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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 William P. Wreden
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT
 
 THE 
 SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 BY 
 
 A. KINGSLEY PORTER 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 MARSHALL JONES COMPANY 
 MDCCCCXIX
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919 
 BY MARSHALL JONES COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN U. B. A. 
 BY THE UNIVERSITY PBESS, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
 
 3l 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 IN the days of the glory of Rome when 
 men were wont, just as now, to throw their 
 shoulders out of joint by striving to em- 
 brace the universe the poet Lucretius 
 dreamed a dream saturated with the per- 
 fume of adolescence. He imagined he could 
 free the human race from superstition. 
 Shocked at the cruelty of the state religion, 
 at the waste and uselessness of worship to 
 imaginary deities, at the immorality of cer- 
 tain rites, at the imbecility of the apotheo- 
 sized emperors, he determined to open 
 men's eyes, to point out to them the truth. 
 
 To-day Lucretius' purpose is accom- 
 plished, albeit not by him and through forces 
 he little imagined. The gods of Rome, 
 cold as any stone, are wrapped in a sempi- 
 ternal twilight. On this wide planet with 
 all its extravagant sects and conflicting 
 creeds, with its myriad world-weary, belief- 
 hungry human beings, there is no longer a 
 man who believes in Jove or even Apollo. 
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
 785515
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The Olympian dynasty that once exerted 
 through a flock of birds or the entrails 
 of a victim despotic control alike over 
 trivial detail of individual lives and over the 
 gravest decisions of national destiny has 
 passed. The earth has been freed from a 
 great illusion. 
 
 Fortunate for Lucretius (as, indeed, for 
 any one), that he never saw the realization 
 of his dream ! He who had imagined a race 
 made god-like by a great emancipation, 
 would have found us, with our unnum- 
 bered contradictory and irreconcilable be- 
 liefs and religions; he would have learned 
 that worse than error is materialism, and 
 worse than materialism is war; he would 
 have seen that men who no longer hale vic- 
 tims to the altar of Hercules are not neces- 
 sarily nobler in action nor freer in thought. 
 
 The truth appears to be, indeed, that the 
 only power which can or at least com- 
 monly does dispel an illusion is another 
 illusion. The human mind is so constituted 
 that it abhors a vacuum of lies. If we drive 
 out one, we must put a second more power- 
 ful in its place. Lucretius himself was able 
 [ 6 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 to obtain freedom from the illusion of the 
 pagan gods only by making himself the 
 slave of another, worse, because mechanical 
 and lifeless the dogma of fortuitous 
 atoms. Had he not been comforted by 
 this empirical myth, he could never have 
 escaped from the poetic one of Olympus. 
 When the world at large turned its back 
 on the temple of Jupiter, it was because 
 it too had found another illusion, one 
 sweeter doubtless than the barren intel- 
 lectualism of the poet, but still an illu- 
 sion. The Christian was not terrified by 
 thunder on the right, but he avoided setting 
 sail on Friday. If he no longer poured 
 libations to the gods of the lower world, he 
 was still unwilling to sit thirteen at table. 
 Miracles were performed by relics that are 
 now proven false. Worship and devotion 
 were paid to the unauthentic bodies of bogus 
 saints. The particular sect or religion in 
 which, gentlest of readers, you and I chance 
 to believe, is, let it be at once granted, free 
 from illusion. We two, at any rate, eagle- 
 like can look with unflinching eye upon the 
 sun of truth. We doubtless have compre-
 
 PREFACE 
 
 bended aright the mysteries of the universe. 
 When, however, we ponder how many are 
 the forms of religious belief in the world 
 to-day, and that all these, in measure as 
 they differ from our own, must be more or 
 less erroneous, we realize how small, how 
 negligibly small, a minority believe as you 
 and I believe; and in consequence, how 
 many are still guided by illusion. 
 
 Yet these others who believe an untruth, 
 are perhaps on that account no less amiable 
 and no less happy. For the Sicilian peas- 
 ant, a jewel-bedecked Madonna of wax 
 conveys an inspiration the philosophies of 
 Plato or Croce are powerless to bestow. 
 Through illusion, during the centuries, 
 heart-aches have been assuaged, moral cour- 
 age attained, death endured. A truth which 
 would deprive human frailty of such a sol- 
 ace would indeed be cruel. It is true 
 that religious illusion has created not only 
 Gothic cathedrals, Miltons, saints, but icon- 
 oclasts, inquisitors, wars. Yet the very 
 cruelty, the very hardness of religion bear 
 witness to its vitality. Men do not die, or 
 even put to death, for what is nothing 
 [8 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 to them. If they have fought for religion, 
 it has been because religion was essen- 
 tial to their happiness. To-day, for all 
 our tolerance (and we are relatively toler- 
 ant only because we are relatively indif- 
 ferent), we hardly dare write or even speak 
 of religion. Experience has taught that 
 difference of opinion upon this wounds 
 more deeply than upon any other subject. 
 It is clear that man still clutches desper- 
 ately at religious belief. Only a Gre- 
 gors would, even if he could, rob him, in the 
 interest of some cold intellectual truth, of 
 an illusion for which he so ardently yearns. 
 
 Illusion, too, is the faith that quite liter- 
 ally has power to heal the sick and move 
 mountains. The remedy prescribed in the 
 Shinto shrines of Japan, in the fanes of Aes- 
 culapius, in countless sanctuaries of the 
 Middle Ages, at Lourdes, at Ste.-Anne-de- 
 Beaupre and by Christian Science is always 
 the same, and always effective. Greek phy- 
 sicians, wiser than ours, recognized that 
 magical amulets frequently produced re- 
 sults for which they were entirely unable to 
 account. The benefits we derive from mod- 
 
 [ 9 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 ern medicine are doubtless increased by the 
 fact that we have confidence, perhaps over- 
 confidence, in its power. It is a banal 
 observation that in many disorders the 
 mental is at least as important as the 
 physical. Faith has indubitably the power 
 to create actuality. 
 
 Of all illusions, the most futile and the 
 most dangerous is that of emancipation 
 from illusion. Lucretius was only one of a 
 long series of Don Quixotes who have chiv- 
 alrously set their lances in rest to reduce to 
 fact a world whose lungs can only breathe 
 the air of unreality. At most, these dream- 
 breakers have but succeeded in replacing a 
 time-bitten illusion by a less dusty one. The 
 eighteenth century with touching naivete 
 set out upon the fool's quest after truth. It 
 threw out upon the dung-heap the illusion 
 of dogma, and set up in its place the illusion 
 of reason. Rousseau's noble savage fur- 
 nished the leather from which were resoled 
 the boots of Moses. 
 
 There ensued an avalanche of minor con- 
 sequences, the course of which it is comical 
 enough to follow. The queen must mas- 
 [ 10 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 querade as a dairy-maid. To supply a mise- 
 en-scene, Le Notre's masterpiece had to be 
 trinketed out with toy lakes and dolls' 
 houses. It subsequently transpired that, 
 after all, savages never had been noble. But 
 from illusion, reality had already resulted. 
 Inspired by Versailles, an entire school of 
 landscape gardening took its rise. Thus the 
 illusion of the noble savage becomes tan- 
 gible reality for Philemon, who, seeking the 
 sunshine of a spring Sunday, wanders list- 
 lessly among the labyrinthian pathways of 
 his city park. 
 
 The return to nature was promptly dis- 
 carded by the nineteenth century, which in- 
 stead bought fresh nostrums from new char- 
 latans. The noble savage was replaced by 
 the perhaps equally imaginary primitive 
 man of the anthropologists. The illusion 
 of mechanistic science has produced another 
 crop of pragmatic results, partly good, 
 mostly evil and these will perhaps live 
 long after the theory which produced them, 
 yielding to something newer, has passed, 
 like Lucretius' atoms, into the charnel-house 
 of discarded creeds.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Nor is it only in matters pertaining to 
 philosophy that illusion hems us about. The 
 poetry of youth that golden, magnetic 
 youth sung by Conrad, youth that is so full 
 of faith and aspiration and possibility, 
 youth, the consummation of life is only il- 
 lusion. Youth is youth, because only then 
 native optimism is still undarkened by the 
 shadow of reality. From illusion youth 
 gains its elasticity and buoyancy, unreach- 
 able to middle age, heavy with weary knowl- 
 edge. Through dreaming of the impos- 
 sible, youth stretches beyond the limits of 
 attainment. The strong man never entirely 
 outgrows the illusions of youth. By hitch- 
 ing our wagon to a star we may not succeed 
 in navigating the heavens, but we are at 
 least enabled to stand on tip-toe. He who 
 sees himself as he truly is, becomes the 
 most cowed and cringing of mortals. It is 
 vitally necessary for every one, in his heart 
 of hearts, to believe that in some direction 
 he is gifted above his fellows, and to this 
 necessity we happily all conform. Achieve- 
 ment is only possible because we each, in- 
 stinctively, over-estimate our own worth. 
 [ 12 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Thus the very foundations of life are laid on 
 illusion. 
 
 That which we call idealism is also only 
 the stuff that dreams are made of. Outraged 
 spirits thus escape from the prose of reality 
 to the poetry of imagination. This will-o'- 
 the-wisp has heartened many tired wander- 
 ers. It is as inspiring, if not more so, to im- 
 itate an ideal as an actual example. A man 
 may often acquire force of character by be- 
 lieving himself, or another, to possess moral 
 qualities not real, but imaginary, and then 
 striving with his entire energies to realize 
 that conception. There can be no doubt 
 that Islam, through following the ideal of 
 Mahomet, is vastly different from what it 
 would have been, had it followed the ideal 
 of Buddha or of Confucius. No actual be- 
 ing ever existed like Pisanello's Gabriel, yet 
 that dream of unreality brightened the 
 existence not only of its creator, but of 
 generations who have come after. All art, 
 indeed, is constantly trespassing upon the 
 ideal. And the imaginary non-existent con- 
 ception is as constantly being translated into 
 fact. Scientists have frequently observed 
 [ 13 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 the power of ideals to mould reality through 
 natural selection. It is similarly an ancient 
 axiom that anything is possible to him who 
 but wills intensely enough. What we dream 
 determines what we become. Carlyle is en- 
 tirely right tell me what you believe, and 
 I will tell you what you are. The material 
 is only clay, which is given shape by the im- 
 material. 
 
 Scholarship, which seems so cumber- 
 some, so bound hand and foot to fact, is 
 in reality based on illusion. The student one 
 day conceives intuitively a thesis. He then 
 sets out to collect facts to support his point 
 of view. If he be of altogether exceptional 
 integrity, he may alter his preconceived 
 opinion slightly never very much to 
 conform with the result of his researches; 
 usually, however, his original idea remains 
 inviolate, and is the inspiration which spurs 
 him on to ransack dusty folios and archives, 
 to decipher forgotten records. When all is 
 done, the future quickly discards the thesis 
 which has been his pride, to support which he 
 has expended years of patient labour. But 
 the facts he has collected to prove his point,
 
 PREFACE 
 
 although they fail of their purpose, may be 
 for themselves of the highest importance. 
 Once more illusion has made achievement 
 possible. 
 
