Unhappy Far-Off Things

Lord Dunsany
Unhappy Far-Off Things

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Title: Unhappy Far-Off Things
Author: Lord Dunsany
Release Date: October 21, 2004 [EBook #13820]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

Produced by Tom Harris

by Lord Dunsany

I have chosen a title that shall show that I make no claim for this book
to be "up-to-date." As the first title indicates, I hoped to show, to as
many as might to read my words, something of the extent of the wrongs
that the people of France had suffered. There is no such need any
longer. The tales, so far as they went, I gather together here for the few
that seem to read my books in England.


A Dirge Of Victory (Sonnet)
Lift not thy trumpet, Victory, to the sky, Nor through battalions nor by
batteries blow, But over hollows full of old wire go, Where among
dregs of war the long-dead lie With wasted iron that the guns passed by.
When they went eastwards like a tide at flow; There blow thy trumpet
that the dead may know, Who waited for thy coming, Victory.
It is not we that have deserved thy wreath, They waited there among
the towering weeds. The deep mud burned under the thermite's breath,
And winter cracked the bones that no man heeds: Hundreds of nights
flamed by: the seasons passed. And thou last come to them at last, at

The Cathedral Of Arras
On the great steps of Arras Cathedral I saw a procession, in silence,
standing still.
They were in orderly and perfect lines, stirring or swaying slightly:
sometimes they bent their heads, sometimes two leaned together, but
for the most part they were motionless. It was the time when the
fashion is just changing and some were newly all in shining yellow,
while others still wore green.
I went up the steps amongst them, the only human thing, for men and
women worship no more in Arras Cathedral, and the trees have come
instead; little humble things, all less than four years old, in great
numbers thronging the steps processionally, and growing in perfect
rows just where step meets step. They have come to Arras with the
wind and the rain; which enter the aisles together whenever they will,
and go wherever man went; they have such a reverent air, the young
limes on the three flights of steps, that you would say they did not
know that Arras Cathedral was fallen on evil days, that they did not
know they looked on ruin and vast disaster, but thought that these great
walls open to stars and sun were the natural and fitting place for the
worship of little weeds.
Behind them the shattered houses of Arras seemed to cluster about the
cathedral as, one might fancy easily, hurt and frightened children, so

wistful are their gaping windows and old, grey empty gables, so
melancholy and puzzled. They are more like a little old people come
upon trouble, gazing at their great elder companion and not knowing
what to do.
But the facts of Arras are sadder than a poet's most tragic fancies. In the
western front of Arras Cathedral stand eight pillars rising from the
ground; above them stood four more. Of the four upper pillars the two
on the left are gone, swept away by shells from the north: and a shell
has passed through the neck of one of the two that is left, just as a
bullet might go through a daffodil's stem.
The left-hand corner of that western wall has been caught from the
north, by some tremendous shell which has torn the whole corner down
in a mound of stone: and still the walls have stood.
I went in through the western doorway. All along the nave lay a long
heap of white stones, with grass and weeds on the top, and a little
trodden path over the grass and weeds. This is all that remained of the
roof of Arras Cathedral and of any chairs or pews there may have been
in the nave, or anything that may have hung above them. It was all
down but one slender arch that crossed the nave just at the transept; it
stood out against the sky, and all who saw it wondered how it stood.
In the southern aisle panes of green glass, in twisted frame of
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