, yes, we know those gods. They are much reverenced here, but theyare drowsy and send us nothing beautiful.

They are of green jade. They sit cross-legged with their right elbowsresting on their left hands, the right forefinger pointing upward. Wewill come into the city disguised, from the direction of Marma, andwill claim to be these gods. We must be seven as they are. And when wesit we must sit cross-legged as they do, with the right hand uplifted.

This is a bad city in which to fall into the hands of oppressors, forthe judges lack amiability here as the merchants lack benevolence, eversince the gods forgot them.

In our ancient calling a man may sit at one street corner for fiftyyears doing the one thing, and yet a day may come when it is well forhim to rise up and do another thing while the timorous man starves.

Is not all life a beggary to the gods? Do they not see all men alwaysbegging of them and asking alms with incense, and bells, and subtledevices?

Does not the mighty Soldan often sit by the agate altar in his royaltemple as we sit at a street corner or by a palace gate?

Then will the gods be glad when we follow the holy calling with newdevices and with subtlety, as they are glad when the priests sing a newsong.

Go you into the city before us and let there be a prophecy there whichsaith that the gods who are carven from green rock in the mountainshall one day arise in Marma and come here in the guise of men.

Yes, master. Shall I make the prophecy myself? Or shall it be found insome old document?

Let someone have seen it once in some rare document. Let it be spokenof in the market place.

I could only procure you three green raiments, master. The city is notnow well supplied with them; moreover, it is a very suspicious city andwithout shame for the baseness of its suspicions.

You have got something: it may serve our purpose. How long have youbeen thieving?

We must tear them up and divide them amongst the seven. (ToThahn) Bring me another beggar.

In his native city they do not now know what became of the golden cupthat stood in the Lunar Temple.

No, no. The first who looked closely would say, "These are onlybeggars. They have disguised themselves."

Each of the seven shall wear a piece of the green raiment underneathhis rags. And peradventure here and there a little shall show through;and men shall say, "These seven have disguised themselves as beggars.But we know not what they be."

THE SECOND ACT

Our little sister the moon. She comes to us at evenings away in themountains of Marma. She trips over the mountains when she is young.When she is young and slender she comes and dances before us, and whenshe is old and unshapely she hobbles away from the hills.

Yet is she young again and forever nimble with youth; yet she comesdancing back. The years are not able to curb her nor to bring grayhairs to her brethren.

This hath not been in the past. Let prophets come. Let prophets speakto us of future things.

[The beggars seat themselves upon the floor in the attitude of theseven gods of Marma.

I heard men speak to-day in the market place. They speak of a prophecyread somewhere of old. It says the seven gods shall come from Marma inthe guise of men.

It is all the prophecy we have. Man without prophecy is like a sailorgoing by night over uncharted seas. He knows not where are the rocksnor where the havens. To the man on watch all things ahead are blackand the stars guide him not, for he knows not what they are.

Let us accept it. It is as the small, uncertain light of a lantern,carried it may be by a drunkard, but along the shore of some haven. Letus be guided.

You are mightier than all men and hold high rank among other gods andare lords of this our city, and have the thunder as your plaything andthe whirlwind and the eclipse and all the destinies of human tribes—ifye be gods.

Let the pestilence not fall at once upon this city, as it had indeeddesigned to; let not the earthquake swallow it all immediately up amidthe howls of the thunder; let not infuriated armies overwhelm thosethat escape—if we be gods—

He will not punish us, master? None of the gods will punish us? We willmake a sacrifice, a good sacrifice.

Who may say what cloudy dooms are rolling up in the mind of the eldestof the gods? He is no common god like us. Once a shepherd went by himin the mountains and doubted as he went. He sent a doom after thatshepherd.

[Reënter with a dead lamb and fruits. They offer the lamb on analtar where there is fire, and fruits before the altar.

It is strange that gods should be thus anxious about the cooking of aleg of lamb.

Is it then strange that the gods love roasted flesh? For this purposethey keep the lightning. When the lightning flickers about the limbs ofmen there comes to the gods in Marma a pleasant smell, even a smell ofroasting. Sometimes the gods, being pacific, are pleased to haveroasted instead the flesh of lamb. It is all one to the gods; let theroasting stop.

One who was ignorant, one who did not know, had almost said that theyate like hungry men.

I have not eaten since the world was very new and the flesh of men wastenderer than now. These younger gods have learned the habit of eatingfrom the lions.

It is not fitting that such as I should eat. None eat but beasts andmen and the younger gods. The sun and the moon and the nimble lightningand I—we may kill and we may madden, but we do not eat.

Enough. Let it be enough that these have condescended to this bestialand human habit.

He will not drink. Yet if he does, then he will not overwhelm us. Letus offer him the wine.

[Illanaun takes the goblet. All the beggars stretch out their handsincluding Agmar. Illanaun gives it to Agmar. Agmar takes it solemnly,and very carefully pours it upon the ground.

Trouble us not now. It is the hour at which the gods are accustomed tospeak to the gods in the language of the gods, and if Man heard us hewould guess the futility of his destiny, which were not well for Man.Begone! Begone!

[Exeunt. Agmar takes up a piece of meat and begins to eat it; thebeggars rise and stretch themselves: they laugh, but Agmar eatshungrily.

Watch in the doorway while I eat. (Slag goes to the doorway) Sitin the attitude of a god. Warn me if any of the citizens approach.

Master, my child was bitten in the throat by a death-adder at noon.Spare him, master; he still breathes, but slowly.

Weep not. For all the houses that men have builded are the play-fieldsof this child of the gods.

THE THIRD ACT

Seven thrones shaped like mountain-crags stand along the back of thestage. On these the beggars are lounging. The Thief is absent.

It was better to see my master's wise devices than to have fruit andlamb and Woldery wine.

It is even like to one of last year's dreams, the trouble of a briefnight long ago.

When we were beggars did we not speak as beggars? Did we not whine asthey? Was not our mien beggarly?

The gods have never mocked us. We are above all pinnacles that we haveever gazed at in dreams.

Master! I have been with those that know all and see all. I have beenwith the thieves, master. They know me for one of the craft, but theydo not know me as being one of us.

That they have long done, master. I mean that they will know it. Thenwe are lost.

Two men went on dromedaries three days ago to see if the gods werestill at Marma.

They must have seen the green jade idols sitting against the mountains.They will say, "The gods are still at Marma." And we shall be burnt.

Slip away to some high place and look toward the desert and see howlong we have to devise a plan.

[They all sit still. Citizens enter and prostrate themselves. Agmarsits deep in thought.

Two holy pilgrims have gone to your sacred shrines, wherein you werewont to sit before you left the mountains. (Agmar says nothing)They return even now.