 Every one has noticed that children con- 
 stantly take refuge in illusion. Little 
 Baukis imagines that her dolls are real be- 
 ings. She knows that actually they are 
 not, but this knowledge in no wise inter- 
 feres with her pleasure in naming them, 
 in lavishing affection upon them, in enter- 
 ing into their fictitious lives. The same 
 element of illusion is the soul of all toys. 
 The hobby-horse becomes alive, real houses 
 are constructed from the blocks, mimic 
 automobiles and trains of cars annihilate 
 space with a success quite beyond the reach 
 of the latest machinery. The more widely 
 toys differ from actuality, the more pleas- 
 ure will they be apt to give. Philemon is 
 quite conscious that his son and heir de- 
 rives far less delight from realistic me- 
 chanical toys, than an older generation 
 found in simpler, more imaginative, play- 
 things. There is, as educationalists have 
 preached so much and so in vain no 
 [ 15 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 surer way to crush joy from the life of a 
 child than to burden him with elaborate 
 toys. For his happiness, like that of all the 
 world, lies in imagination. 
 
 The child weaves about his life a veil of 
 romance. Little Philemon derives keener 
 pleasure from a simple fairy-tale than his 
 mother does from a novel of great artistry. 
 His childish imagination is always on the 
 alert. For him the woods are inhabited by 
 strange animals, half terrifying, half allur- 
 ing. Bogey shapes lurk in dark rooms; 
 little pigs run along the window-sills; hob- 
 goblins dance naked in the moonshine of 
 summer nights. He lives in a world that 
 has few points of contact with the more 
 sober one his elders know. He is driven 
 by an instinct as powerful and unreasoning 
 as that of sex will later become, always to 
 pretend something which is one thing is 
 something else. 
 
 Of all illusions, the most transparent, per- 
 haps, is love. When the lover, sighing like 
 a furnace, composes a sonnet to his mistress* 
 eyebrow, he probably actually believes the 
 object of his affection is superior to other 
 [ 16 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 mortals. This illusion sometimes outlasts 
 the difficult period of adjustment sad matri- 
 mony entails. When at last it inevitably 
 dissolves, there is at least a chance custom 
 may take its place, and prove a force of 
 equal potency. Baukis and Philemon fall 
 in love and marry. At first each believes the 
 other the realization of an ideal type. If 
 Baukis burns the toast, she is readily for- 
 given in view of her imaginary perfections. 
 Philemon spills pipe-ashes on the bureau, 
 which of all things tries most sorely the 
 very depths of Baukis' soul; but instead of 
 flying to the divorce-court, Baukis con- 
 tents herself with meditating upon the quali- 
 ties she supposes Philemon to possess. 
 Years roll by. Philemon now and then 
 steals a glance at Naera's golden hair or 
 Chloe's well -shaped foot. Baukis, on 
 the other hand, allows herself, very occa- 
 sionally, to look deep into the eyes of 
 Adonis. But Philemon has now come 
 rather to prefer burnt toast; and Baukis 
 no longer notices the pipe-ashes on the 
 bureau. So they live together more happily 
 than ever, until one day there comes to knock 
 [ 17 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 at their door a gentle god, disguised as a 
 stranger. 
 
 So on the foundation of illusion is built 
 the mansion of happiness. Possibly an in- 
 distinct and instinctive realization of this is 
 the basis for the romantic tradition that 
 marriage should be founded solely upon sex 
 passion. Considered materialistically, noth- 
 ing could be more insensate than to found 
 an enduring relationship upon the most 
 volatile and least abiding of human whims. 
 Reason is undoubtedly on the side of the 
 irate parents ; Juliet and Leandre would be 
 fools, Shakespeare, Moliere, and all the 
 other playwrights and novelists who arouse 
 our sympathies for such nonsense, dangerous 
 maniacs. Again, as always, when illusion 
 and reason are arrayed against each other, 
 humanity has instinctively followed the for- 
 mer, rightly divining in her a far safer guide. 
 
 Indeed, all society is based on illusion. 
 Without it, intercourse with our fellows 
 would be utterly impossible. A thousand 
 times in every day human vanity must be 
 assuaged by its gentle ministrations. We 
 are all members of a mutual deception fra- 
 [ 18 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 ternity. The golden rule is right: we must 
 do unto others as we would be done by. It 
 gives us great pleasure to be admired and 
 liked ; therefore we must admire and like our 
 friends. It becomes a convention that we 
 must pretend to, whether or not we really 
 do. If Alceste allows an over-nice con- 
 science to interfere with this pleasant illu- 
 sion, he is deservedly subjected to swift and 
 severe punishment by outraged society. 
 Life would indeed be unendurable if we had 
 always to live with the truth. If Pylades 
 should tell Philemon not that he is glad to 
 see him, but that he is bored at his visit, each 
 would not only lose a valued friend, but 
 gain a dangerous enemy. Lies are the oil, 
 without which the machinery of life can not 
 revolve. Women, as a rule, are more suc- 
 cessful in society than men, because they are 
 more fluent and more convincing liars. It 
 is not only that many important facts must 
 be passed over in silence. If Baukis dis- 
 likes Phoebe's barocco dinner, the absence 
 of praise may cut quite as deeply as adverse 
 criticism. The situation can only be saved 
 by lyric rhapsody. The half lie of silence by 
 [ 19]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 which we New-Englanders so often seek to 
 . save our perverse consciences is the most dis- 
 mal of failures. To lie gracefully, heartily, 
 easily, unconsciously, is a sine qua non of 
 loving, and being loved by, one's fellow men. 
 
 Life becomes an impossible burden for 
 the man who tries to break the illusions of 
 social intercourse. Ever since the Misan- 
 thrope the theme has been a favourite one 
 with dramatists. And there is no escape from 
 the inexorable conclusion. So long as we live 
 in this world with other men, so long must 
 we allow ourselves to be deluded, so long 
 must we play our part in deluding others. 
 
 The world is right in preferring the illu- 
 sion-mongers to the truth- tellers. The 
 public will devour novels, while leaving ac- 
 curate books of fact to gather dust upon the 
 shelves. Happy Baukis, who creates the 
 sunshine she imagines, is far more valuable 
 to humanity than long-faced Philemon, who 
 sees the world in its true grayness. Baukis 
 will be surrounded by friends, while Phile- 
 mon will live in isolation, for friendship, 
 too, is based on illusion. 
 
 No trait of human character is, indeed, 
 [ 20 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 more entirely unamiable than the peculiarly 
 Anglo-Saxon vice of telling the truth. It is 
 the acrid root from which has grown the 
 sourness of Puritanism. For centuries it 
 has poisoned the well-springs of happiness. 
 For this theoretical impossibility we have 
 sacrificed art, religion and conversation, all 
 without once even distantly attaining our 
 aim. In our efforts to dispel illusion we have 
 rejected the best that life offers, yet we are 
 more than ever surrounded by lies and im- 
 postures. 
 
 Indeed, we should do far better, I sus- 
 pect, if we should take for our governing 
 ideal in life, not truth which results merely 
 in ugly hypocrisy but the artistic lie. It 
 is impossible to live in a Latin country, less 
 shackled than Anglo-Saxon lands by preju- 
 dice in favour of truth, without becoming 
 aware how infinitely more pleasant and 
 beautiful life becomes under such condi- 
 tions. At first, perhaps, our more prosaic 
 natures are slightly shocked at transparent 
 prevarications, but this feeling is soon sup- 
 planted by one of admiration for the imag- 
 ination that conceives, for the assurance 
 [ 21 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 which carries through, each flight of fancy. 
 A good lie should be admired and enjoyed 
 as deeply as a great poem. Both are works 
 of genius. Both can be produced only under 
 creative inspiration. The attitude of the 
 Greeks was essentially right. Odysseus the 
 resourceful liar was a far more interesting, 
 as well as useful person, than the brute, 
 unimaginative and therefore truth-telling 
 Achilles. No one can read Sophocles' 
 Electra without taking pleasure in the in- 
 genious lie by which Orestes and Pylades 
 dupe Clytemnestra to her undoing. Even a 
 New-Englander can not be but delighted 
 over that other tale which Iphigenia in- 
 vented for the benefit of Thoas. It is evi- 
 dent that a lie, provided it be sufficiently well 
 done, is admirable. My own regret is, that, 
 try as I will, I can not tell a good, round, 
 mouth-filling lie. I am as painfully unimag- 
 inative as the proverbial George Washing- 
 ton. (It will be remembered he is always 
 quoted, alas, doubtless only too correctly, as 
 having said " I can not," not " I will not.") 
 My tongue is congealed by the blood of 
 generations of unlying ancestors. Only 
 [ 22 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 after a fierce mental conflict can my reason 
 conquer my native instinct to tell the truth. 
 And when at last the resolve has all too late 
 been taken, the words stick and catch in my 
 throat, or are blushingly stammered out. 
 Better never to have attempted than to have 
 so lamentably failed. It is from such sorry 
 performances as this that lies derive their 
 bad reputation. 
 
 The arts depend upon lies for the very 
 breath of life. One and all they demand that 
 we imagine to be what is not. When we read 
 Homer, Agamemnon and Thersites and 
 Helen and Patroklos become living persons. 
 We are intellectually well aware they have 
 been dead thousands of years, we even have 
 grave doubts whether they ever really lived 
 at all. We are quite certain they did not 
 speak in dactylic hexameters. Yet we de- 
 rive delight from deliberately letting our- 
 selves believe what we know is not true. 
 Illusion is infinitely pleasurable. 
 
 This psychological fact is the basis of 
 
 all literature. Poet, novelist, dramatist, 
 
 even historian, exploit it unscrupulously. 
 
 Whether we explore Paradise with Dante, 
 
 [ 23 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 or join Chaucer's pilgrimage to Canter- 
 bury, we are constantly making demands 
 upon our imagination. We know that the 
 Castle of Elsinor is constructed of painted 
 canvas, that Osvald, far from being mad, is 
 actually an actor of unusually fine intelli- 
 gence, who will presently be bowing and 
 smiling before the curtain. Such knowledge, 
 however, we allow in no wise to interfere 
 with our illusion. Indeed, it is only because 
 we are conscious of being deceived that such 
 plays as Hamlet or Ghosts are tolerable. 
 We are most of us hardly cold-blooded 
 enough to endure, much less enjoy, wit- 
 nessing such painful scenes in real life. 
 There is an irresistible fascination in illu- 
 sion itself. In order to obtain this delight we 
 accept the thousand conventions which in the 
 theatre, or in any other art, separate from 
 reality the mimic show. Indeed it may be 
 suspected that these very conventions in- 
 crease our pleasure. They constantly make 
 us conscious of the luxury of indulging in 
 illusion. The most realistic art is by no 
 means the most enjoyable. If it should be 
 possible to eliminate entirely conventions, 
 [ 24 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 so as to destroy all consciousness of illusion, 
 if we should deeply feel that we were pres- 
 ent, not at a work of art but at reality, trag- 
 edy would give us no pleasure. It is by this 
 token, perhaps, that the freer modern 
 drama fails to give the delight of a Greek 
 play, and that, in general, archaic, formal 
 art is more appealing than later, more 
 naturalistic types. 
 
