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                                  FLASH GORDON                                   Written by                                Lorenzo SempleJr.                                   FADE IN:                                   EXT. WIDE AFRICAN LANDSCAPE - MORNING                                   At first only darkness, then the rising sun paints in an          endlesssavanna from horizon to horizon. We hear savage drums          beating in the distance coming from some unknown place.                                   The sun clears the horizon. Suddenly it changes amazingly:          thewhite disc goes through a rapid series of color          transitions, from yellow to green to purple to an incredible          BLOOD RED. From it shoots a RED LIGHTNING BOLT.                                   The sky echoes withTHUNDER.                                   We hear a HOWLING ethereal wind, but not a twig of the brush          stirs as bolt after bolt of RED LIGHTNING rips the sky, with          each one a TITLE or CREDITappearing.                                   Under FINAL CREDIT snow is beginning to fall on the burning          blood-red savanna.                                   EXT. PLANE IN FLIGHT - DAY                                   I's aTwin Otter with the logo of some commuter airline. It          buzzes along over pleasant countryside, through a sky that's          almost unnaturally serene and filled with fleecy whiteclouds.                                   INT. PLANE IN FLIGHT - DAY                                   There are just two passengers in the cabin. One is DALE ARDEN,          a great looking dark-haired girl sitting by herselfand          reading a book entitled "KARATE FOR THE SINGLE GIRL.... A          Guide to Survival In The City." A few rows forward, near the          open door into the pilots' compartment, is FLASH GORDON.          He'sstudying a football play-sheet, one of those diagrammed          things with X's and 0's for the players and dotted-line arrows          indicating the directions of movement.                                   Suddenly the planemakes a violent bump. It almost knocks          the book from DALE'S hand. She looks out the window with          sudden fright, tossing hair out of her eyes, in a gesture          that's habitual to her in moments ofstress.                                   There's nothing to see outside but the pretty clouds. She          looks forward again and watches FLASH standing up easily,          leaning in t..e cockpit doorway to speak to thePILOTS.                                   INT. PLANE/ COCKPIT - CONTINUOUS          (CO-P:ILOT, DALE, FLASH, PILOT)                                                   FLASH           What was that,fellas?           2.                                                   PILOT           Clear-air turbulence, is all.Nothing                          SERIOUS                                                   CO-PILOT           But nothing you'd want to toss a           third-down pass through either --           (Grinning backat                          FLASH)           Can I have an autograph for my kid,           Mr. Gordon?                                                   FLASH           Sure -- my pleasure.                                   As FLASHtakes a bit of paper from the CO-PILOT, the plane          takes another jolt, even more violent than the first.                                                   PILOT           Wow. Call Westchester Approach, see           whatthey've got.                                                   FLASH           I sure hope we don't have to turn           back. I mean this is first day of           training camp, I wouldn't want to be                          LATE--                                                   PILOT           Seat-belt time.                                   FLASH starts back to his seat. The plane jumps again, shudders          violently. He holds on, calls upfront:                                                   FLASH           Maybe it'd be smoother if you went                          HIGHER --                                                   DALE           Will you SHUTUP?           (as FLASH's head                          SWIVELS)           Look, Mister Flash Gordon, they have           their hands full -- just let 'em           drive.                                   INT. PLANE -CONTINUOUS          (DALE, FLASH)                                   The plane buffets. FLASH is sent reeling, catches hold of          the rack above DALE, lowers himself into the seat next to          her. He bucklesfast, takes out a candy bar and offers it          to her.           3.                                                   FLASH           When you're nervous, it can help to           chew onsomething                                                   DALE           Thanks a lot -- I look dumb enough           to take candy from a stranger?                                                   