The Puppet-Booth; Twelve Plays

This volume was published in 1896. Contents: I. The Cure of Souls II. On the Whirlwind III. The Love of Love IV. Afterglow V. The Ship Comes In VI. At Saint Judas's VII. The Light that Always Is VIII. The Dead-and-Alive IX. Northern Lights X. The Story-Spinner XI. The Stranger Within the Gates XII. In Such a Night .............................................................................. Some Excerpts: The Cure of Souls: A pool in the heart of the primeval forest. Close beside it, a human habitation half lodge, half chapel. The pool is fed by a small stream which, rising high above, forms a waterfall over a ledge of rock ; and it is emptied by means of a wider stream which flows into a lake lying many feet below. Close to the edge of the pool a flock of lambs are grazing, and two or three swans, with their young, float upon its surface. The spot is closed in by a chain of mountain-peaks pink in the latest moment of the sunset glow, and upon the lightly ruffled bosom of the pool itself one sees the dancing double of the evening star. .............................................................................. On the Whirlwind: A workshop in the midst of a vast city and high above it. Wide windows command the roofs that shelter a mil- lion people and the harbor to which has come for genera- tions the tribute of a world. A high wind sweeps freely round ; it causes the defiant flaunting of a myriad flags but the same flag always, and it will bring at intervals great swirling clouds of dun and pungent smoke. Outside the harbor one sees an aggregation of enormous ironclads, whose flag is not the flag above the roofs all round about: the clouds of smoke, too, will come from that same quarter, for the smoke is to be the smoke of battle. The room is cumbered with the varied apparatus of science, and through every window the air is seen to be cut by the black lines of multitudes of wires that radiate to every point of the compass. The Master, a grave, self-absorbed man of thirty-five, stands looking out at one of the windows. No one can be sure of what he sees, or of his seeing anything at all ; it can only be certain that his hands, with corded veins and half-purpled nails, are strained in a motionless and vise- like grip behind his back. ............................................................................. The Love of Love: A hilltop. A white marble wall, before which is drawn up an inexorable array of Doric columns. In the middle of the wall is a single doorway, which leads to darkness save for the occasional reflection of red flames from with- in. On either side of the doorway there stands a burned- out brazen funeral torch, and under the colonnade, as well as on the steps which rise to it, are stationed several black- draped groups that look out toward the horizon-line of the sea. They are waiting. It is evening, and above the tops of the cypress-trees which lead, in a long avenue, up to the foot of the Monument the stars are shining shin- ing coldly, serenely, patiently, impersonally : they do not care they have seen too much. They give no heed to the Monument, nor to the convent-isle that whitens in their light a league from shore.