 Fiction obviously depends upon illusion 
 quite as fundamentally as drama. When 
 Philemon, sitting before the winter fire in 
 smoking- jacket and slippers, reads Fielding, 
 he ceases more or less for the moment to be 
 Philemon, and becomes Tom Jones living in 
 the London of the eighteenth century. No 
 doubt Philemon is infinitely happier than 
 Tom Jones, and would be pained to find 
 himself actually standing in the latter's 
 shoes. The fancy is, however, most agree- 
 able so long as he can, at will, lay aside the 
 book, and in his own person talk over with 
 Baukis the latest local scandal. 
 
 History appeals to the same delight in 
 conscious illusion. Each Alcibiades, each 
 Louis XI, each Qeeen Elizabeth, relives in 
 [ 25 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 every reader. Historians have generally 
 shown more imagination than writers of 
 fiction. Thus of the world's vast output of 
 literature poetry, novel, essay or history 
 that which is free from the element of il- 
 lusion would reduce itself to small dimen- 
 sions, and still smaller value. 
 
 The painter and the sculptor trifle with 
 illusion in the same spirit. Across a veil of 
 conventions they are constantly making us 
 imagine we are looking, not at a block of 
 marble or a piece of coloured canvas, but at 
 something else totally different. We thor- 
 oughly enjoy being fooled, so long as the il- 
 lusion is not too complete. A mirror which 
 is practically indistinguishable from reality 
 has no longer charm. A picture which be- 
 comes too much like a mirror we are apt to 
 find equally unpleasant. We must have the 
 convention to remind us continually that 
 we are tasting the most exquisite of delights, 
 that of believing something which we know 
 is contrary to fact. 
 
 Music also has of recent years tended more 
 and more to encroach upon the realm of im- 
 agination. Even when least descriptive, when 
 [ 26 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 not seeking to imitate the world of actuality, 
 music, like architecture and the arts of pure 
 design, is none the less based on illusion. 
 The artist who has created, whether musi- 
 cian, or architect, or designer, has inevitably 
 first imagined. He conceived in his brain 
 something which did not exist, an ideal 
 combination of columns and architraves, of 
 colours or patterns, of melody and harmony, 
 and this dream has then been made concrete 
 reality. 
 
 Of all illusions, none perhaps so persist- 
 ently haunts the human mind as that of 
 peace. The essence of life is struggle, yet 
 we dream of stagnation. Philemon rouses 
 himself from effort to effort lights the 
 furnace, expostulates with the plumber, 
 quarrels with his publisher, sits out one more 
 dinner-party, always in the hope that some 
 day he can rest. Each battle is endurable 
 because of the belief that at last will come 
 time and leisure, and books and thought. 
 Vainest of delusions ! Short of death in this 
 world of turmoil neither he nor any one else 
 will ever find peace. As lives go, Philemon's 
 has doubtless been singularly happy. Luck 
 [ 27 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 on the whole has been strangely in his favour. 
 Among the reefs and shoals he has escaped 
 shipwreck more than once, it seemed al- 
 most by a miracle. As each danger in turn 
 has loomed large and menacing, he has 
 braced himself to meet it, cherishing the il- 
 lusion that this once past no others would 
 succeed. Yet there is not, nor can there ever 
 be, security. The death of one, and the 
 world, gay as a fresco of Pintoricchio, flakes 
 from the mouldy wall. 
 
 The same illusion of peace has weighed 
 upon the nations. For centuries the Roman 
 armies toiled, and the dreamed-of goals of 
 peace and safety seemed within their grasp. 
 " Let the Alps sink! " Again illusion. The 
 hordes of Alaric howled on the desolated 
 Capitoline. 
 
 Once more in the Middle Ages men fell 
 under the illusion of peace. They dreamed 
 of a united Europe, in which Christian 
 should no longer fight against Christian. 
 Under St. Louis, for a golden moment, the 
 ideal became reality. The seeds were being 
 sown, from which time reaped the wars of 
 religion with their fruit of blood. 
 [ 28 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 War, like peace, is an illusion. In every 
 conflict history knows, both sides have be- 
 lieved, or at least persuaded themselves, that 
 theirs was the cause of right. Plausible justi- 
 fications for the most shameless aggressions, 
 have been not only found, but sincerely, even 
 passionately, believed. No one dies, or 
 even fights very well, for what he believes is 
 wrong. It is illusion that is sending mil- 
 lions to their death on the battle-fields of 
 France. 
 
 Illusion, thus the cause of war, is clearly 
 not always beneficent. Religious perse- 
 cutions, human sacrifices, Crusades, Salem 
 witchcraft trials, juggernauts and the rest 
 have been a favourite theme with nineteenth 
 century materialists. Indeed, so strong an 
 emphasis has been laid upon the malevolent 
 aspects of illusion, as to lead men to forget 
 the deeper truth that its influence is more 
 truly and more commonly benign. We 
 have tried to dispel illusion, without ever 
 stopping to question whether, after all, it 
 may not be an essential of human happiness. 
 For centuries men have been waging an in- 
 sensate crusade against it, wilfully ignoring 
 [29 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 the unescapable fact that, whether for good 
 or for evil, it is the ineradicable essence of 
 human life. As early as the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, the mediaeval church became a chief 
 object of attack. Finding the combination 
 of art and religion invincible, materialism 
 divided the hitherto undividable two, that 
 each might be crushed separately. Between 
 the Lutheran Reformation and the Council 
 of Trent, Christianity lost the patina of cen- 
 turies, was cleaned, varnished, made cold 
 and metallic. The effect was as disastrous 
 as when a picture or a cathedral is subjected 
 to a similar process of archaeological restora- 
 tion. Religion deprived of art, and art de- 
 prived of religion, both fell into a decline. 
 
 Characteristically enough, it was Ger- 
 many that first patented, if she did not pre- 
 cisely invent, modern materialism, as Ger- 
 many has always remained the principal 
 centre of its manufacture. Unhappily, Ger- 
 man materialism was not preserved wholly 
 unmixed with idealistic elements. For in 
 that event it must inevitably have proved 
 self-destructive, and Prussia have crumbled, 
 sapped by degeneration. Materialism with- 
 [ 30 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 out idealism is as perilous as idealism un- 
 tempered by materialism. In either excess 
 lies not only danger but certain destruction. 
 Something of this the German despots, 
 either instinctively or through conscious 
 reasoning, appear to have grasped. They 
 counterbalanced the impurities of their 
 materialism by an antiseptic an antiseptic 
 that was also a poison. 
 
 No immaterial power is greater than that 
 of sacrifice. A lioness or even a song bird 
 will display greater courage and strength in 
 fighting for her young than for herself. 
 Men will endure for the good of others, 
 privations they would never support for 
 their own advancement. From the unself- 
 ishness of sacrifice comes a strength no 
 interested motive can ever give. Sacrifices 
 can only be made for an ideal, an illusion. 
 An atheist brings no offering. The spirit of 
 sacrifice, although perverted, is still the al- 
 cohol which has made German materialism 
 formidable. 
 
 Forty years ago there remained in Ger- 
 many an illusion only slightly damaged 
 by the attacks of the illusion-breakers, per- 
 [ 31 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 haps the only one capable of arousing en- 
 thusiasm among a materialistic people of the 
 nineteenth century. It was the illusion of 
 military power, ancient and seductive as sin. 
 The sacrifices made for this ideal seem to 
 have saved Prussia, at least temporarily, 
 from disintegration. The Germans dreamed 
 of conquest and empire and glory, and of 
 the right of the strong, and in this dream 
 found a power outside of the physical. 
 Materialism acquired wicked strength 
 through the force of immaterialism. The 
 outcome of the war depended not so much 
 upon whether our materialism was more 
 powerful than German materialism, but 
 upon whether our immaterialism was 
 greater. It depended upon whether our 
 ideals more than the Teutonic ideals were 
 able to inspire us with willingness to sacri- 
 fice, with strength to do and with courage to 
 die. The war of 1914 was thus the final 
 proof of the impotence of fact. 
 
 It seems, therefore, clear that the modern 
 
 age has been misguided in its exclusive 
 
 search after truth. Our pursuit of fact has 
 
 perverted, but in no wise destroyed, our 
 
 [ 32 ]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 imagination. The attempt to disregard a 
 fundamental law of human nature has again 
 demonstrated the truth of Hamlet's para- 
 dox: Nothing is, but what is not. Illusion 
 is a necessity. Without it we should have 
 neither religion, art, literature, initiative, 
 achievement, love, patriotism, nor what else 
 makes life, at moments, sweet. Monism has 
 once more proved fatally inadequate. In 
 the temple of life, side by side with the lamp 
 of truth, there burns with equal brightness, 
 and to be disregarded only at the gravest 
 risk, the lamp of lies. 
 
 April 1, 1919
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 [Ephesus at sunrise. Malchus is slinking 
 in the shadow of the colonnaded street. 
 After a moment of hesitation, he ac- 
 costs with resolution Alexander of 
 Tralles.] 
 
 MALCHUS [rapidly and in a low voice]. 
 You are a physician? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Stranger, no. 
 MALCHUS [draws back, discouraged}. 
 Your scarlet gown 
 
 ALEXANDER. I am only a student, striv- 
 ing to learn how to become a physician. My 
 name is Alexander of Tralles. 
 MALCHUS [puzzled']. So? 
 ALEXANDER [with emphasis]. Alexan- 
 der of Tralles. 
 
 MALCHUS [catching his cue with some 
 difficulty, and bowing]. The celebrated 
 Alexander of Tralles. 
 
 [ 35 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. If my name is somewhat 
 known, it is only because the world little 
 imagines what physicians should, and one 
 day will, accomplish. 
 
 MALCHTJS. I come to you for help. 
 
 ALEXANDER. What is your name? 
 
 MALCHUS. Not being like you, famous, 
 my name does not matter. 
 
 ALEXANDER [curious and suspicious}. 
 Stranger, if you want help from a physi- 
 cian, you must begin by giving your con- 
 fidence. Otherwise your time and mine are 
 wasted. 
 
 MALCHUS. The time of a great physician 
 must be paid for in proportion to his fame. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I have other aims than fees. 
 When I have treated you, pay me or not as 
 you wish. . . . What is your name? 
 
 MALCHUS [reluct antly\ . Malchus. 
 
 ALEXANDER. You are from the East? 
 
 MALCHUS. No, an Ephesian. 
 
 ALEXANDER [sarcastic] . So I might have 
 judged from your clothes and from your 
 speech. What is your trouble? 
 
 MALCHUS [eagerly, holding out his hand]. 
 Feel my pulse! 
 
 [ 36 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER [feeling if\. It is a little 
 fast. 
 
 MALCHUS. Is it not very fast? 
 
 ALEXANDER. No. 
 
 MALCHUS. The pulse of a man with 
 fever? 
 
 ALEXANDER [feeling his temples']. You 
 have no fever. 
 
 MALCHUS. But that may come later. 
 The pulse begins to throb before the fever 
 comes. Is it not so? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Your pulse is not the pulse 
 of a sick man. 
 
 MALCHUS. Not sick yet, but I shall be. 
 I will be. 
 
 ALEXANDER. It is the pulse of a man 
 who is under intense excitement [signifi- 
 cantly] who is in danger. 
 
 MALCHUS. No no, it's fever. It must 
 be fever. 
 
 ALEXANDER. You wish a fever? 
 
 MALCHUS. I must have fever. 
 
 ALEXANDER. The thought may only too 
 probably induce the reality. No one should 
 think such things. 
 