They left us here and went to find the gods? A fish once took a journeyinto a far country to find the sea.

Most reverend deity, their piety is so great that they have gone toworship even your shrines.

I know these men that have great piety. Such men have often prayed tome before, but their prayers are not acceptable. They little love thegods; their only care is their piety. I know these pious ones. Theywill say that the seven gods were still at Marma. They will lie and saythat we were still at Marma. So shall they seem more pious to you all,pretending that they alone have seen the gods. Fools shall believe themand share in their damnation.

The men are doubters. How the gods hate the word! Doubt evercontaminated virtue. Let them be cast into prison and not besmirch yourpurity. (Rising) Let them not enter here.

But oh, most reverend deity from the Mountain, we also doubt, mostreverend deity.

You have chosen. You have chosen. And yet it is not too late. Repentand cast these men in prison and it may not be too late.The godshave never wept. And yet when they think upon damnation and thedooms that are withering a myriad bones, then almost, were they notdivine, they could weep. Be quick! Repent of your doubt.

Come. Let us go away to prepare a sacrifice. A mighty sacrifice toatone for our doubting. (Exeunt)

No, no, Slag. I do not know what has befallen. When I went by Marmaonly two weeks ago the idols of green jade were still seated there.

It was nothing. I dreamed that I was thirsty and one gave me Wolderywine; yet there was a fear in my dream.

They are making a pleasant banquet ready for us; they are killinglambs, and girls are there with fruits, and there is to be much Wolderywine.

Master, it is terrible. (The beggars maintain silence) It isterrible when you wander in the evening. It is terrible on the edge ofthe desert in the evening. Children die when they see you.

Last night, master. You were terrible last night. You were terrible inthe gloaming. When your hands were stretched out and groping. You werefeeling for the city.

Yes, master. Not as you are now, but otherwise. We implore you, master,not to wander at evening. You are terrible in the gloaming. You are—

You were all green, master, all green in the gloaming, all of rockagain as you used to be in the mountains. Master, we can bear to seeyou in flesh like men, but when we see rock walking it is terrible, itis terrible.

Yes, master. Rock should not walk. When children see it they do notunderstand. Rock should not walk in the evening.

They have seen their own fears dancing in the desert. They have seensomething green after the light was gone, and some child has told thema tale that it was us. I do not know what they have seen. What shouldthey have seen?

[Enter an Attendant with a torch or lantern which he places in areceptacle. Exit.

I do not like to hear their heavy tread. Those that would dance tous must be light of foot.

They should dance as they come. But the footfall is like the footfallof heavy crabs.

I have a fear, an old fear and a boding. We have done ill in the sightof the seven gods. Beggars we were and beggars we should have remained.We have given up our calling and come in sight of our doom. I will nolonger let my fear be silent; it shall run about and cry; it shall gofrom me crying, like a dog from out of a doomed city; for my fear hasseen calamity and has known an evil thing.

[They listen. No one speaks. The stony boots come on. Enter insingle file through door in right of back, a procession of seven greenmen, even hands and faces are green; they wear greenstone sandals; theywalk with knees extremely wide apart, as having sat cross-legged forcenturies; their right arms and right forefingers point upward, rightelbows resting on left hands; they stoop grotesquely. Halfway to thefootlights they left wheel. They pass in front of the seven beggars,now in terrified attitudes, and six of them sit down in the attitudedescribed, with their backs to the audience. The leader stands, stillstooping.

[The leading Green Thing points his forefinger at the lantern—theflame turns green. When the six are seated the leader points one by oneat each of the seven beggars, shooting out his forefinger at them. Ashe does this each beggar in his turn gathers himself back on to histhrone and crosses his legs, his right arm goes stiffly upward withforefinger erect, and a staring look of horror comes into his eyes. Inthis attitude the beggars sit motionless while a green light falls upontheir faces. The gods go out.

Presently enter the Citizens, some with victuals and fruit. Onetouches a beggar's arm and then another's.

We have doubted them. We have doubted them. They have turned to stonebecause we have doubted them.

THE GOLDEN DOOM

PERSONS

I would that I were swimming down the Gyshon, on the cool side, underthe fruit trees.

He rows in his golden barge with ambassadors or whispers with captainsconcerning future wars. The stars spare him!

Because if a doom from the stars fall suddenly on a king it swallows uphis people and all things round about him, and his palace falls and thewalls of his city and citadel, and the apes come in from the woods andthe large beasts from the desert, so that you would not say that a kinghad been there at all.

Who are the stars that a man should scorn them? Should they that rulethe thunder, the plague and the earthquake withhold these things savefor much prayer? Always ambassadors are with the King, and hiscommanders, come in from distant lands, prefects of cities and makersof the laws, but never the priests of the stars.

I cannot open it. (To the Sentry) Will it do as well if I prayto the King's door?

Yes, quite as well. (Turns to talk to the other Sentry) Is thereanyone in sight?

[The Sentries take a little bash between finger and thumb frompouches and put that wholly forgotten drug to their lips.

Yes, I can write it. My father taught me. I'll write it with my lump ofgold. It makes a yellow mark on the iron door.

When a man goes to fight, the curtains of the gods wax thicker thanever before between his eyes and the future; he may go to a great or toa little war.

Because the King is powerful beyond any of his fathers, and has morefighting men, more horses, and wealth that could have ransomed hisfather and his grandfather and dowered their queens and daughters; andevery year his miners bring him more from the opal-mines and from theturquoise-quarries. He has grown very mighty.

[Enter furtively a Spy, who crosses stage and goes out. The Sentriescease to talk.

[The Boy throws a stone at the Sentry and runs out. Enter anotherSpy, who crosses the stage. Enter third Spy, who notices the door. Heexamines it and utters an owl-like whistle. No. 2 comes back. They donot speak. Both whistle. No. 3 comes. All examine the door. Enter theKing and his Chamberlain. The King wears a purple robe. The Sentriessmartly transfer their spears to their left hands and return theirright arms to their right sides. They then lower their spears untiltheir points are within an inch of the ground, at the same time raisingtheir right hands above their heads. They stand for some moments thus.Then they lower their right arms to their right sides, at the same timeraising their spears. In the next motion they take their spears intotheir right hands and lower the butts to the floor, where they werebefore, the spears slanting forward a little. Both Sentries must movetogether precisely.

FIRST SPY (runs forward to the King and kneels, abasing hisforehead to the floor)

FIRST SENTRY (shifts his hand a little higher on his spear,brings the spear to his side and closes his heels all in one motion; hethen takes one pace backward with his right foot; then he kneels on hisright knee; when he has done this he speaks, but not before)

[The King whispers with one of his Spies, who stoops and examinesthe ground and steals away. The Sentry rises.