FLASH           I'm not astranger exactly -- You           know my name.                                                   DALE           Who doesn't. Number one draft pick,           cover of PEOPLE mag -- what'd the           GIANTS sign you for,eighty-nine           million? Big deal!                                                   FLASH           Of course.                                                   DALE           God, I hate flying -- I'm Dale Arden           it's crazyof me to hate flying --           I'm a travel agent, you see? -- I've           just been checking out a little hotel           in Vermont -- can I still have that           candy bar?           (and in the same breath)           Are wegoing backward?                                                   FLASH           Backwards?                                                   DALE (GASP)           Holy cow! Look at the clouds!                                   EXT.SKY - POV FROM PLANE WINDOW - DAY                                   The pretty white clouds are changing above and beginning to          surround the airplane. Over the engines we HEAR that same          ethereal windrising which we heard in the opening. Slowly          and terrifyingly, the sun starts turning BLOOD RED. The clouds          race faster, faster, until they are actually streaming past          the plane frombehind.                                   INT. PLANE - DAY                                   FLASH and DALE -- faces bathed in the eerie light. Speechless-          DALE grasps the football player's hand with all herstrength.                                   EXT. A FANTASTIC GREENHOUSE - DAY                                   It is a huge and rambling, antique, standing in semiruinous          isolation in a pretty country landscape. Thesun has turned           4.                                   the SAME BLOOD RED we saw from the airplane, and clouds race          across it with unnatural velocity.                                   In the center of thegreenhouse rises a glass-paned tower          through which we glimpse something MIRROR BRIGHT. Floating          high in the air above the structure are several silvery helium-          filled balloons, secured by wires.As we move closer, we          discern a MAN moving about actively on a platform inside the          central tower, about half-way up:                                   INT. GREENHOUSE TOWER -DAY          (MUNSON, TV NEWSMAN, ZARKOV)                                   The man is DR. HANS ZARKOV: big, bearded, feverish looking          and seemingly half mad with exhaustion. In strikingcontrast          to the antique greenhouse exterior, here there are all kinds          of computers and displays connected together in a slapdash          fashion. Quantities of neglected plants, most brown and          dead ordying, hide the works in here from outside view. As          Zarkov runs around throwing switches and eyeing displays, a          grim-voiced TV. NEWSMAN is appearing and speaking from a          good-sized televisionscreen above the main control console:                                                   TV NEWSMAN           The extraordinary weather disturbances           reported from Africa this morning           are now crossing theAtlantic, and           are expected to reach the East Coast           of the United States by noon.           According to scientists at NASA, the           Earth is being struck by an immense           stream of cosmic energy,apparently           the result of some catastrophic           stellar accident beyond the reaches                          OF --                                   ZARKOV whirls, slams the TV SOUND OFF and yells atthe          silently mouthing NEWSMAN on the screen.                                                   ZARKOV           Fools! Can't you understand? This           is no accident-- it's an ATTACK! An           attack planned by aMIND! This is           ATTACK!                                   MUNSON, a scared looking assistant, comes running up the          stairs with a computer print-outsheet.                                                   MUNSON           Dr. Zarkov! Look at the report from           the last balloon!                                   ZARKOV grabs it, eyesit.           5.                                                   ZARKOV           I predicted it, didn't I?                                                   MUNSON           Yes, sir -- you sure did. And this           funny suntoo ---                                                   ZARKOV           Ozone layer starting to crack up.           By tonight Carbon dioxide will be           combining with free nitrogen to form --           (breaks off,crumpling                          THE SHEET)           Well, this is it.                                                   