 MALCHUS. I must have fever. 
 [ 37 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. How many sick would be 
 well, and you a well man would be sick! 
 
 MALCHTJS. If the fever would only come ! 
 
 ALEXANDER. Foolish stranger, I am a 
 physician, who cures the sick not [with 
 sinister emphasis] an executioner. 
 
 MALCHUS [starts then quickly}. I 
 thought I had fever. 
 
 ALEXANDER [overcome by curiosity]. 
 Why do you wish to be ill? 
 
 MALCHUS [impulsively]. That I may 
 not be mad! 
 
 ALEXANDER [startled, weighing the 
 word]. Mad? 
 
 MALCHUS. Mad! Would not you rather 
 be ill than mad? 
 
 ALEXANDER [after a pause, with altered 
 voice]. I am sorry for you. 
 
 MALCHUS [half to himself]. So, then, 
 it is. 
 
 ALEXANDER. And I believe I can help 
 you. 
 
 MALCHUS. Tell me one thing. 
 
 ALEXANDER. If I can, gladly. 
 
 MALCHUS. I want the truth. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I shall tell you the truth. 
 [ 38 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. Do people who are mad know 
 they are mad? 
 
 ALEXANDER. No. 
 
 MALCHUS. So I thought. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Why do you ask? 
 
 MALCHUS. Because, you see, I know 
 that I am mad. 
 
 ALEXANDER. We physicians call a man 
 who knows that he is mad [suddenly con- 
 fronting him} by another name. 
 
 MALCHUS [following his own thoughts}. 
 Is madness never cured? 
 
 ALEXANDER [softly]. Your madness can, 
 and will be cured. 
 
 MALCHUS [turning quickly upon him}. 
 You admit it then, that I am mad? 
 
 ALEXANDER. I admit that you have been 
 mad. What was it drove you to it? 
 
 MALCHUS. The most beautiful idea in 
 the world. 
 
 ALEXANDER. You, too! 
 
 MALCHUS. An idea which might 
 which will cure all the ills of the universe. 
 
 ALEXANDER. And you thought long and 
 intensely of this idea? 
 
 MALCHUS. It became and is my life. 
 [ 39 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. And this idea made you 
 misunderstood ? 
 
 MALCHUS. It is too beautiful for the 
 world to understand as yet. 
 
 ALEXANDER. It is very dangerous for a 
 man to be born before his time. 
 
 MALCHUS. And so I have thought and 
 thought about this idea. 
 
 ALEXANDER [trying to draw him out]. 
 And then? 
 
 MALCHUS [eagerly]. Have you passed 
 through the Antioch Gate this morning? 
 
 ALEXANDER [surprised}. I have just 
 come from there. 
 
 MALCHUS [intensely'}. Has anything 
 happened to the gate? 
 
 ALEXANDER. How should it? 
 
 MALCHUS. Since last night. 
 
 ALEXANDER. What do you mean? 
 
 MALCHUS. Since I went out last night. 
 
 ALEXANDER. The gate is as usual. 
 
 MALCHUS [lowering his voice}. The piss- 
 tor sometimes lays snares to take those he 
 is in search of. 
 
 ALEXANDER [again leading him on}. 
 Yes, clever snares. 
 
 [ 40 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS [feeling his way]. Do you 
 think the praetor should lay snares to take 
 Christians ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. It is his duty to punish 
 those who break the law. 
 
 MALCHUS. Last night he put a cross 
 over the city gate. 
 
 ALEXANDER. The cross has always been 
 there. 
 
 MALCHUS. You don't know what I mean 
 -I mean a cross, made of two pieces of 
 wood, so. The praetor last night, I say, put 
 a cross on the gate. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I did not notice. 
 
 MALCHUS [troubled]. You didn't see it 
 then? 
 
 ALEXANDER [reassuringly']. I shall go 
 and look. 
 
 MALCHUS. And that is not the worst. 
 
 ALEXANDER. There is something else 
 which alarms you? 
 
 MALCHUS. The whole city is full of 
 crosses. I see them on the street-corners 
 and over great, strange buildings. I see 
 them everywhere. 
 
 ALEXANDER. They trouble you?
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. And there are crucifixes with 
 lamps burning before them. 
 
 ALEXANDER [significantly]. And in the 
 churches are confessionals. 
 
 MALCHUS. It is all a wicked trick to 
 take people who have never done harm. 
 
 ALEXANDER [gently] . The door to safety 
 is always ajar. 
 
 MALCHUS. But to have done this all in 
 one night ! He must have been aided by the 
 demons. 
 
 ALEXANDER. One night? 
 
 MALCHUS. And then the whole city is 
 changed. 
 
 ALEXANDER [trying to piece together]. 
 What city? 
 
 MALCHUS. I recognize these colonnades, 
 the gate, the temple, even the very drum 
 of Scopas. But the rest is topsy-turvy. It 
 is all wrong. You see I forget I am mad. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yes, you are mad. 
 
 MALCHUS. Yet it is not strange that I 
 know it? It is that which torments me. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I know the remedy. 
 
 MALCHUS. What is it, then? 
 
 ALEXANDER. I shall show you. But first 
 [ 42 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 I must tell you of another case I had, pre- 
 cisely like yours. 
 
 MALCHUS. Like mine? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Symptom for symptom. 
 
 MALCHUS. I want to know that man. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Even knowing of him may 
 help you. 
 
 MALCHUS. You cured him? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yes, it was really I who 
 cured him. 
 
 MALCHUS. How? 
 
 ALEXANDER. That man was an assassin. 
 He killed to steal. 
 
 MALCHUS. May he be forgiven! 
 
 ALEXANDER. He has been forgiven as 
 you shall be. 
 
 MALCHUS [beginning to understand]. I? 
 
 ALEXANDER. He strangled a miser a 
 thin old man whose skin had dried up be- 
 neath his long, scraggy hairs. Then he put 
 the chest of gold on a donkey, and so carried 
 it away to the mountains. 
 
 MALCHUS. He would go to the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yes, the mountains of 
 Sekia. 
 
 [ 43 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS [starts]. 
 
 ALEXANDER. And he looked about for 
 a place to hide the gold. After a time he 
 found a cave. 
 
 MALCHUS [terrified]. A cave? 
 
 ALEXANDER. A deep cavern, of which 
 the entrance was concealed by vines and 
 leaves. 
 
 MALCHUS [quickly, trying to turn the 
 subject]. Did they find out who killed the 
 old man? 
 
 ALEXANDER [noting his agitation] . Never. 
 And they never shall. 
 
 MALCHUS. But you know? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Because the murderer told 
 me. If I tell you now, it is that I may 
 help you as I helped him. He died not 
 long ago. 
 
 MALCHUS [relieved]. Ah, he is dead. 
 
 ALEXANDER. He died one of the most 
 honoured citizens of Ephesus. 
 
 MALCHUS. Well? 
 
 ALEXANDER. For when he came to the 
 vine-covered cavern on the mountain of 
 Sekia 
 
 MALCHUS [interrupting, again trying to 
 [ 44 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 parry~\. Why should the Ephesians have 
 honoured a murderer and a thief? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Because he followed my ad- 
 vice. It was my greatest cure. 
 
 MALCHUS. Indeed? 
 
 ALEXANDER. That is the bitterness of 
 destiny. The most brilliant cure I have ever 
 effected, and I have never been able to speak 
 of it. 
 
 MALCHUS. I begin to see. 
 
 ALEXANDER. A cure that not only would 
 have added to my own fame, but would have 
 been of infinite service to other physicians. 
 
 MALCHUS. It was a discovery, then? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yes, really a discovery. 
 A great fundamental principle of nature. 
 And so simple, too. Any one could 
 apply it. 
 
 MALCHUS. Yet you never told. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Never, except now I am 
 going to tell you. 
 
 MALCHUS. How could you keep it 
 secret ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. It was hard, but I had to. 
 To have spoken a word would have spoiled 
 all. 
 
 [ 45 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. Then you were wise to say 
 nothing. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Indeed I was. But now I 
 shall tell you. 
 
 MALCHUS. Well? 
 
 ALEXANDER. My discovery is this. Mad- 
 ness is often caused [significantly] by a 
 guilty conscience. 
 
 MALCHUS [boldly]. Why should you 
 say this to me ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. And to cure the madness it 
 is necessary to wash the conscience, cleanse 
 it thoroughly, hang it up in the air and in 
 the sun. 
 
 MALCHUS [protecting']. Before apply- 
 ing a remedy you should be sure of your 
 diagnosis. 
 
 ALEXANDER. But I was! I recognized 
 instantly the malady. And I prescribed the 
 remedy, that I now recommend to you. 
 
 MALCHUS. Tome! 
 
 ALEXANDER. With the money he had 
 stolen, he built a chapel. 
 
 MALCHUS [struck by the word]. A 
 chapel? 
 
 ALEXANDER. So he atoned for his crime. 
 [ 46 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 And he died a short time ago, honoured and 
 praised by all the city. His conscience was 
 absolved, he became happy and sane. 
 
 MALCHTJS. You have almost diagnosed 
 my case. 
 
 ALEXANDER [triumphant]. I knew it! 
 
 MALCHUS. But you are completely 
 wrong. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yet my remedy will save 
 you. 
 
 MALCHUS [sadty~\. Your remedy does 
 not apply. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Tell me the truth. You see 
 I stand your friend, ready to help you. 
 
 MALCHUS [slowly']. I dare not. 
 
 ALEXANDER [softly']. So bad as that? 
 
 MALCHUS. No so good. 
 
 ALEXANDER. That way madness lies! 
 
 MALCHUS [deeply troubled]. Yes, I 
 think I am a little mad. 
 
 ALEXANDER. That other, when he came 
 to me, was mad. 
 
 MALCHUS. How did he show it? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Like you he walked on tip- 
 toe, never striking the ground with his heel. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have nothing to fear. 
 [ 47 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. Like you, his eyes avoided 
 one's glance. 
 
 MALCHUS [looking steadily at him}. 
 That is not true. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Like you he saw things 
 which did not exist. 
 
 MALCHUS [intense] . What do you mean 
 by that ? What did he see ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. He came to me, his entire 
 body trembling like a leaf. 
 
 MALCHUS. I do not tremble [holding out 
 his arm]. See, my hand is firm! 
 
 ALEXANDER. Not so very steady. 
 
 MALCHUS. What did he see? [eagerly], 
 Was there something on the city gate? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Stranger than that. What 
 he told me was this. When he had taken 
 the gold to the mountain of Sekia 
 
 MALCHUS [defiant]. Well? 
 
 ALEXANDER. You remember after the 
 murder I began to tell you 
 
 MALCHUS [self -controlled]. Yes, after 
 the murder 
 
 ALEXANDER. Well, he hunted around for 
 a cave on the mountain. 
 
 MALCHUS. In which to hide the gold? 
 [ 48 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. Exactly. At last he found 
 a cave, or at least so he said. 
 
 MALCHUS. And he left the gold there? 
 
 ALEXANDER. No, he left the gold on the 
 donkey outside, and went in to explore the 
 cave. 
 
 MALCHUS [intense]. To see if it was a 
 suitable place to leave his treasure. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Precisely. But just then 
 an extraordinary thing happened. 
 
 MALCHUS [losing control} . Tell me what 
 you know ! 
 