We watch, Majesty, and we search out, Majesty. We read shadows, and weread footprints, and whispers in secret places. But we do not readwriting.

No, no, Majesty. Not from the stars, not from the stars. Some man hasdone it. Yet the thing should be interpreted. Shall I send for theprophets of the stars?

Find me some prophet of the stars. (Exeunt Spies) I fear that wemay go no more, my chamberlain, along the winding ways of unequalledZericon, nor play dahoori with the golden balls. I have thought more ofmy people than of the stars and more of Zericon than of windy Heaven.

Believe me, Majesty, some idle man has written it and passed by. Yourspies shall find him, and then his name will be soon forgotten.

Yes, yes. Perhaps you are right, though the sentries saw no one. Nodoubt some beggar did it.

Yes, Majesty, some beggar has surely done it. But look, here come twoprophets of the stars. They shall tell us that this is idle.

[Enter two Prophets and a Boy attending them. All bow deeply to theKing. The two Spies steal in again and stand at back.

Some beggar has written a rhyme on the iron gate, and as the ways ofrhyme are known to you I desired you, rather as poets than as prophets,to say whether there was any meaning in it.

Bring hither our golden cloaks, for this may be a matter for rejoicing;and bring our green cloaks also, for this may tell of young newbeautiful things with which the stars will one day gladden the King;and bring our black cloaks also, for it may be a doom. (Exit theBoy; the Prophet goes up to the door and reads solemnly) The starshave spoken.

It is a harmless thing; there is no harm in it, Majesty. Why should notbirds die?

If the people see the prophets covered in black they will say that thestars are against me and believe that my luck has turned.

Some prophet must interpret to us the doom. Let the chief prophet ofthe stars be sent for.

If he interpret this aright I will put a necklace of turquoises roundhis neck with opals from the mines.

What if he covers himself with a huge black cloak and does not speakand goes muttering away, slowly with bended head, till our fear spreadsto the sentries and they cry aloud?

This is no doom from the stars, but some idle scribe hath written it inhis insolence upon the iron door, wasting his hoard of gold.

Not for myself I have a fear of doom, not for myself; but I inherited arocky land, windy and ill-nurtured, and nursed it to prosperity byyears of peace and spread its boundaries by years of war. I havebrought up harvests out of barren acres and given good laws untonaughty towns, and my people are happy, and lo, the stars are angry!

It is not the stars, it is not the stars, Majesty, for the prophets ofthe stars have not interpreted it. Indeed, it was only some revellerwasting his gold.

Chief Prophet of the Stars that look on Zericon, I would have youinterpret the rhyme upon yonder door.

Interpret it and you shall have great turquoises round your neck, withopals from the mines in the frozen mountains.

Who should wear purple in the land but a King, or who go up againstthe sky but he who has troubled the stars by neglecting their ancientworship? Such a one has gone up and up increasing power and wealth,such a one has soared above the crowns of those that went before him,such a one the stars have doomed, the undying ones, the illustrious.[A pause.

I have been a great King—Let it be said of me "The stars overthrewhim, and they sent a god for his doom." For I have not met my equalamong kings that man should overthrow me; and I have not oppressed mypeople that man should rise up against me.

It is better to give worship to the stars than to do good to man. It isbetter to be humble before the gods than proud in the face of yourenemy though he do evil.

Let the stars hearken yet and I will sacrifice a child to them—I willsacrifice a girl child to the twinkling stars and a male child to thestars that blink not, the stars of the steadfast eyes. (To hisSpies) Let a boy and girl be brought for sacrifice. (Exit a Spyto the right looking at footprints) Will you accept this sacrificeto the god that the stars have sent? They say that the gods lovechildren.

I may refuse no sacrifice to the stars nor to the gods whom they send.(To the other Prophets) Make ready the sacrificial knives.

Is it fitting that the sacrifice take place by the iron door where thegod from the stars has trod, or must it be in the temple?

Let it be offered by the iron door. (To the other Prophets)Fetch hither the altar stone.

[The owl-like whistle is heard off right. The Third Spy runscrouching toward it. Exit.

It is upon your pride that the doom will fall, and will take away yourcrown and will take away your kingdom.

I will sacrifice my crown and reign uncrowned amongst you, so only Isave my kingdom.

If you sacrifice your crown which is your pride, and if the starsaccept it, perhaps the god that they sent may avert the doom and youmay still reign in your kingdom though humbled and uncrowned.

Let it be laid here by the iron door where the god came who wrote thegolden doom. When he comes again by night to shrivel up the city or topour an enemy in through the iron door, he will see your cast-off prideand perhaps accept it and take it away to the neglected stars.

Go after my spies and say that I make no sacrifice. (Exit theChamberlain to the right; the King takes off his crown) Good-bye,my brittle glory; kings have sought you; the stars have envied you.(The stage grows darker)

Even now the sun has set who denies the stars, and the day is departedwherein no gods walk abroad. It is near the hour when spirits roam theearth and all things that go unseen, and the faces of the abiding starswill be soon revealed to the fields. Lay your crown there and let uscome away.

[They remain kneeling until after the King has gone. King and theChief Prophet walk away.

It will suddenly be as though there were never any city of Zericon nortwo sentries like you and me standing before the door.

[The stage grows increasingly darker. Reënter the Chamberlain fromthe right. He walks across the Stage and goes out to the left. ReënterSpies from the right. They cross the stage, which is now nearlydark.

King's door, King's door, I want my little hoop. (He goes up to theKing's door. When he sees the King's crown there, he utters asatisfied) O-oh! (He takes it up, puts it on the ground, and,beating it before him with the sceptre, goes out by the way that heentered)

[The great door opens; there is light within; a furtive Spy slipsout and sees that the crown is gone. Another Spy slips out. Theircrouching heads come close together.

[They run back through the door and the door is closed. It opensagain and the King and the Chamberlain come through.

KING ARGIMĒNĒS AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR

PERSONS

THE FIRST ACT

The dinner-hour on the slave-fields of King Darniak. King Argimenesis sitting upon the ground, bowed, ragged and dirty, gnawing a bone. Hehas uncouth hair and a dishevelled beard. A battered spade lies nearhim. Two or three slaves sit at back of stage eating rawcabbage-leaves. The tear-song, the chant of the low-born, rises atintervals, monotonous and mournful, coming from distantslave-fields.

I wish I were you, because you have been a king. Because men haveprostrated themselves before your feet. Because you have ridden a horseand worn a crown and have been called Majesty.

But you are lucky to have such things in your memory as you have. Ihave nothing in my memory—Once I went for a year without beingflogged, and I remember my cleverness in contriving it—I have nothingelse to remember.

But we have nothing who have no good memories in the past. It is noteasy for us to hope for the future here.

