large/11398/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_08_dunsany_64kb_15
large/11398/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_08_dunsany_64kb
English
11398
I do not tell the tale of that garden of Arras, for that is conjecture, and I only tell what I saw, in order that someone perhaps in some far country may know what happened in thousands and thousands of gardens because an Emperor sighed, and longed for the splendour of war. I DO NOT TELL THE TALE OF THAT GARDEN OF ARRAS FOR THAT IS CONJECTURE AND I ONLY TELL WHAT I SAW IN ORDER THAT SOMEONE PERHAPS IN SOME FAR COUNTRY MIGHT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF GARDENS BECAUSE AN EMPEROR SIGHED AND LONGED FOR THE SPLENDOUR OF WAR
war that comes to gardens, without banners or trumpets or splendour, and roots up everything, and turns round and smashes the house, and leaves it all desolate, and forgets and goes away. And when the histories of the war are written, attacks and counter-attacks and the doom of Emperors, who will remember that garden? Saddest of all, as it seemed to me watching the garden paths, were spiders' webs that had been spun across them, so grey and stout and strong, fastened from weed to weed, with the spiders in their midst sitting in obvious ownership. You knew then as you looked at those webs across all the paths in the garden that any that you might fancy walking the small paths still, were but grey ghosts gone from thence, no more than dreams, hopes and imaginings, something altogether weaker than spiders webs. And the old wall of the garden that divides it from its neighbour, of solid stone and brick, over fifteen feet high, it is that mighty old wall that held the romance of the garden.  THE REST SPEAKS OF WAR OF WAR THAT COMES TO GARDENS WITHOUT BANNERS OR TRUMPETS OR SPLENDOR AND ROOTS UP EVERYTHING AND TURNS ROUND AND SMASHES THE HOUSE AND LEAVES IT ALL DESOLATE AND FORGETS AND GOES AWAY AND WHEN THE HISTORIES OF THE WAR WRITTEN ATTACKS AND COUNTER ATTACKS AND THE DOOM OF EMPERORS WHO WILL REMEMBER THAT GARDEN SADDEST OF ALL AS IT SEEMED TO ME WATCHING THE GARDEN PATHS WHERE SPIDERS WEBS THAT HAD BEEN SPUN ACROSS THEM SO GRAY AND STOUT AND STRONG FASTENED FROM WEED TO WEED WITH THE SPIDERS IN THEIR MIDST SITTING IN OBVIOUS OWNERSHIP YOU KNEW THEN AS YOU LOOKED AT THOSE WEBS ACROSS ALL THE PATHS AND THE GARDEN THAT ANY THAT YOU MIGHT FANCY WALKING THE SMALL PATHS STILL WERE BUT GREY GHOSTS GONE FROM THENCE NO MORE THAN DREAMS HOPES AND IMAGININGS SOMETHING ALTOGETHER WEAKER THAN SPIDER'S WEBS AND THE OLD WALL OF THE GARDEN THAT DIVIDES IT FROM ITS NEIGHBOUR OF SOLID STONE AND BRICK OVER FIFTEEN FEET HIGH IT IS THAT MIGHTY OLD WALL THAT HELD THE ROMANCE OF THE GARDEN
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