large/10244/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_11_dunsany_64kb_1
large/10244/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_11_dunsany_64kb
English
10244
For under plaster shaken down by calamity, and red dust that once was bricks, it is our own age that is lying; and the little things that lie about the floors are relics of the twentieth century. FOR UNDER PLASTER SHAKEN DOWN BY CALAMITY AND RED DUST THAT ONCE WAS BRICKS IT IS OUR OWN AGE THAT IS LYING AND THE LITTLE THINGS THAT LIE ABOUT THE FLOORS ARE RELICS OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
se cities one can look with interest and not be saddened by the faintest sorrow--for anything that happened to such a different people so very long ago. Ram-headed gods, although their horns be broken and all their worshippers gone; armies whose elephants have turned against them; kings whose ancestors have eclipsed their faces in heaven and left them helpless against the onslaught of the stars; not a tear is given for one of these to-day. But when in ruins as complete as Pompeii, as desolate as Timgad amongst its African hills, you see the remnant of a pack of cards lying with what remains of the stock of a draper's shop; and the front part of the shop and the snug room at the back gape side by side together in equal, misery, as though there had never been a barrier between the counter with its wares and the good mahogany table with its decanters; then in the rustling of papers that blow with dust along long-desolate floors one hears the whisper of Disaster, saying, "See; I have come.  NEARER AT ALL THESE CITIES ONE CAN LOOK WITH INTEREST AND NOT BE SADDENED BY THE FAINTEST SORROW FOR ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED TO SUCH A DIFFERENT PEOPLE SO VERY LONG AGO RAM HEADED GODS ALTHOUGH THEIR HORNS BE BROKEN AND ALL THEIR WORSHIPPERS GONE ARMIES WHOSE ELEPHANTS HAVE TURNED AGAINST THEM KINGS WHOSE ANCESTORS HAVE ECLIPSED THEIR FACES IN HEAVEN AND LEFT THEM HELPLESS AGAINST THE ONSLAUGHT OF THE STARS NOT A TEAR IS GIVEN FOR ONE OF THESE TO DAY BUT WHEN IN RUINS AS COMPLETE AS POMPEII AS DESOLATE AS TIMGAD AMONGST ITS AFRICAN HILLS YOU SEE THE REMNANT OF A PACK OF CARDS LINE WITH WHAT REMAINS OF THE STOCK OF A DRAPER'S SHOP AND THE FRONT PART OF THE SHOP AND THE SNUG ROOM AT THE BACK GAPED SIDE BY SIDE TOGETHER IN EQUAL MISERY AS THOUGH THERE HAD NEVER BEEN A BARRIER BETWEEN THE COUNTER WITH ITS WARES AND THE GOOD MAHOGANY TABLE WITH ITS DECANTERS THEN IN THE RUSTLING OF PAPERS THAT BLOW WITH DUST ALONG LONG DESOLATE FLOORS ONE HEARS THE WHISPER OF DISASTER SAYING SEE I HAVE COME
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