We may not have a god because he might make us brave and we might killour guards. He might make a miracle and give us swords.

I have a little hope. Hush, and I will tell you a secret—The King'sgreat dog is ill and like to die. They will throw him to us. We shallhave beautiful bones then.

Yes. That is whatI hope for. And haveyou no other hope?Do you not hope that your nation will arise some day and rescue you andcast off the king and hang him up by his thumbs from the palacegateway?

No. I have no other hope, for my god was cast down in the temple andbroken into three pieces on the day that they surprised us and took mesleeping. But will they throw him to us? Will so honorable a brute asthe King's dog be thrown to us?

When he is dead his honors are taken away. Even the King when he isdead is given to the worms. Then why should not his dog be thrown tous?

You do not understand, Argimenes. The worms are little and free, whilewe are big and enslaved. I did not say we were worms, but we arelike worms, and if they have the King when he is dead, whythen—

Oh yes, I know him. I know him well. I was beaten once because of him,twenty-five strokes from the treble whips, two men beating me.

They beat me because I spoke to him without making obeisance. He wascoming dancing along over the slave-fields and I spoke to him. He was afriendly great dog, and I spoke to him and patted his head, and did notmake obeisance.

Yes, the slave-guard saw me. They came and seized me at once and boundmy arms. The great dog wanted me to speak to him again, but I washurried away.

Ah, then he will grow thin if he does not die soon. If it had been ahurt!—but we should not complain. I complain more often than you dobecause I had not learned to submit while I was yet young.

If your beautiful memories do not please you, you should hope more. Iwish I had your memories. I should not trouble to hope then. It is veryhard to hope.

Why, you might find gold in the earth while you were digging. Then youmight bribe the commander of the guard to lend you his sword; we wouldall follow you if you had a sword. Then we might take the King and bindhim and lay him on the ground and fasten his tongue outside his mouthwith thorns and put honey on it and sprinkle honey near. Then the grayants would come from one of their big mounds. My father found gold oncewhen he was digging.

No. Because the King's Overseer found him looking at the gold andkilled him. But he would have freed himself if he could have bribed theguard.

Going to prophesy good things to the King. It is easy to prophesy goodthings to a king, and be rewarded when the good things come. What elseshould come to a king? A prophet! A prophet!

[A deep bell tolls slowly. King Argimenes and Zarb pick up theirspades at once, and the old slaves at the back of the stage go down ontheir knees immediately and grub in the soil with their hands. Thewhite beard of the oldest trails in the dirt as he works. KingArgimenes digs.

Metal! (Feels with his spade again) Gold perhaps!—It is of nouse here. (Uncovers earth leisurely. Suddenly he drops on his kneesand works excitedly in the earth with his hands. Then very slowly,still kneeling, he lifts, lying flat on his hands, a long greenishsword, his eyes intent on it. About the level of his uplifted foreheadhe holds it, still flat on both hands, and addresses it thus) Oholy and blessed thing! (Then he lowers it slowly till his handsrest on his knees, and looking all the while at the sword,loquitur) Three years ago to-morrow King Darniak spat at me, havingtaken my kingdom from me. Three times in that year I was flogged, withtwelve stripes, with seventeen stripes, and with twenty stripes. A yearand eleven months ago, come Moon-day, the King's Overseer struck me inthe face, and nine times in that year he called me dog. For one monthtwo weeks and a day I was yoked with a bullock and pulled a roundedstone all day over the paths, except while we were fed. I was floggedtwice that year—with eighteen stripes and with ten stripes. This yearthe roof of the slave-sty has fallen in and King Darniak will notrepair it. Five weeks ago one of his Queens laughed at me as she cameacross the slave-fields. I was flogged again this year and withthirteen stripes, and twelve times they have called me dog. And thesethings they have done to a king, and a king of the House ofIthara.(He listens attentively for a moment, then buries the swordagain and pats the earth over it with his hands, then digs again)

[The old slaves do not see him: their faces are to the earth. Enterthe King's Overseer carrying a whip. The slaves and King Argimeneskneel with their foreheads to the ground as he passes across the stage.Exit the King's Overseer.

O warrior spirit, wherever thou wanderest, whoever be thy gods, whetherthey punish thee or whether they bless thee, O kingly spirit, that oncelaid here this sword, behold, I pray to thee, having no gods to prayto, for the god of my nation was broken in three by night. Mine arm isstiff with three years' slavery, and remembers not the sword. But guidethy sword till I have slain six men and armed the strongest slaves, andthou shalt have the sacrifice every year of a hundred goodly oxen. AndI will build in Ithara a temple to thy memory wherein all that enter inshall remember thee; so shalt thou be honored and envied among thedead, for the dead are very jealous of remembrance. Ay, though thouwert a robber that took men's lives unrighteously, yet shall rarespices smoulder in thy temple and little maidens sing and new-pluckedflowers deck the solemn aisles; and priests shall go about it ringingbells that thy soul shall find repose. Oh, but it has a good blade,this old green sword; thou wouldst not like to see it miss its mark (ifthe dead see at all, as wise men teach), thou wouldst not like to seeit go thirsting into the air; so huge a sword should find its marrowybone. (Extending his right hand upward) Come into my right arm,O ancient spirit, O unknown warrior's soul! And if thou hast the ear ofany gods, speak there against Illuriel, god of King Darniak. (Herises and goes on digging)

I did but pray to Illuriel to make me a good slave, to teach me to digwell and to pull the rounded stone and to make me not to die when thefood is scarce, but to be a good slave to my master the great King.

Do not look at me when you speak. The guards are watching us. Look atyour digging.

Because whenever their officer leaves them they sit upon the ground andplay with dice.

How witless you are, Argimenes! Of course it shows there are not.Because, if there were, another officer would see them, and theirthumbs would be cut off.

Ah! (A pause) Zarb! (A pause) Would the slaves follow meif I tried to kill the guards?

Because you look like a slave. They will never follow a slave, becausethey are slaves themselves, and know how mean a creature is a slave. Ifyou looked like a king they would follow you.

I wish I could think of things like that. It is because you were once aking that you can think of a sword of bronze. I tried to hope once thatI should some day fight the guards, but I couldn't picture a sword, Icouldn't imagine it; I could only picture whips.

Dig a little nearer, Zarb. (They both edge closer) I have founda very old sword in the earth. It is not a sword such as commonsoldiers wear. A king must have worn it, and an angry king. It musthave done fearful things; there are little dints in it. Perhaps therewas a battle here long ago where all were slain, and perhaps that kingdied last and buried his sword, but the great birds swallowed him.

You have been thinking too much of the King's dog, Argimenes, and thathas made you hungry, and hunger has driven you mad.

