For Love of the King | Page 4

BENG goes (C.) with U. RAI GYAN THOO. MAH PHRU
mounts to the verandah to watch them go from behind the curtains.
Then, slowly sinking across the heaped-up cushions, she faints.
The sun has set. The music ceases. The melancholy cry of the peacocks
fills the silence.
ACT DROP

ACT III
SCENE I
Seven years have elapsed.
The same scene.
Curtain discovers MAH PHRU seated on a high verandah. A
clearance has been made in the surrounding trees to give a full view of
the road beyond. She is watching, always watching. With her are two
beautiful little boys.
"To-day, perhaps," she murmurs. "Perhaps to-morrow; but without
fail--one day."
"Look!" she cries. "At last my lord returns!"
Coming up the jungle road, in view of the audience, are a bevy of

horsemen.
MAH PHRU, wondering, descends to greet them. Enter U. RAI GYAN
THOO. He is dressed all in white, which is Burmese mourning. MAH
PHRU sinks back--she fears the worst. The old man reassures her. He
tells her that MENG BENG has sent for his sons--that the Queen is
dead, and there is no heir.
"Queen? What Queen?" demands MAH PHRU.
"The Queen of Burmah."
So MAH PHRU learns for the first time that her lover is the ruler of
the country, supreme master of and dictator to everyone.
Weeping, but not daring to disobey, she summons the children to her;
then, sinking on her knees, entreats in moving and pathetic words to be
permitted to go with them, in the lowest most menial capacity. U. RAI
GYAN THOO refuses. There is no place for her in the greatness of the
world yonder. "Even Kings forget," he says. "It is the command of the
supreme Lord of the Earth and of the Sky that she remain where she
is."
Then he orders his followers to make the necessary arrangements for
the safe journey of their future king and his brother.
The children stand passive in their gay dress, but are bewildered and
afraid.
MAH PHRU has risen to her feet. She appears as if turned to
bronze--a model of restraint and dignity, blent with colour and beauty
and infinite grace.
THE CURTAIN DESCENDS SLOWLY

SCENE II

The same night.
The home of the Chinese Wizard, HIP LOONG, by the river--a place
fitted with Chinese things: Dragons of gold with eyes of jade gleaming
from out dim corners, Buddhas of gigantic size fashioned of priceless
metals with heads that move, swinging banners with fringes of
many-coloured stones, lanterns with glass slides on which are painted
grotesque figures. The air is full of the scent of joss sticks. The Wizard
reclines on a divan, inhaling opium slowly, clothed with the subdued
gorgeousness of China--blue and tomato-red predominate. He has the
appearance of a wrinkled walnut. His forehead is a lattice- work of
wrinkles. His pigtail, braided with red, is twisted round his head. His
hands are as claws. The effect is weird, unearthly.
Enter MAH PHRU.
The Wizard silently motions her to some piled-up cushions at a little
distance. He listens to what she tells him. He appears unmoved, at a
recital apparently full of tragedy. Only the eyes of the dragons move,
and the heads of the Buddhas go slowly like pendulums. When she has
finished speaking, HIP LOONG makes reply.
"This is how passion always ends. I have lived for a thousand years;
and on this planet it is ever the same."
MAH PHRU is not listening.
"How can I go to my children?" she demands, once again.
"I can turn you into a bird," the Wizard says. "You can fly to the palace
and walk and watch ever on that terrace in the rose gardens above the
sea."
"What bird?" she asks, trembling.
"You shall have the form of the white paddy bird, because, though a
woman and foolish as women ever are, you are very pure ivory. O!
daughter of man and of love."

To this MAH PHRU dissents. She paces the long room.
"Transform me into a peacock; they are more beautiful."
The Wizard, leaning on his elbow, smiles, and the smile is a revelation
of a mocking comprehension.
"So be it." He bows his head.
The lights fade one by one.
CURTAIN

SCENE III
The Gardens of the Palace of the King.
Time: late afternoon.
Colonnades of roses stretch away on every side. Fountains play,
throwing a shower on water-lilies of monstrous size. Peacocks walk
with stately tread across the green turf. Only one, larger and more
beautiful than the rest, is perched alone, with drooping head and folded
tail, on the broad-pillared terrace that overhangs the sea. The scene is
aglow with light and colour, yet holds a shadowed silence.
Enter some courtiers, who converse in perturbed fashion as they go
towards the Palace.