 ALEXANDER. Of course I don't believe 
 it for a moment. At the time I didn't be- 
 lieve it. 
 
 MALCHUS [impatient]. Believe what? 
 
 ALEXANDER. He was clearly as mad as 
 March. He just imagined that he saw it. 
 
 MALCHUS [again becoming cautious]. 
 That is probable. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yet there were strange 
 things about it things not easy to explain. 
 
 MALCHUS [uneasy] . What do you mean ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. There was a legend through 
 the country-side. People had been whisper- 
 ing to each other. 
 
 [ 49 .]
 
 MALCHUS. What had they been whisper- 
 ing? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Exactly what he thought 
 he saw. 
 
 MALCHUS. Tell me what you know! 
 
 ALEXANDER. Mind you, I have never be- 
 lieved a word of it. The hallucination of a 
 guilty conscience, that is what I call it. That 
 made him imagine he had seen things. 
 
 MALCHUS. When one is mad, one does 
 imagine. 
 
 ALEXANDER. And the proof of it is this. 
 
 MALCHUS. You are too right. 
 
 ALEXANDER. When he tried to go back 
 to the cave, he could never find his way. 
 
 MALCHUS [with rising excitement}. Tell 
 me what you know! 
 
 ALEXANDER [observing his emotion']. 
 He even claimed that his cure was due not 
 to me, but to this pretended vision of his. 
 But I can prove he lied. 
 
 MALCHUS. What did he see? 
 
 ALEXANDER [tantalizing}. The proof is 
 this. After the vision he kept the blood- 
 money. For all his madness and terror he 
 did not forget to look after that. 
 [ 50 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. Blood-money? 
 
 ALEXANDER. But I made him give it up. 
 Then his conscience was freed, and his soul 
 was healed. 
 
 MALCHUS. What did he see? 
 
 ALEXANDER. In the cave? 
 
 MALCHUS. Go on. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I will tell you what he said. 
 
 MALCHUS. Well? 
 
 ALEXANDER. He said that after he had 
 penetrated some distance in the cave the 
 darkness I have forgotten just how 
 he expressed it [watching Malchus nar- 
 rowly]. 
 
 MALCHUS [with forced calm]. Why do 
 you look at me like that? 
 
 ALEXANDER. The darkness suddenly be- 
 came light. 
 
 MALCHUS [surprised']. That was sin- 
 gular. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Although he couldn't in 
 the least tell from whence the light came. 
 
 MALCHUS. What did he see? 
 
 ALEXANDER. And by this light he saw 
 seven men asleep. 
 
 MALCHUS [in terror] . Seven men asleep ! 
 [ 51 1
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. Seven men asleep. They 
 were all seated on rocks and sleeping. 
 
 MALCHUS [gathering himself together]. 
 They must have been brigands. 
 
 ALEXANDER. And they were all dressed 
 in togas beautiful white flowing togas 
 such as are no longer worn in Ephesus [eye- 
 ing him closely]. Togas like yours. 
 
 MALCHUS [trying to control himself], 
 He was clearly mad. 
 
 ALEXANDER. But it is strange he should 
 have thought he had seen the seven who 
 sleep. 
 
 MALCHUS [struck by the phrase]. The 
 seven who sleep? 
 
 ALEXANDER. The peasants talk much of 
 them. And they say they only appear to 
 men whose souls are in danger. You have 
 surely heard the legend? 
 
 MALCHUS. No. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Legends run like wildfire 
 on the mountains. They say that long ago, 
 when they were persecuting the Christians, 
 seven saints fled from Ephesus to the moun- 
 tain of Sekia. 
 
 MALCHUS. Seven saints? 
 [ 52 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. And there they still sleep 
 on. But at times, when some one is sick at 
 soul, his footsteps are mysteriously drawn 
 to the seven who sleep. 
 
 MALCHUS [with intense emotion} . When 
 did these seven fall asleep? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Hundreds of years ago. 
 
 MALCHUS [with uncontrolled excite- 
 ment} . What were their names ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Their names have been for- 
 gotten for centuries. 
 
 MALCHUS. And they sleep in the far end 
 of the cave? 
 
 ALEXANDER. So they say. 
 
 MALCHUS. Each seated on a stone, and all 
 wearing togas. And they sit three and four? 
 
 ALEXANDER. Yes, he did say, they sat 
 three and four. 
 
 MALCHUS. So they have been sleeping 
 for hundreds and hundreds of years. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Have you too seen the seven 
 who sleep? 
 
 MALCHUS. I have seen a miracle! 
 
 ALEXANDER. You? 
 
 MALCHUS [exalted]. My madness is 
 cured. 
 
 [ 53 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. And it is I, I who have 
 done it. 
 
 MALCHUS. Not you. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Not the seven who sleep, 
 but I! 
 
 MALCHUS. Through you. 
 
 ALEXANDER. You both must needs come 
 to me. 
 
 MALCHUS. For your help, I thank you. 
 
 ALEXANDER. I could be of greater 
 service. 
 
 MALCHUS. The cure is complete. I am 
 your debtor [puts his hand in his wallet}. 
 
 ALEXANDER [restraining him}. Let no 
 gold come between you and me. I ask no 
 pay of you, only service. 
 
 MALCHUS. Service shall be given for 
 service ! 
 
 ALEXANDER. Justice for service! 
 
 MALCHUS. Justice? 
 
 ALEXANDER. When you hear men talk 
 of Alexander of Tralles, speak well of me. 
 
 MALCHUS. You ask only this? 
 
 ALEXANDER. That is all.
 
 II 
 
 [The shop of a baker. Customers and 
 idlers. ] 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN. A dozen loaves for 
 his lordship the bishop ! 
 
 THE BAKER [serving him]. A dozen 
 loaves of fine white flour and a bun with 
 a plum for Julian. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN. He, he! 
 
 AN IDLER [punching his neighbour]. A 
 bun with a plum for Julian ! 
 
 SECOND IDLER. Julian the acolyte. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN [goes out}. 
 
 THE BAKER. Every day new honours, is 
 it not shameful? 
 
 THE IDLER. Sub-deacon, deacon, priest 
 
 SECOND IDLER. Ordinary, cardinal, abbot. 
 
 THE BAKER. Next it will be co-bishop. 
 
 THE IDLER. Or bishopess [laughter]. 
 
 THE BAKER. I curse and wish them ill, 
 the two of them! 
 
 THE CROWD [frightened, is silent}. 
 
 THE BAKER [enraged at the silence, beat- 
 [ 55 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ing the counter with his fist~\. I curse and 
 wish the bishop ill. 
 
 THE STUDENT [young and handsome, 
 coming forward from the crowd] . Why, my 
 friend? 
 
 THE BAKER. For all the mischief he has 
 done. 
 
 THE STUDENT. I, too. 
 
 THE BAKER. Is it right that he should 
 ride in a coach, while I walk on foot ? 
 
 THE STUDENT. If he walked more it 
 would be better for his health. 
 
 THE BAKER. Why should I bake, while 
 he eats? 
 
 THE STUDENT. He has gout from over- 
 feeding, while the poor starve. 
 
 THE BAKER. Why is he better than I? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Why should not every 
 man be given the bishop's chance? 
 
 THE BAKER. I say the poor must be like 
 the rich. 
 
 THE STUDENT. And I that the rich must 
 be like the poor. 
 
 THE IDLER. Down with the bishop ! 
 
 THE BAKER [to the student}. I tell you 
 the bishop is a thief. 
 
 [ 56 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE IDLER [interrupting]. He has 
 stolen the people's money. 
 
 THE BAKER [beating the counter]. He 
 has stolen my money ! 
 
 THE IDLER [laughing]. Your money! 
 
 THE BAKER [furious] . My money. You 
 know the chapel on the mountain of Sekia? 
 That is my chapel. 
 
 THE IDLER [jeering]. Ha, the baker's 
 chapel ! 
 
 THE BAKER. Yes, my chapel, built with 
 my money. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Your money? 
 
 THE BAKER. My money. Money that 
 should have belonged to me. 
 
 THE STUDENT. How so? 
 
 THE BAKER [lowering his voice]. The 
 man who built that chapel saint they call 
 him [sneering] the bishop calls him 
 was [shouting] a thief ! 
 
 THE IDLER. A thief! 
 
 THE BAKER. A thief and a murderer ! 
 
 THE IDLER. A murderer! 
 
 THE BAKER. He killed my uncle and 
 stole his gold. 
 
 THE IDLER. The rascal! 
 [57 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER. And then he gives to the 
 bishop to build a church, the money that 
 should be mine. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Did all the money go 
 for the church? 
 
 THE BAKER. The bishop kept the half 
 for himself. 
 
 THE IDLER. You know that? 
 
 THE STUDENT. It is not that, but the 
 bishop he knows. 
 
 THE SECOND IDLER [to the Baker]. 
 If the money were yours, what better would 
 you do with it? 
 
 THE BAKER. I should ride in a coach like 
 my lord bishop. 
 
 THE IDLER. The bishop should be made 
 to give it up. 
 
 THE BAKER. Give it up? Not he! 
 
 THE SECOND IDLER. The gold spent 
 on the chapel was used for a good 
 end. 
 
 THE BAKER. So the bishop said when I 
 asked him to disgorge. 
 
 THE STUDENT. The bishop knows? 
 
 THE BAKER. And has always known. 
 
 THE IDLER. You went to him? 
 [ 58 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER. The instant I pieced to- 
 gether the story. 
 
 THE IDLER. How did you discover it? 
 
 THE BAKER. I have the best of infor- 
 mation. 
 
 THE IDLER. You should have the money. 
 
 THE BAKER. The bishop threatened me 
 with excommunication if I ever so much as 
 spoke of it. 
 
 THE IDLER. The lazy thief! 
 
 THE BAKER. Down with the bishop! 
 
 THE IDLER. And he dressing in damasks 
 and buying carved boxes of ebony. 
 
 SECOND IDLER. And images of the Vir- 
 gin all gilded. 
 
 THE IDLER. And paintings too and 
 icons. 
 
 THE BAKER. And living in a palace with 
 marble columns and great arches. 
 
 THE IDLER. And building himself a 
 chapel with golden mosaics. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Art must be for all the 
 people ! 
 
 THE BAKER. We'll sack his palace for 
 him. 
 
 THE IDLER. You dare not raise your hand. 
 [ 59 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER. Who says I dare not? 
 
 THE IDLER. I ! 
 
 THE BAKER. You! 
 
 THE STUDENT [intervening to make 
 peace]. They say last night there was a 
 light on the mountain of Sekia. 
 
 THE IDLER [crossing himself]. Some one 
 has seen the seven ! 
 
 THE STUDENT. The seven who sleep. 
 
 THE BAKER. When they have been seen, 
 the sky always glows. 
 
 THE IDLER. Some soul has been in 
 danger. 
 
 THE STUDENT. If it should be the 
 bishop ? 
 
 THE BAKER. His soul will boil in 
 Hell. 
 
 THE IDLER [gloating]. And I shall 
 reach down to him drops of water. 
 
 MALCHUS [in the doorway]. May I buy 
 bread from you? 
 
 THE IDLER. Yes, stranger, and his soul 
 too, if you will pay for it. 
 
 THE BAKER [seizing a rolling-pin]. 
 Blood of Christ, you shall pay for that! 
 