Why—then you will wear a purple cloak again, and sit on a greatthrone, and ride a prancing horse, and we shall call you Majesty.

I shall break a long fast first and drink much water, and sleep. Butwill the slaves follow me?

You willmake them follow you if you have a sword. Yet isIlluriel a very potent god. They say that none have prevailed againstKing Darniak's dynasty so long as Illuriel stood. Once an enemy castIlluriel into the river and overthrew the dynasty, but a fishermanfound him again and set him up, and the enemy was driven out and thedynasty returned.

If Illuriel could be cast down as my god was cast down perhaps KingDarniak could be overcome as I was overcome in my sleep?

If Illuriel were cast down all the people would utter a cry and fleeaway. It would be a fearful portent.

The officer of the slave-guard has gone away—They are playing withdice now. (He throws down his spade and stretches his arms) Theman with the big beard has won again, he is very nimble with histhumbs—They are playing again, but it is getting dark, I cannotclearly see.

[King Argimenes furtively uncovers the sword, he picks it up andgrips it in his hand.

Argimenes has found a terrible sword and has gone to slay theslave-guard. It is not a common sword, it is some king's sword.

Argimenes will be dreadfully flogged. We shall hear him cry all night.His cries will frighten us, and we shall not sleep.

No, no! The guards flog poor slaves, but Argimenes had an angry look.The guards will be afraid when they see him look so angry and see histerrible sword. It was a huge sword, and he looked very angry. He willbring us the swords of the slave-guard. We must prostrate ourselvesbefore him and kiss his feet or he will be angry with us too.

He will have swords for six of us if he slays the slave-guard. Yes, hewill give you a sword.

A sword! No, no, I must not; the King would kill me if he found that Ihad a sword.

If the King found that I had a sword, why, then it would be an evil dayfor the King.

[They continue to gaze into the gathering darkness. They raisethemselves on their knees and crane their necks. Nobody speaks. Thenfrom their lips and from others farther off goes up a long, deep "Oh!"It is like the sound that goes up from the grandstand when a horsefalls at a fence, or, in England, like the first exclamation of thecrowd at a great cricket match when a man is caught in the slips.

THE SECOND ACT

The Throne Hall of King Darniak. The King is seated on his throne inthe centre at the back of the stage; a little to his left, but standingout from the wall, a dark-green seated idol is set up. His Queens areseated about him on the ground, two on his right and two between himand the idol. All wear crowns. Beside the dark-green idol a soldierwith a pike is kneeling upon one knee. The tear-song, the chant of thelow-born, drifts faintly up from the slave-fields.

Do show us the new prophet, Majesty; it would be very interesting tosee another prophet.

[He strikes upon a gong, and an Attendant enters, walks straightpast the King and bows before the idol; he then walks back to thecentre of the stage and bows before the King.

[Exit Attendant. Enter the King's Overseer holding a roll of paper.He passes the King, bows to the idol, returns to the front of the King,kneels, and remains kneeling with bended head.

THE KING (speaking in the meanwhile to the Second Queen onhis immediate right)

We are making a beautiful arbor for you, O Atharlia, at an end of thegreat garden. There shall be iris-flowers that you love and all thingsthat grow by streams. And the stream there shall be small and windinglike one of those in your country. I shall bring a stream a new wayfrom the mountains. (Turning to Queen Oxara on his extremeright) And for you, too, O Oxara, we shall make a pleasance. Ishall have rocks brought from the quarries for you, and my idle slavesshall make a hill and plant it with mountain shrubs, and you can sitthere in the winter thinking of the North. (To the kneelingOverseer) Ah, what is here?

The plans of your royal garden, Majesty. The slaves have dug it forfive years and rolled the paths.

I will have a greater garden. Let the world know and wonder. (Looksat the plans)

Work is slow, Majesty, at this season of the year because the greenstuff is scarce and the slaves grow idle. They even become insolent andask for bones.

Then why are they not flogged? (To Queen Thragolind) It is sosimple, theyonly have to flog them, but these people are sosilly sometimes. I want to walk in the great garden, and then they tellme: "It is not ready, Majesty. It is not ready, Majesty," as thoughthere were any reason why it shouldnot be ready.

[Meanwhile the King hands back the plans. Exit the King's Overseer.Reënter Attendant with the Prophet, who is dressed in a long dark browncloak; his face is solemn; he has a long dark beard and long hair.Having bowed before the idol, he bows before the King and standssilent. The attendant, having bowed to both, stands by the doorway.

Perhaps we shall lure the ducks when the marshes are frozen to come andswim in your stream; it will be like your own country. (To theProphet) Prophesy unto us.

There was once a King that had slaves to hate him and to toil for him,and he had soldiers to guard him and to die for him. And the number ofthe slaves that he had to hate him and to toil for him was greater thanthe number of the soldiers that he had to guard him and to die for him.And the days of that King were few. And the number of thy slaves, OKing, that thou hast to hate thee is greater than the number of thysoldiers.

—and I wore the crown with the sapphires and the big emerald in it,and the foreign prince said that I looked very sweet.

[The King, who has been smiling at Atharlia, gives a gracious nod tothe Prophet when he hears him stop speaking. When the Queens see theKing nod graciously, they applaud the Prophet by idly clapping theirhands.

Do ask him to make us another prophecy, Majesty! He is so interesting.He looks so clever.

Thine armies camped upon thy mountainous borders descry no enemy in theplains afar. And within thy gates lurks he for whom thy sentinels seekupon lonely guarded frontiers. There is a fear upon me and a boding.Even yet there is time, even yet; butlittle time. And my mindis dark with trouble for thy kingdom.

Ah! That reminds me of that young captain in the Purple Guard. They saythat he loves Linoora.

[When the Queens come to the doorway they halt on each side of it.Then they turn facing one another. Then the King leaves his throne andpasses between them into the Chamber of Banquets, each couplecourtseying low to him as he passes. The Queens follow, then theattendants. There rises the wine-song, the chant of the nobles,drowning the chant of the low-born. Only the Idol-Guard remains behind,still kneeling beside Illuriel.

I do not like those things the Prophet said—It would be terrible ifthey were true—It would be very terrible if they were false, for heprophesies in the name of Illuriel—Ah! They are singing the wine-song,the chant of the nobles. The Queens are singing. How merry they are!—Ishould like to be a noble and sit and look at the Queens. (He joinsin the song)

To the armory! To the armory! Reinforce! The Slaves have come to thearmory. Ah! mercy! (For awhile there is silence)

Go you to the slave-fields. Say that the palace-guard is dead and thatwe have taken the armory. Ten of you, hold the armory till our men comefrom the slave-fields. (He comes into the hall with his slaves armedwith swords) Throw down Illuriel.

