For Love of the King | Page 4

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.
Enter MOUNG PHO MHIN and U. RAI GYAN THOO, accompanied by the Court Physicians and Astrologers.
"The King cannot live beyond the night," the Physicians say. The sudden, mysterious illness that has attacked him defies their skill.
The Astrologers declare that the stars in their courses fight against his recovery; unless a miracle should happen, the new day will see him dead.
The Ministers regard each other in consternation; then walk the terrace with bent heads.
The peacock on the wall spreads its tail and utters a melancholy cry of poignant pain.
The listeners start in superstitious horror.
The peacock folds its tail and resumes its meditations.
"That bird is not as other birds," one astrologer declares. "I have watched it for years past--it is ever alone--the others all avoid it. I think it