 THE STUDENT [interposing]. No quar- 
 [ 60 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 railing among friends. Save your hate for 
 common enemies. 
 
 THE BAKER. Right, the bishop shall pay 
 for all. 
 
 THE IDLER. We'll square counts with 
 the bishop. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Only not too fast ! 
 
 MALCHUS [shrinking within himself]. 
 Give me seven loaves of bread. 
 
 THE BAKER [serving him]. A hearty 
 breakfast for a simple man. The bishop 
 with all his household takes only a dozen. 
 
 THE IDLER. And a bun with a plum for 
 Julian. 
 
 THE BAKER. Ha, ha! 
 
 THE STUDENT [to Malchus~\. You eat 
 like a man who has great hunger. 
 
 MALCHUS. Yes, one is hungry after 
 one has slept. 
 
 THE STUDENT. You come from far? 
 
 MALCHUS. Yes, from farther than the 
 end of the world. 
 
 THE STUDENT. You are tired? 
 
 MALCHUS. I am sad. 
 
 THE BAKER. We have rare sport in hand 
 will cheer you up! 
 
 [ 61 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE STUDENT. We plan to throw the 
 bishop out. 
 
 THE BAKER. You shall help us. 
 
 THE IDLER. Mother of Christ, but I shall 
 laugh to see him go ! 
 
 MALCHUS. You drive out your bishop? 
 
 THE BAKER. That we shall. 
 
 MALCHUS. And when he is gone what 
 will you do? 
 
 THE STUDENT. We shall be free and 
 rule ourselves. 
 
 THE IDLER. If we wish, we can make 
 some one else bishop. 
 
 THE BAKER. We can decide afterwards 
 what to do. The main thing is to drive the 
 bishop out. 
 
 MALCHUS. You would drive your bishop 
 out? 
 
 THE STUDENT. We would and will. 
 
 MALCHUS. Are you Christians? 
 
 THE BAKER [disgusted]. He's only a 
 parasite of the priests. 
 
 THE IDLER. We have told him too much. 
 
 MALCHUS. Forgive me. You see I am a 
 stranger who has come from far. Are all 
 the people here Christians? 
 L 62 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE STUDENT. Why, of course they are 
 Christians. Why shouldn't they be? 
 
 MALCHUS. And there are no pagans at 
 all? 
 
 THE STUDENT [laughing]. Naturally not. 
 
 MALCHUS. Why, then, we are all 
 brothers. 
 
 THE BAKER. Yes, if you will join us 
 against the bishop. 
 
 MALCHUS. But he is a Christian, too. 
 
 THE IDLER. He is a dog. 
 
 THE BAKER. God damn him in Hell! 
 
 MALCHUS. How long have there been 
 Christians in Ephesus ? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Why, for centuries. 
 
 MALCHUS. Were there never pagans 
 then? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Of course, there were 
 pagans here as everywhere else. 
 
 MALCHUS. And they persecuted the 
 Christians once? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Yes, of course. 
 
 MALCHUS. When did they persecute 
 them last? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Why, hundreds of years 
 ago. 
 
 [ 63 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. Who was emperor then? 
 
 THE STUDENT. The worst persecution 
 took place, I believe, under Decius. 
 
 MALCHUS. It was then the seven so 
 I think they call them fell asleep. 
 
 THE STUDENT. So they say. 
 
 MALCHUS. How long ago was that? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Three hundred three 
 hundred and fifty three hundred and sev- 
 enty three hundred and seventy-two years 
 ago. 
 
 MALCHUS. Then the seven have been 
 sleeping for three hundred and seventy-two 
 years. 
 
 THE STUDENT. So they say. 
 
 MALCHUS. And the Ephesians for three 
 hundred and seventy-two years have been 
 Christians ? 
 
 THE STUDENT. For something like that. 
 
 MALCHUS. And these are Ephesians that 
 I see about me? 
 
 THE BAKER. What would you expect 
 at Ephesus? 
 
 MALCHUS. Men who have been Chris- 
 tians for three hundred and seventy-two 
 years ? 
 
 [ 64 J
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE IDLER. Assuredly. 
 
 MALCHUS. And the whole world is Chris- 
 tian? 
 
 THE IDLER. Do you come from another 
 planet that you do not know? 
 
 THE BAKER. Our missionaries have pen- 
 etrated to the Orkneys and the Indies. The 
 heathen who won't believe, will all be burned. 
 
 MALCHUS. Are all Christians like you? 
 
 THE BAKER. That villain of a bishop is 
 a bitch. 
 
 MALCHUS. Are there still wars? 
 
 THE IDLER. You've heard the news of 
 the great victory? 
 
 MALCHUS. What is it? 
 
 THE IDLER. Why, every one knows. 
 All Italy is ours ! After Africa, now Italy. 
 
 MALCHUS. Were the men there Chris- 
 tians ? 
 
 THE IDLER. Why, of course. Our gen- 
 eral cut to pieces and destroyed the Italian 
 army, killed, they say, tens and tens of 
 thousands. We may all expect a share in 
 the plunder. 
 
 MALCHUS. That, too? 
 
 THE IDLER. The man is mad. 
 [ 65 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS. Only heavy-hearted. 
 
 THE STUDENT [sympathetically'}. You 
 have come from far? 
 
 MALCHUS. I have travelled a great dis- 
 tance. Now I am going back. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Without having accom- 
 plished anything? 
 
 MALCHUS. I have learned that from 
 great crimes are born great miracles. [Go- 
 ing.] 
 
 THE BAKER. You have not paid me for 
 the bread. 
 
 MALCHUS [throws a coin on the counter]. 
 
 THE STUDENT [drawing him aside]. You 
 will not betray us to the bishop? 
 
 THE IDLER [whispering in his ear]. If 
 you should, I shall kill you. 
 
 THE BAKER [drawing him aside]. How 
 did you come by that coin you gave 
 me? 
 
 MALCHUS [hesitating]. It was in my 
 wallet. 
 
 THE BAKER. I understand well enough 
 what you are. 
 
 MALCHUS. You understand? You? 
 My friend! 
 
 [ 66 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER. Yes, your friend on cer- 
 tain conditions. 
 
 MALCHUS. What do you mean? 
 
 THE BAKER. I shall be satisfied with half. 
 
 MALCHUS. Half what? 
 
 THE BAKER. Half the swag. 
 
 MALCHUS [understanding]. Ah! 
 
 THE BAKER. It's no use to play the 
 innocent with me. 
 
 MALCHUS [facing him]. What do you 
 mean? 
 
 THE BAKER. I mean you have found a 
 treasure and I want half. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have found no treasure. 
 
 THE BAKER. So much the worse, then. 
 You have stolen it. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have stolen nothing. 
 
 THE BAKER. No, of course you have not. 
 But for a half I shall not only say nothing, 
 I shall help you get rid of it. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have nothing to get rid of. 
 I have lost everything, even my dream. 
 
 THE BAKER [holding out the coin]. 
 There will be plenty more of the same kind 
 where this came from. 
 
 MALCHUS [showing him his wallet]. You 
 [ 67 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 see it is nearly empty. Hardly anything 
 left. 
 
 THE BAKER. My friend, you can't pass 
 off these old coins. 
 
 MALCHUS. It is gold. 
 
 THE BAKER. And four hundred years 
 old. Any fool would know you had not 
 come by it honestly. 
 
 MALCHUS. So it is four hundred years 
 old! 
 
 THE BAKER. But for half I shall not 
 breathe a word. And I shall help you 
 pass it off. We shall melt it down in my 
 ovens. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have no gold. 
 
 THE BAKER. Come, I will not be unrea- 
 sonable. I will do it for a third. 
 
 MALCHUS. I have nothing to give you. 
 
 THE BAKER [threatening]. We'll see 
 what the bishop says to that. 
 
 MALCHUS. The bishop? 
 
 THE BAKER. Whoever denounces a thief 
 gets a quarter of the swag. 
 
 MALCHUS. Yes, take me to your bishop! 
 
 THE BAKER. You think I dare not? 
 
 MALCHUS. I demand to see the bishop. 
 [ 68 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER. You might go scot-free if 
 you would give me just one little third. 
 
 MALCHUS [raising his voice~\. Where is 
 your bishop? 
 
 THE BAKER [outshouting him}. This 
 man is a thief! Bind him and take him to 
 the bishop. 
 
 THE STUDENT [amid general uproar and 
 excitement] . Thief ? 
 
 THE BAKER [holding up coin]. See the 
 stolen gold he tried to pass on me. 
 
 THE IDLER. Thief! 
 
 THE STUDENT [drawing the Baker aside, 
 while the crowd presses about Malchus]. 
 This is imprudent. The man knows too 
 much. 
 
 THE BAKER. It 's worth the risk. 
 
 THE STUDENT. If he accuses us? 
 
 THE BAKER. We deny, of course. 
 
 THE STUDENT. No, we strike ! 
 
 THE BAKER. Strike, to-day? 
 
 THE STUDENT. To-day, or never. Which- 
 ever way the bishop decides, we take the 
 other side. 
 
 THE BAKER. If it should happen that 
 I get the gold? 
 
 [ 69 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE STUDENT. We must strike the same. 
 This man will surely tell the bishop. You 
 were a fool to interfere with him. 
 
 THE BAKER. The bishop will never be- 
 lieve a man like that. 
 
 THE STUDENT. We shall accuse the 
 bishop of heresy. 
 
 THE BAKER. Of heresy? 
 
 THE STUDENT. I have heard it whis- 
 pered he does not believe in immortality. 
 
 THE BAKER. Well? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Be prepared for any- 
 thing. 
 
 C 70 ]
 
 Ill 
 
 [The Bishop's Palace. The Bishop and 
 Julian.] 
 
 THE BISHOP. No, my Julian, you are 
 wrong. It 's not what, but that one believes. 
 
 JULIAN. Above all, the truth! 
 
 THE BISHOP. You are very young. 
 
 JULIAN. Perhaps. 
 
 THE BISHOP. When I was young, I 
 thought as you do. I too loved the truth. 
 
 JULIAN. Well? 
 
 THE BISHOP. Now I have changed. 
 
 JULIAN. I shall never change. 
 
 THE BISHOP. One day you will learn, 
 as I have, that truth causes evil in the 
 world. 
 
 JULIAN. Would you have lies, hypocrisy ? 
 
 THE BISHOP. My Julian! How little 
 you understand. 
 
 JULIAN. Yet that little is solid ground. 
 
 THE BISHOP. It is the truth which breeds 
 hypocrisy and lies.
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 JULIAN. The truth? 
 
 THE BISHOP. The unattainable, phan- 
 tom, wicked truth. 
 
 JULIAN. There I can not, will not, follow 
 you. 
 
 THE BISHOP. One day you will have to. 
 
 JULIAN. You would leave your people 
 in this superstition? 
 
 THE BISHOP. Since they are better and 
 happier for it. 
 
 JULIAN. And you will let them think 
 you believe it, when you don't ? 
 
 THE BISHOP. I believe in belief. 
 
 JULIAN. But you and I know. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Well, then, we know there 
 is no immortality. 
 
 JULIAN. So we have often agreed. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Suppose we are right. 
 
 JULIAN. We are right. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Suppose we are right. 
 