[All attack him; they seize his sword and bind his hands behind him.They all pull down Illuriel, the dark-green idol, who breaks into sevenpieces.

My god was broken into three pieces, but Illuriel is broken into seven.The fortunes of Darniak will prevail over mine no longer. (A slavebreaks off a golden arm from the throne) Come, we will arm all theslaves. (Exeunt)

They shall be tortured here before Illuriel, and their eyes shall behung on a thread about his neck, so that Illuriel shall see it, and ontheir bones we will set him up again. Come!

[Those that have dropped their spears pick them up, but trail themalong behind them on the ground. All follow dejectedly.

Illuriel is fallen, Illuriel is fallen. Illuriel, Illuriel, Illuriel.Is fallen. Is fallen. (The song of the low-born ceases suddenly.Then voices of the slaves in the slave-fields chanting very loudly)Illuriel is fallen, is fallen, is fallen. Illuriel is fallen and brokenasunder. Illuriel is fallen, fallen, fallen.

[Clamor of fighting is heard, the clash of swords, and voices, andnow and then the name of Illuriel.

Illuriel is broken. They have overthrown Illuriel. They have done greatharm to the courses of the stars. The moon will be turned to blacknessor fall and forsake the nights. The sun will rise no more. They do notknow how they have wrecked the world.

Go you to the land of Ithara and tell them that I am free. And do yougo to the army on the frontier. Offer them death, or the right arm ofthe throne to be melted and divided amongst them all. Let them choose.(The armed slaves go to the throne and stand on each side of it,loquitur) Majesty, ascend your throne. (King Argimenes, standingwith his face toward the audience, lifts the sword slowly, lying onboth his hands, a little above his head, then looking up at it,loquitur) Praise to the unknown warrior and to all gods that blesshim. (He ascends the throne. Zarb prostrates himself at the foot ofit and remains prostrated for the rest of the Act, muttering atintervals "Majesty." An armed slave enters dragging the King'sOverseer. King Argimenes sternly watches him. He is dragged before theThrone. He still has the roll of parchment in his hand. For somemoments King Argimenes does not speak. Then pointing at theparchment) What have you there?

It is a plan of the great garden, Majesty. It was to have been a wonderto the world. (Unfolds it)

Show me the place that I digged for three years. (The King'sOverseer shows it with trembling hands; the parchment shakesvisibly) Let there be built there a temple to an Unknown Warrior.And let this sword be laid on its altar evermore, that the ghost ofthat Warrior wandering by night (if men do walk by night from acrossthe grave) may see his sword again. And let slaves be allowed to praythere and those that are oppressed; nevertheless the noble and themighty shall not fail to repair there too, that the Unknown Warriorshall not lack due reverence.

[Enter, running, a Man of the household of King Darniak. He startsand stares aghast on seeing King Argimenes.

THE GLITTERING GATE

PERSONS

The Lonely Place is strewn with large black rocks and uncorkedbeer-bottles, the latter in great profusion. At back is a wall ofgranite built of great slabs, and in it the Gate of Heaven. The door isof gold.

The rising curtain reveals Jim wearily uncorking a beer-bottle. Thenhe tilts it slowly and with infinite care. It proves to be empty. Faintand unpleasant laughter is heard off. This action and the accompanyingfar laughter are repeated continually throughout the play. Corkedbottles are discovered lying behind rocks, and more descend constantlythrough the air, within reach of Jim. All prove to be empty.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves. (Breaking off hissong) Why, 'ullo. 'Ere's a bottle of beer. (Finds it empty;looking off and downward) I'm getting a bit tired of those bloominggreat stars down there and this rocky ledge. I've been walking alongunder this wall ever since. Why, it must be twenty-four hours sincethat house-holder shot me. And he needn't have done it, either,I wasn't going to hurt the bloke. I only wanted a bit of hissilver stuff. It felt funny, that did. Hullo, a gate. Why, that's theGate of Heaven. Well, well. So that's all right. (Looks up and upfor some time) No. I can't climbthat wall. Why, it's got notop to it. Up and up it goes. (Knocks at the door and waits)

Why, hullo, there's another bloke. Why, somebody's been hanging him.Why, if it isn't old Jim! Jim!

Why, Jim, don't you remember me? Why, you taught Bill to pick locksyears and years ago when he was a little boy, and had never learnt atrade and hadn't a penny in the world, and never would have had but foryou, Jim. (Jim stares vaguely) I never forgotyou, Jim. Ibroke into scores of houses. And then I took on big houses. Out in thecountry, you know, real big ones. I got rich, Jim, and respected by allwho knew me. I was a citizen, Jim, one who dwelt in our midst. And ofan evening, sitting over the fire, I used to say, "I am as clever asJim." But I wasn't, Jim. I couldn't climb like you. And I couldn't walklike you on a creaky stair, when everything's quite still and there's adog in the house and little rattly things left lying about, and a doorthat whines if you touch it, and someone ill upstairs that you didn'tknow of, who has nothing to do but to listen foryou 'cause shecan't get to sleep. Don't you remember little Bill?

I never forgotyou, Jim. I'd be pattering away with my tongue,in Church, like all the rest, but all the time I'd be thinking of youin that little room at Putney and the man searching every corner of itfor you with a revolver in one hand and a candle in the other, and youalmost going round with him.

Oh, Jim, can't you remember? Can't you remember the day you taught me alivelihood? I wasn't more than twelve, and it was spring, and all themay was in blossom outside the town. And we cleared out No. 25 in thenew street. And next day we saw the man's fat, silly face. It wasthirty years ago.

You see there isn't any hope here. And when there isn't any hope thereisn't any future. And when there isn't any future there isn't any past.It's just the present here. I tell you we're stuck. There aren't noyears here. Nor no nothing.

Cheer up, Jim. You're thinking of a quotation, "Abandon hope, all yethat enter here." I used to learn quotations; they are awfully genteel.A fellow called Shakespeare used to make them. But there isn't anysense in them. What's the use of sayingye when you meanyou? Don't be thinking of quotations, Jim.

Cheer up, Jim. There's plenty of hope there, isn't there? (Points tothe Gate of Heaven)

Yes, and that's why they keep it locked up so. They won't let us haveany. No. I begin to remember Earth again now since you've beenspeaking. It was just the same there. The more they'd got the more theywanted to keepyou from having a bit.

You'll cheer up a bit when I tell you what I've got. I say, Jim, haveyou got some beer? Why, so you have. Why,you ought to cheer up,Jim.

BILL (half rising from the rock on which he has seatedhimself, and pointing his finger at Jim as he rises; verycheerfully)

Why, you're the chap that said there was no hope here, and you'rehoping to find beer in every bottle you open.

