Chapter 7

_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 has a soul."

"You mistake," _replies his colleague_; "it is but an evil Nat. {32} Observe its eyes: they are not those of a bird; they are those of a spirit in prison."

_They pass on in the wake of the ministers_.

_The peacock closes its eyes_.

_Enter the two young_ PRINCES, _accompanied by two great Pegu hounds_. _They converse in subdued tones_, _strolling slowly_. _They are followed by pages of honour_, _carrying grain_, _which the young men proceed to distribute amongst the birds as they rapidly approach them_. _The peacock on the wall never stirs_; _she watches the young men always_. _Then the elder one comes with a handful of food and proffers it_, _but the peacock does not eat_.

"I shall never understand you, Queen of the Kingdom of Birds," _he says_, _and strokes her feathers_. _At his touch the plumage scintillates with a brighter_, _a more exquisite sheen_.

_He murmurs to the bird in soft tones and mythical words_. _He tells it that the fear of everyone is that the King is mortally stricken_, _for he lies yonder in most strange and evil agony_; _that the hearts of himself and his brother are numb with the sorrow that knows no language_. _The bird listens eagerly_. _And if the King should go_, _he_, _the speaker_, _will reign in his stead_. _The prospect fills him with fear_. _He desires_, _as also his brother_, _if the King must die_, _to return to dwell in the forest with the mother who he knows awaits them there_.

_The peacock spreads its wings as if for flight_, _then crouches down once more_, _and over it watches the young prince_.

_The sun envelops them both in a sudden shaft of rose and purple and gold_. _A servant descends and comes across the grass_. _He shikoes profoundly to the two young men_, _lifting up his hands in the deepest reverence of Burmah_.

"The Lord of the Earth and the Sky desires his sons; he nears the Great Unknown."

CURTAIN