 JULIAN. Surely, we should share the 
 truth with others rid our creed of error. 
 
 THE BISHOP. You and I, who see this 
 truth are we on that account better? 
 
 JULIAN. We are one step a slight step, 
 still a step higher. 
 
 [ 72 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP. Or, perhaps, lower? 
 
 JULIAN. Higher. It is because our 
 knowledge of facts is only partial, we are 
 men, not gods. 
 
 THE BISHOP. On the contrary, ever since 
 the days of Eden, it is the thirst for knowl- 
 edge that has barred our race from Paradise. 
 
 JULIAN. The fool's Paradise. 
 
 THE BISHOP. There is no other. The 
 only Paradise is that of unreality. 
 
 JULIAN. If it is unreal, it is nothing. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Unreality is the only real 
 thing in the world. These people who be- 
 lieve in an immortality which, you and I 
 know, does not exist 
 
 JULIAN. Well? 
 
 THE BISHOP. Through fear of an imag- 
 inary punishment, or in pursuit of an imag- 
 inary reward, abstain from evil, even do 
 good. 
 
 JULIAN. It is a knave's part to be virtu- 
 ous in fear of a whipping or in hope of a 
 sweetmeat. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Men, my Julian, are moral 
 cowards, and always will be. This immor- 
 tality 
 
 [ 73 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 JULIAN. Go on. 
 
 THE BISHOP. By belief in Heaven, who 
 knows how many heartaches have been as- 
 suaged, how many have found courage to 
 face even death. Would you deprive hu- 
 manity of so much solace for a cold, bar- 
 ren truth? 
 
 JULIAN. And who knows how many, 
 through fear of Hell, have been prevented 
 from finding peace. 
 
 THE BISHOP. To live, perhaps, happily. 
 
 JULIAN. Even if you are right, truth 
 would be worth all this and more. 
 
 THE BISHOP. The truth is full of 
 gloom. 
 
 JULIAN. It was enjoined by Christ. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Christ never wished men 
 to be unhappy. He preached no gospel of 
 gloom. 
 
 JULIAN. He surely wished men to be 
 sincere. 
 
 THE BISHOP. He wished men to be, first 
 of all joyous. 
 
 JULIAN. Joyous ? 
 
 THE BISHOP. Let the Christian observe 
 his fasts, but enjoy his feasts. Let him eat
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 well-cooked food and drink choice vintage 
 wines. 
 
 JULIAN. That way lies disintegration. 
 
 THE BISHOP. And the church should be 
 beautiful with candles and incense and 
 music and mosaics and tapestries and over- 
 head great arches. 
 
 JULIAN. Hope lies rather in simplicity 
 and truth. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Simplicity and truth spell 
 asceticism; and it is the gloom of asceticism 
 that always has been, and always will be, 
 the most insidious enemy of religion. 
 
 JULIAN. I hear an uproar on the street 
 below. 
 
 THE BISHOP [looking out]. My friend 
 the Baker is bringing to a head his little 
 conspiracy. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN [coming in]. 
 There's one below asks justice. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Let them come [the 
 Bishop's Man goes out. To Julian] The 
 guards are ready in the inner room? 
 
 JULIAN. You have only to call. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Your sword is where you 
 can reach it ? 
 
 [ 75 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 JULIAN. Under my cassock. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Have it loose in the scab- 
 bard, but do not let it show. And have 
 plenty of our people, armed, mingle with 
 the crowd, and especially stand near me. 
 [Julian goes out. The crowd comes in, 
 led by the Baker and the Student. Mal- 
 chus is guarded by several. The Bishop as- 
 cends his throne.] 
 
 THE IDLER. He's guilty! 
 
 SECOND IDLER. I say he 's innocent. 
 
 THE STUDENT. He's clearly a thief. 
 
 THE IDLER. Nothing of the kind. 
 
 THE STUDENT. He should be acquitted. 
 
 SECOND IDLER. Throw him in prison! 
 
 THE BAKER. Justice, my lord bishop, 
 against this thief! 
 
 THE BISHOP [to the Baker] . Has he 
 injured you? 
 
 THE BAKER. I caught him red-handed 
 in the act trying to pass off his stolen 
 gold. 
 
 THE BISHOP. So you have come to me 
 to claim your thirty pieces? 
 
 THE BAKER. I claim my quarter 
 [struck] you know how much it is? 
 [ 76 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles] . 
 
 THE IDLER. They say Alexander of 
 Tralles knows all about this man. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Let him be summoned. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN [goes out]. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to the Baker]. What is 
 your evidence? 
 
 THE BAKER [triumphantly] . This [holds 
 out coin]. 
 
 THE BISHOP. An ancient coin. 
 
 THE BAKER. An ancient coin of Ephe- 
 sus. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Yes, it is of Ephesus, and 
 very old. 
 
 THE BAKER. This man who comes from 
 far 
 
 THE BISHOP. Does he come from far? 
 
 THE BAKER. You can see his clothes. 
 
 THE BISHOP. They are extraordinary. 
 
 THE STUDENT. And his speech, no one 
 in Ephesus speaks as well as he. 
 
 THE BAKER. And he openly said he 
 had arrived from far away. That they all 
 heard. 
 
 THE STUDENT. He said that distinctly. 
 
 THE IDLER. So he did. 
 [ 77 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 SEVERAL. We all heard that. 
 
 THE BAKER. This man who has just ar- 
 rived from far away, gives me in payment 
 for bread an ancient Ephesian coin. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Well? 
 
 THE BAKER. Only two things are pos- 
 sible. Either he stole it, or he found a 
 treasure. 
 
 THE BISHOP. So? 
 
 THE BAKER. And if he found it, he stole 
 it the same, since it was not his. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Is this all your evidence? 
 
 THE BAKER. Is it not enough? 
 
 THE BISHOP \_smiles~\. 
 
 THE BAKER. I say he 's guilty. 
 
 THE BISHOP [suddenly to the Student}. 
 Beautiful boy, do you think I should pun- 
 ish those who break the law? 
 
 THE STUDENT. If the law is just. 
 
 THE BISHOP. How am I to know 
 whether the law be just? 
 
 THE STUDENT. I suppose everyone 
 knows what is right. 
 
 THE BISHOP. I suppose no one knows 
 what is right. 
 
 THE STUDENT [at a loss]. 
 [ 78]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP [kindly]. You believe in 
 ideals? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Deeply. 
 
 THE BISHOP. You are what one might 
 call an idealist? 
 
 THE STUDENT. I trust so. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Then let an older man 
 whisper a warning in your ear. Unmixed 
 idealism is as pernicious as unmixed materi- 
 alism. Salvation lies in the middle way. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Compromise is damna- 
 tion! 
 
 THE BISHOP. For example, do you think 
 I or he [pointing to the Baker] would make 
 a better bishop? 
 
 THE STUDENT [after a moment of hesi- 
 tation] . You ! 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles]. 
 
 THE STUDENT [is silent]. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Beautiful boy, I myself 
 am not without ideals. 
 
 THE STUDENT [is silent]. 
 
 THE BISHOP. And remember this. The 
 very fact that I have become bishop indi- 
 cates, perhaps, some fitness. 
 
 THE STUDENT. You play well. 
 [ 79 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP. Precisely. One ideal that 
 will work, is worth two that will not. Mine 
 work. 
 
 THE STUDENT [is silent}. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to the Student}. I often 
 wonder which is worse, the many or the few. 
 
 THE STUDENT [is silent}. 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles}. 
 
 THE BISHOP. What would Socrates be 
 worth, in a nation of savages ? 
 
 THE STUDENT. He would not be a popu- 
 lar ruler. 
 
 THE BISHOP. He would be a bad ruler. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Perhaps. 
 
 THE BISHOP. He would rule the sav- 
 ages as badly as a savage would rule a nation 
 like ours. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Socrates must not be put 
 under a savage. 
 
 THE BISHOP. It is you, not I, that 
 wish it. 
 
 THE STUDENT. I only wish the right. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Between me and him 
 [pointing to the Baker}, the right is proved 
 by [pointing to his robes} this. 
 
 THE STUDENT. And justice? 
 [ 80 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP. Beautiful boy, justice is 
 a compromise between conflicting forces. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Whatever is, is wrong. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Except what will be. I 
 who shall be, am right. 
 
 THE STUDENT [turning it over]. What- 
 ever is, not quite so long as it is, is right. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Whatever is, was right. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Is it the past that is 
 wrong, or the future? 
 
 THE BISHOP. The present! Beauti- 
 ful boy, I see that you and I shall yet be 
 friends. 
 
 THE STUDENT [is silent] . 
 
 THE BISHOP. You have not answered 
 my question. Shall I punish those who 
 break the law? 
 
 THE STUDENT {bewildered, at random]. 
 Yes. 
 
 THE BISHOP. What punishment would 
 you suggest for those who have conspired 
 against the right? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Against the right? 
 
 THE BISHOP. Against me, who since I 
 shall be, am the right. [At a signal from 
 the Bishop the armed guard appears in the 
 [ 81 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 doorway. People of the Bishop quietly re- 
 move the swords of the Student, the Baker, 
 the Idler and others.] 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles]. 
 
 THE BAKER [under his breath] . Hounds 
 of Hell! 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Malchus]. Are you also 
 my enemy? 
 
 MALCHTJS. I am no man's enemy. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Alexander of Tralles, 
 who has just come in] . Do you know good 
 or evil of this man? 
 
 ALEXANDER. No evil. He has been mad. 
 
 THE BISHOP [surprised]. Mad? 
 
 ALEXANDER [complacently] . He was, but 
 I cured him. 
 
 THE BISHOP. How did he come by this 
 gold? 
 
 MALCHUS [tries to speak]. 
 
 ALEXANDER [cutting him off]. He does 
 not know. He can remember nothing. 
 
 MALCHUS [tries to speak]. 
 
 ALEXANDER [in an authoritative manner] . 
 Nothing! 
 
 THE BISHOP. And he is now entirely 
 cured ? 
 
 [ 82 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER. Almost. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Clever physician! He 
 keeps the gold? 
 
 ALEXANDER. That should be given to 
 Mother Church. 
 
 THE BAKER [between his teeth']. An- 
 other chapel ! 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles']. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Then his cure will be com- 
 plete. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Malchus]. Have you 
 the gold? 
 
 MALCHUS [showing his wallet']. You see, 
 my purse is nearly empty. 
 
 ALEXANDER. What have you done with 
 it? 
 
 MALCHUS [is silent}. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Alexander]. Perhaps 
 these may be deeper waters than you 
 imagine. How do you know he was 
 mad? 
 
 ALEXANDER. The symptoms were clear. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Name them. 
 
 ALEXANDER. He thought he was an 
 Ephesian, although his speech and his dress 
 clearly showed he was a foreigner. 
 [ 83 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BAKER [plucking up courage]. He 
 told us he had just come from far. 
 
 ALEXANDER. You see I cured him of his 
 delusion. 
 
 JULIAN. I see that he lied. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Alexander]. Proceed. 
 
 ALEXANDER. Then he said he had seen 
 the seven who sleep. 
 
 THE BISHOP [crossing himself]. The 
 seven who sleep ! 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MAN. Last night I saw a 
 red glow on the mountain of Sekia. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Malchus]. Was yours 
 the guilty soul? 
 