Yes; Ihope to see a drop of beer in one some day, but Iknow I won't. Their trickmight not work just once.

Oh, I don't know. I've always been at it, working as fast as I can,ever since—ever since—(Feels his neck meditatively and up towardhis ear) Why, ever since, Bill.

It's better than a ten-pound note, Jim. Jim, try and remember, Jim.Don't you remember the way we used to go for those iron safes? Do youremember anything, Jim?

Yes, I am beginning to remember now. There used to be sunsets. And thenthere were great yellow lights. And one went in behind them through aswinging door.

Yes, and the room was all full of golden light. And there was beer withlight in it, and some would be spilt on the counter and there was lightin that too. And there was a girl standing there with yellow hair.She'd be the other side of that door now, with lamplight in her hairamong the angels, and the old smile on her lips if one of them chaffedher, and her pretty teeth a-shining. She would be very near the throne;there was never any harm in Jane.

Oh, I don't want to see the angels, Bill. But if I could see Jane again(points in direction of laugh) he might laugh as much as hecared to whenever I wanted to cry. You can't cry here, you know, Bill.

[Jim takes no interest in this remark; he lowers his eyes and goeson with his work.

You remember those iron safes, Jim, how we used to knock them open likewalnuts with "Old Nut-cracker"?

Well, I've got Old Nut-cracker. I had him in my hand at the time, andthey let me keep him. They thought it would be a nice proof against me.

I'll get in to Heaven, Jim. And you shall come with me because youtaught me a livelihood. I couldn't be happy there, like those angels,if I knew of anyone being outside. I'm not like that.

They're only gold, Jim. Gold's soft like lead. Old Nut-cracker would doit if they were steel.

[Bill puts a rock against the gates, stands on it to reach the lockand gets to work on the lock. A good instrument to use is anegg-whipper. Jim goes on wearily with his work. As Bill works away,fragments and golden screws begin to fall on the floor.

Jim! Old Nut-cracker thinks nothing of it. It's just like cheese to oldNut-cracker.

Suppose it's a mile thick. Suppose it's a million miles thick. Supposeit's a hundred million miles thick.

Can't be, Jim. These doors are meant to open outward. They couldn't dothat if they were more than four inches at the most, not for anArchbishop. They'd stick.

This isn't a safe, Jim, this is Heaven. There'll be the old saints withtheir halos shining and flickering, like windows o' wintry nights.(Creak, creak, creak) And angels thick as swallows along acottage roof the day before they go. (Creak, creak, creak) Andorchards full of apples as far as you can see, and the rivers of Tigrisand Euphrates, so the Bible says; and a city of gold, for those thatcare for cities, all full of precious stones; but I'm a bit tired ofcities and precious stones. (Creak, creak, creak) I'll go outinto the fields where the orchards are, by the Tigris and theEuphrates. I shouldn't be surprised if my old mother was there. Shenever cared much for the way I earned my livelihood (creak,creak), but she was a good mother to me. I don't know if they wanta good mother in there who would be kind to the angels and sit andsmile at them when they sang and soothe them if they were cross. Ifthey let all the good ones in she'll be there all right.(Suddenly) Jim! They won't have brought me up against her, willthey? That's not fair evidence, Jim.

If there's a glass of beer to be got in Heaven, or a dish of tripe andonions, or a pipe of 'bacca she'll have them for me when I come to her.She used to know my ways wonderful; and what I liked. And she used toknow when to expect me almost anywhere. I used to climb in through thewindow at any hour and she always knew it was me. (Creak, creak)She'll know it's me at the door now, Jim. (Creak, creak) It willbe all a blaze of light, and I'll hardly know it's her till I get usedto it…. But I'll know her among a million angels. There weren't nonelike her on Earth and there won't be none like her in Heaven…. Jim!I'm through, Jim! One more turn, and old Nut-cracker's done it! It'sgiving! It's giving! I know the feel of it.Jim!

[At last there is a noise of falling bolts; the gates swing out aninch and are stopped by the rock.

JIM (looks up for a moment with open mouth. Then hemournfully shakes his head and goes on drawing a cork)

[Then he moves away the rock on which he stood. The gates moveslowly. Jim leaps up and runs to help; they each take a gate and movebackward with their faces against it.

BILL (staggering and gazing into the revealed Nothing, inwhich far stars go wandering)

[Ever since the revelation a cruel and violent laugh has arisen off.It increases in volume and grows louder and louder.

THE LOST SILK HAT

PERSONS

The Caller stands on a doorstep, "faultlessly dressed," but withouta hat. At first he shows despair, then a new thought engrosses him.

Excuse me a moment. Excuse me—but—I'd be greatly obliged to youif—if you could see your way—in fact, you can be of great service tome if—

Well, all I really want you to do is just to ring that bell and go upand say—er—say that you've come to see to the drains, or anythinglike that, you know, and get hold of my hat for me.

Yes. You see, I left my hat behind most unfortunately. It's in thedrawing-room (points to window), that room there, half under thelong sofa, the far end from the door. And if you could possibly go andget it, why I'd be (The Laborer's expression changes)—Why,what's the matter?

But what harm can there possibly be in so simple a request? What harmdoes there seem to be?

Don't seem as if you are, certainly, but I don't like the looks of it;what if there's things what I can't 'elp taking when I gets inside?

I only want my hat—Here, I say, please don't go away—here's asovereign, it will only take you a minute.

You aren't going to give me a sovereign, and rise it to two sovereigns,for anempty hat?

But I must have my hat. I can't be seen in the streets like this.There's nothingin the hat. What do you think's in the hat?

Ah, I'm not clever enough to say that, but it looks as if the paperswas in that hat.

Yes, papers proving, if you can get them, that you're the heir to thatbig house, and some poor innocent will be defrauded.

Look here, the hat's absolutely empty. Imust have my hat. Ifthere's anything in it you shall have it yourself as well as the twopounds, only get me my hat.

Seems all right to me and seems all right to you. But it's the policewhat you and I have got to think of. Will it seem all right to them?

Excuse me, sir. Excuse my asking you, but, as you see, I am without ahat. I shall be extraordinarily obliged to you if you would be so verygood as to get it for me. Pretend you have come to wind the clocks, youknow. I left it in the drawing-room of this house, half under the longsofa, the far end.

Thanks so much, I am immensely indebted to you. Just say you've come towind the clocks, you know.

Oh, that's all right, just stand in front of the clock and fool aboutwith it. That's all they ever do. I must warn you there's a lady in theroom.

But for goodness sake don't leave me. You can't leave me here like thiswithout a hat.

Excuse me, sir. Excuse my stopping you. But I should be immenselyobliged to you if you would do me a very great favor. I haveunfortunately left my hat behind while calling at this house. It ishalf under the long sofa, at the far end. If you could possibly be sokind as to pretend you have come to tune the piano and fetch my hat forme I should be enormously grateful to you.

