Public-domain ebook
Language: en468 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: One Act Plays·Plays/Films/Dramas
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #16636.
The opening · free to read
NIGHT! And a black and barren sky With a wet wind in from the coast. And only the kites to make reply To heaving body and pleading cry-- Here where the lost battalions lie, I walked last night with a ghost.
His face was gray, his hands were red, And a ghostly mare he rode, That wearily stepped, with drooping head, Over the shadowy lines of dead, And rolled her eyes, and shook with dread Under her foam-white load.
The ghost turned not to left or right. But mutely he beckoned me, And moved like a pillar of livid light Through the humid dark of the foggy night, With eyes deep-sunken and greenly bright As phosphor on the sea.
He led me where in ghostly files The dead slept with their toys. Miles, miles, and never-ending miles, Along the valley's mournful aisles, The voiceless, vague, misshapen piles Of men and golden boys!
He led me up the gory hill By wood and sodden heath. Ravage! And faces, lone and chill, In the murmuring wash of the willow-rill! Slaughter! And voices, begging shrill The merciful grace of death.
A waning moon broke, sickly pale, Through the muddy fog's disguising; And over the breadth of the ghastly vale The battle-wake like a steamer's trail, And a heaving as of waves in a gale, Rising and falling and rising!
And out of the air, and up from the plain, The ancient battle-story!-- Of stricken love and laughter slain, And hearts beneath the hoofs of pain-- But not a breath of human gain, And not a word of glory.
In costuming this play, it is essential that the uniforms of the Iberian officers in the first scene should not be conspicuously copied after those of any of the armies of Europe. A compromise, grotesque to the expert, would be better here than a misleading realism.
The MINISTER OF WAR, a tall, stern, bearded man with deep-set eyes and many furrows, is sitting at a large, mahogany desk-table, Left.
The CHIEF OF STAFF, silent, motionless and watchful, stands beside him with his hands resting on the table-top. He is thin, old and emaciated, clean-shaven, firm-lipped, and looks startlingly like a bird of prey. Right, stands a group of generals and other officers.
I can only repeat, gentlemen, what his Excellency, the Chief of Staff, has already made clear to you. Nothing has been decided. You have your orders in your pockets. There may be war and there may not be war. I understand, gentlemen, your natural impatience once more to draw the naked steel for the glory of our country, and you may rest assured that his gracious majesty, the King, will not forget that his fame and the happiness of his people rests ultimately in your hands. Personally, as a man of family and as a Christian, I hope to God that peace may be preserved. But if God wills that our enemy, by his insolence, forces us to draw the sword, I know that you will wield it with honor and will not sheathe it until our enemy is crushed, root and branch, stock and barrel, and brought so low that he will never raise his head again in dishonorable defiance of our holy rights.
[_The_ OFFICERS shout with enthusiasm, lifting their helmets in air. The MINISTER OF WAR sits down again.
That is all, gentlemen.
[_There is another cheer. The_ OFFICERS stand about in groups a minute or so, then file out through the double-door in the centre of the rear wall. One elderly general, only, comes up quickly to the desk.
The peace propagandists are after him. Mediation is the magic word. Mediation--by which the neutral nations block our legitimate road to victory for their own benefit, in the name of civilization and progress.
Give me a sword in my right hand again, I say! I'll break open a few skulls yet, for all my sixty years. Eh? Mediation! Let those mediate, I say, who are afraid to fight!
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