 MALCHUS. I thought so once, but now 
 I have learned otherwise. 
 
 THE BISHOP. How so? 
 
 MALCHUS. Let me first ask you a ques- 
 tion, you who are God's emissary. 
 
 THE BISHOP [struck by something in his 
 manner] . Well ? 
 
 MALCHUS. Is it true that from great 
 crimes, great miracles are born? 
 
 THE BISHOP [pondering the phrase]. It 
 is you who tell me. 
 
 MALCHUS. Then why am I sent? 
 [ 84 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP. I do not understand 
 you. 
 
 MALCHUS. I am the miracle. 
 
 THE BISHOP. The miracle? 
 
 MALCHUS. I am one of the seven who 
 slept [profound silence}. 
 
 MALCHUS. I am one of the seven who 
 slept. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Who are these seven who 
 sleep ? 
 
 MALCHUS. They did sleep, but now they 
 have awakened. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Why did they sleep? 
 
 MALCHUS. From great crimes, great mir- 
 acles are born. 
 
 THE BISHOP. And what is born from 
 miracles ? 
 
 MALCHUS [softly]. That is what I do 
 not know. Perhaps nothing. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Nothing? 
 
 MALCHUS. But dreams. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Good dreams? 
 
 MALCHUS. Who knows! 
 
 THE BISHOP. Who are the seven who 
 slept? 
 
 MALCHUS. Three hundred and seventy- 
 [ 85 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 two years ago [To the Student.] It was 
 so you said, was it not? 
 
 THE STUDENT. I? 
 
 MALCHUS. That they were persecuting 
 the Christians at Ephesus. 
 
 THE STUDENT. That is true. 
 
 MALCHUS. It was in the time of the em- 
 peror Decius. 
 
 THE STUDENT. He did live then. 
 
 MALCHUS [to the Baker]. What is the 
 name stamped on that coin you hold? 
 
 THE BAKER. Why, Decius. 
 
 THE IDLER. The very same! 
 
 THE BISHOP. Well? 
 
 MALCHUS. One evening I and six other 
 Christians, fearing arrest, fled to the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 THE BISHOP. The mountain of Sekia? 
 
 MALCHUS. We fled. It was in that we 
 sinned. 
 
 JULIAN. Saints do not sin. 
 
 THE IDLER [to the Baker~\. Yet you ac- 
 cused this saint of theft! 
 
 THE BAKER. He is a thief, no saint. 
 
 THE IDLER. A saint may be known by 
 his enemies. 
 
 [ 86 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles']. 
 
 THE SECOND IDLER. There never was a 
 saint who was not persecuted. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Malchus]. Well? 
 
 MALCHUS. We spent the night in a cave. 
 
 THE IDLER. Ah, the cave on the moun- 
 tain of Sekia. 
 
 MALCHUS. And since there was no place 
 to lie down, we slept seated. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Seated? 
 
 MALCHUS. Yes, seated on great stones. 
 In the morning, this morning, we awoke. 
 
 THE STUDENT. After three hundred and 
 seventy-two years ? 
 
 MALCHUS. But we did not know it. The 
 others do not know it yet. We thought we 
 had slept only a single night. 
 
 THE STUDENT. But your beards had 
 grown long? 
 
 MALCHUS. Yes, our beards and our hair 
 had grown very long. But we did not spe- 
 cially notice it. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Well? 
 
 MALCHUS. We were very hungry, since 
 we had nothing to eat. And I was chosen 
 to go to the city to buy bread. 
 [ 87 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER OF TRALLES. This man is 
 mad. 
 
 THE BISHOP. All saints are mad. 
 
 MALCHUS. And I found everything so 
 strangely changed. 
 
 THE IDLER. It would be changed after 
 three hundred and seventy-two years! 
 
 MALCHUS. At first I hardly noticed, I 
 was so terrified lest I should be recognized 
 and arrested. 
 
 JULIAN. A saint was afraid? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Therefore I believe in 
 him! 
 
 MALCHUS. Then I thought I had lost 
 my reason. He [pointing to Alexander of 
 Tralles~\ set me right. He told me of the 
 seven who slept. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Alexander of Tralles}. 
 Is it so? 
 
 ALEXANDER OF TRALLES. I did tell him 
 the legend. 
 
 MALCHUS. Then when I offered a coin 
 to this man [pointing to the Baker] he ac- 
 cused me of theft. 
 
 THE IDLER. The ruffian, to maltreat a 
 saint! 
 
 [ 88 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles], 
 
 THE IDLER. A miracle! We have seen 
 a miracle! 
 
 THE STUDENT. It all seems clear. 
 
 MALCHUS. No, to me it is not clear. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Not clear? 
 
 MALCHUS. Why did we sleep? and why 
 did we wake? 
 
 ALEXANDER OF TRALLES. In this world 
 is there a why? 
 
 THE BISHOP. There is, it seems, no why 
 but is. 
 
 THE STUDENT [to Malchus}. Perhaps 
 I, a sinner, can tell you, a saint. 
 
 MALCHUS. A saint, it appears, is the 
 greatest of sinners. 
 
 THE STUDENT. I shall tell you, if you 
 will first answer for me one question. 
 
 MALCHUS. Well? 
 
 THE STUDENT. Why do we, the rest of 
 us, live? 
 
 MALCHUS. I can not tell. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Is there any one can tell? 
 
 THE STUDENT. This purposefulness in 
 life, what we are striving and living for 
 what is it? 
 
 [ 89 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 ALEXANDER or TRALLES. Many differ- 
 ent things. 
 
 THE STUDENT. That is nothing. We 
 are all travelling, moving along some road, 
 is it not true? 
 
 ALEXANDER OF TRALLES. Evidently. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Where does that road 
 lead? 
 
 MALCHUS. I can not answer your riddle. 
 
 THE STUDENT. Nor I yours. 
 
 MALCHUS. Yet this I know, I am sent. 
 
 THE STUDENT. You slept and we live ! 
 
 MALCHUS [ruminating']. From great 
 crimes, great miracles are born. 
 
 THE BISHOP. Well? 
 
 MALCHUS. Why am I sent? 
 
 JULIAN. This man is preposterous! 
 
 MALCHUS [looking at Julian]. My mis- 
 sion is to souls in danger. 
 
 JULIAN. Then look to your own. 
 
 MALCHUS [to the Bishop}. Why am I 
 sent to you? 
 
 THE BISHOP [startled]. To me? 
 
 MALCHUS. All here have seen one of the 
 seven who slept! [General consternation.] 
 
 THE BISHOP. Heaven defend us ! 
 [ 90 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 MALCHUS [to the Bishop]. Why am I 
 sent to you? 
 
 THE BISHOP [looking at Julian]. Per- 
 haps to save two souls. 
 
 JULIAN. Please do not include mine. 
 
 MALCHUS [to Alexander']. Why am I 
 sent to you? 
 
 ALEXANDER [covering his face with his 
 hands]. I understand. 
 
 MALCHUS [to the Student]. Why am I 
 sent to you? 
 
 THE STUDENT. I ask forgiveness from 
 Heaven and [pointing to the Bishop] from 
 him. 
 
 THE BISHOP [smiles], 
 
 JULIAN. This is alia trick! 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Malchus] . Your proofs ? 
 
 MALCHUS. I shall lead you to the 
 cave. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to the Baker]. That coin 
 you hold may be a precious relic. 
 
 THE BAKER [to his apprentice]. Go and 
 save the bread he left in my shop. Lock it in 
 the strong box. 
 
 THE IDLER. Pilgrims will come to Ephe- 
 sus from all over the world. 
 
 [ 91 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 SECOND IDLER. This miracle will be a 
 great source of wealth to our city. 
 
 THE BAKER. They must build a chapel 
 in my shop, and I shall open an hospice in 
 the house above.
 
 IV 
 
 [A cave in the mountain of SeJda. Six of 
 the seven who slept seated on stones. 
 The first stone is vacant. On the sec- 
 ond stone, which is the highest, is seated 
 Maximian, and Marcian on a stone cor- 
 responding to the vacant one. Below, 
 grouped by themselves, Denis, John, 
 Serapion and Constantine.~\ 
 CONSTANTINE. He has been gone a long 
 while. 
 
 JOHN. I am hungry. 
 DENIS. He must come soon. 
 CONSTANTINE. Should they have taken 
 him? 
 
 SERAPION. If we die, we die. 
 MARCIAN. If we die, we live. 
 CONSTANTINE. Without death, there is 
 no life. 
 
 MARCIAN. By our blood, humanity shall 
 be redeemed. 
 
 DENIS. No more discord, no more war, 
 no more poverty. 
 
 [ 93 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 SERAPION. Whatever happens, we shall 
 never recant. 
 
 MAXIMIAN. It were best, if possible, to 
 sleep a little longer. 
 
 CONSTANTINE. We shall have need of all 
 our strength. 
 
 MARCIAN. I feel a strange drowsiness. 
 
 MAXIMIAN. Let us sleep a little longer. 
 [The six, one by one, fall asleep. In the 
 distance is heard chanting. ,] 
 
 CHORUS OF MEN'S VOICES [without], 
 Miserere met, 
 Domine, 
 
 Quoniam infirmus sum. 
 Sana me, 
 Domine, 
 
 Quoniam ossa mea 
 Conturbata sunt. 
 Et anima mea 
 Valde 
 
 Turbata est. 
 Animam meam, 
 Domine, 
 
 Convertere et eripe 
 Fac me salvum 
 Propter misericordiam. 
 [ 94 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 [Malchus leads in the Bishop, clothed in full 
 ecclesiastical vestments, with mitre, 
 cope, and crosier. Acolytes swinging 
 censers and carrying candles, proces- 
 sional banners and crosses. Choristers 
 and priests; behind, the populace, 
 among whom may be distinguished Al- 
 exander of Tralles, the Student, the 
 Baker and the Idler. Malchus takes 
 his seat on the vacant stone, then he, 
 too, sleeps. The Baker on catching 
 sight of the seven falls on his knees 
 as do some of the people. The others, 
 including the Bishop, hesitate, ,] 
 THE BISHOP [to Julian]. He said, I 
 think, that from great crimes, great miracles 
 are born. 
 
 JULIAN [to the Bishop']. This is all a 
 trick. 
 
 THE BISHOP [to Julian]. Fool! 
 JULIAN [to the Bishop~\. To-night? 
 THE BISHOP [to Julian]. No! 
 JULIAN [steals away]. 
 THE BISHOP [falls on his knees. The 
 ecclesiastics, then the people, one by one, do 
 the same]. 
 
 [ 95 ]
 
 THE SEVEN WHO SLEPT 
 
 CHORUS OF BOYS J VOICES. Kyrie eleison, 
 
 Christe eleison, 
 Kyrie eleison! 
 
 CHORUS OF MEN J S VOICES. Gloria Patri 
 
 Et Filio 
 Et Spiritui 
 
 Sancto. 
 Sic erat 
 In principio 
 Et nunc 
 Et semper 
 Et in saecula 
 Saeculorum. 
 
 CHORUS OF BOYS' VOICES. Christe eleison! 
 CHORUS OF MEN'S VOICES. In saecula 
 saeculorum! 
 
 THE BISHOP [glancing at the kneeling 
 populace, smiles}. 
 
 [ 96 ]
 
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