If you have committed a murder, by all means tell me. I am notsufficiently interested in ethics to wish to have you hanged for it.

No, of course not. I am only saying that you can safely trust me, fornot only does the statute book and its penalties rather tend to boreme, but murder itself has always had a certain fascination for me. Iwrite delicate and fastidious lyrics, yet, strange as it may appear, Iread every murder trial, and my sympathies are always with theprisoner.

I have quarrelled with a lady in that house and have sworn to join theBosnians and die in Africa.

You go to die for a hopeless love, and in a far country; it was thewont of the troubadours.

That I will gladly do for you. But we must find an adequate reason forentering the house.

That, unfortunately, is impossible. The sound of a piano beingunskilfully handled is to me what the continual drop of cold water onthe same part of the head is said to be in countries where thatinteresting torture is practised. There is—

There is a house where kind friends of mine have given me that securityand comfort that are a poet's necessity. But there was a governessthere and a piano. It is years and years since I was able even to seethe faces of those friends without an inward shudder.

You are bringing back to these unhappy days the romance of an age ofwhich the ballads tell us that kings sometimes fought in no other armorthan their lady's nightshirt.

I don't know what you call essentials, but being decently dressed inLondon seems pretty essential to me.

Let us sit down and talk of things that matter, things that will beremembered after a hundred years. (They sit) Regarded in thislight one sees at once the triviality of hats. But to die, and diebeautifully for a hopeless love, that is a thing one could make a lyricabout. That is the test of essential things—try and imagine them in alyric. One could not write a lyric about a hat.

I don't care whether you could write a lyric about my hat or whetheryou couldn't. All I know is that I am not going to make myselfabsolutely ridiculous by walking about in London without a hat. Willyou get it for me or will you not?

Well, pretend you've come to look at the radiator. They have one underthe window, and I happen to know it leaks.

Then I decline to look at it or to go near it. I know these decorationsin cast iron. I once saw a pot-bellied Egyptian god, named Bēs, andhe wasmeant to be ugly, but he wasn't as ugly as thesedecorations that the twentieth century can make with machinery. Whathas a plumber got to do with art that he should dare to attemptdecoration?

I won't look at ugly things and I won't listen to ugly noises, but ifyou can think of any reasonable plan I don't mind helping you.

I can think of nothing else. You don't look like a plumber or aclock-winder. I can think of nothing more. I have had a terrible ordealand I am not in the condition to think calmly.

If I could bring my thoughts to contemplate so absurd a thing as a hatfor any length of time no doubt I could think of a plan, but the verytriviality of the theme seems to scare them away.

I know it will seem absurd, but not so absurd as walking through Londonwithout it.

I don't mean that. But you will make it up. You will forgive eachother, and you will marry her and have a family of noisy, pimplychildren like everyone else, and Romance will be dead. No, don't ringthat bell. Go and buy a bayonet, or whatever one does buy, and join theBosnians.

What is a hat! Will you sacrifice for it a beautiful doom? Think ofyour bones, neglected and forgotten, lying forlornly because ofhopeless love on endless golden sands. "Lying forlorn!" as Keats said.What a word! Forlorn in Africa. The careless Bedouins going past byday, at night the lion's roar, the grievous voice of the desert.

As a matter of fact, I don't think you're right in speaking of it asdesert. The Bosnians, I believe, are only taking it because it issupposed to be the most fertile land in the world.

What of that? You will not be remembered by geography and statistics,but by golden-mouthed Romance. And that is how Romance sees Africa.

Think! Think! If you enter by that door you will never fall among theforemost Bosnians. You will never die in a far-off, lonely land to lieby immense Sahara. And she will never weep for your beautiful doom andcall herself cruel in vain.

Hark! She is playing the piano. It seems to me that she might beunhappy about it for years. I don't see much good in that.

I will make songs about your beautiful death, glad songs and sad songs.They shall be glad because they tell again the noble tradition of thetroubadours, and sad because they tell of your sorrowful destiny and ofyour hopeless love.

I shall make legends also about your lonely bones, telling perhaps howsome Arabian men, finding them in the desert by some oasis, memorablein war, wonder who loved them. And then as I read them to her, sheweeps perhaps a little, and I read instead of the glory of the soldier,how it overtops our transitory—

It seems to me that you're in rather an undue hurry for me to get aJubu spear in me; but I'm going to get my hat first.

I appeal to you. I appeal to you in the name of beautiful battles, highdeeds, and lost causes; in the name of love-tales told to cruel maidensand told in vain. In the name of stricken hearts broken like beautifulharp-strings, I appeal to you.

You will marry. You will sometimes take a ticket with your wife as faras Paris. Perhaps as far as Cannes. Then the family will come; a largesprawling family as far as the eye can see (I speak in hyperbole).You'll earn money and feed it and be like all the rest. No monumentwill ever be set up to your memory but—

But let there be graven in brass upon this house: Romance was bornagain here out of due time and died young. (He sits down)

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE PLAYS ***

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	PAGE
Introduction	vii
Chronological List of Plays	xiii
The Gods of the Mountain	1
The Golden Doom	39
King Argimēnēs and the Unknown Warrior	61
The Glittering Gate	87
The Lost Silk Hat	101

Agmar	}
Slag	}
Ulf	}
Oogno	}	Beggars
Thahn	}
Mlan	}
A Thief	}

Oorander	}
Illanaun	}	Citizens
Akmos	}

The Dromedary Men
Citizens, etc.
The Others

King Argimēnēs	}
Zarb,a slave born of slaves	}
An Old Slave	}	Slaves of King Darniak
A Young Slave	}
Slaves	}

King Darniak
The King's Overseer
A Prophet
The Idol-Guard
The Servant of the King's Dog

Queen Atharlia	}
Queen Oxara	}	Queens of King Darniak
Queen Cahafra	}
Queen Thragolind	}

Guards and Attendants

Jim,lately a burglar	}	Both dead
Bill,lately a burglar	}	Both dead

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The Project Gutenberg eBook ofFive Plays

FIVE PLAYS

INTRODUCTION

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS BY LORD DUNSANY

THE GODS OF THE MOUNTAINPERSONS

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

THE GOLDEN DOOMPERSONS

KING ARGIMĒNĒS AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIORPERSONS

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE GLITTERING GATEPERSONS

THE LOST SILK HATPERSONS

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

THE GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN

PERSONS

THE GOLDEN DOOM

PERSONS

KING ARGIMĒNĒS AND THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR

PERSONS

THE GLITTERING GATE

PERSONS

THE LOST SILK HAT

PERSONS