MUNSON           Sir, the President is on the TV behind                          YOU--                                                   ZARKOV           What the hell do I care? I tried to           warn him -- he called me mad, like           all the others.                                   BOOM! The TV screenEXPLODES in a fine shower of glass.                                                   ZARKOV (CONT'D)           Time for us to go, Munson. Get your           toothbrush andwhatever.                                                   MUNSON           Go where?                                                   ZARKOV           Up. Up and at him.                                   Stunned, MUNSON turns hishead and glances at something big          and MIRROR BRIGHT gleaming behind foliage in center of tower.                                                   MUNSON           You're crazy!                                   Perfectlycalm except for the maniacal glint in his eyes,          ZARKOV pulls out a revolver and points it at MUNSON.                                                   ZARKOV           I can't handle the capsule alone get           yourtoothbrush.                                   INT. COCKPIT TO SKY - POV          (CO-PILOT, PILOT)                                   The PILOTS watch these clouds also, transfixed with disbelief.          They speakwith that incredible calmness characteristic of          professional airmen in a moment of impending catastrophe.           6.                                                   PILOT           What's ,e word fromWestchester           Approach, Bill?                                                   CO-PILOT           Zip. All chanels dead.           (Reacting to the panel)           Say, get a load of the VOR's....                                   The


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Stories from Pentamerone, by Giambattista BasileThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Stories from PentameroneAuthor: Giambattista BasilePosting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook #2198]ReleaseDate: May, 2000Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES FROM PENTAMERONE ***Produced by Batsy Bybell.  HTML version by Al Haines.Stories from PentameronebyGiambattistaBasileNOTEThe collection of folk-tales known as Il Pentamerone was firstpublished at Naples and in the Neopolitan dialect, by GiambattistaBasile, Conte di Torrone, who is believed to have collected themchiefly in Creteand Venice, and to have died about the year 1637.CONTENTS  1.  How the Tales came to be told  2.  The Myrtle  3.  Peruonto  4.  Vardiello  5.  The Flea  6.  Cenerentola  7.  The Merchant  8.  Goat-Face  9.  TheEnchanted Doe 10. Parsley 11. The Three Sisters 12. Violet 13. Pippo 14. The Serpent 15. The She-Bear 16. The Dove 17. Cannetella 18. Corvetto 19. The Booby 20. The Stone in the Cock's Head 21. The ThreeEnchanted Princes 22. The Dragon 23. The Two Cakes 24. The Seven Doves 25. The Raven 26. The Months 27. Pintosmalto 28. The Golden Root 29. Sun, Moon, and Talia 30. Nennillo and Nennella 31. The Three Citrons32. ConclusionIHOW THE TALES CAME TO BE TOLDIt is an old saying, that he who seeks what he should not, finds whathe would not. Every one has heard of the ape who, in trying to pull onhis boots, was caught by thefoot. And it happened in like manner to awretched slave, who, although she never had shoes to her feet, wantedto wear a crown on her head. But the straight road is the best; and,sooner or later, a day comes whichsettles all accounts. At last,having by evil means usurped what belonged to another, she fell to theground; and the higher she had mounted, the greater was her fall--asyou shall see.Once upon a time the King of WoodyValley had a daughter named Zoza,who was never seen to laugh. The unhappy father, who had no othercomfort in life but this only daughter, left nothing untried to driveaway her melancholy. So he sent for folks whowalk on stilts, fellowswho jump through hoops, for boxers, for conjurers, for jugglers whoperform sleight-of-hand tricks, for strong men, for dancing dogs, forleaping clowns, for the donkey that drinks out of atumbler--in short,he tried first one thing and then another to make her laugh. But allwas time lost, for nothing could bring a smile to her lips.So at length the poor father, at wit's end, and to make a last trial,ordered alarge fountain of oil to be set in front of the palace gates,thinking to himself that when the oil ran down the street, along whichthe people passed like a troop of ants, they would be obliged, in ordernot to soil theirclothes, to skip like grasshoppers, leap like goats,and run like hares; while one would go picking and choosing his way,and another go creeping along the wall. In short, he hoped thatsomething might come to pass tomake his daughter laugh.So the fountain was made; and as Zoza was one day standing at thewindow, grave and demure, and looking as sour as vinegar, there came bychance an old woman, who, soaking up the oilwith a sponge, began tofill a little pitcher which she had brought with her. And as she waslabouring hard at this ingenious device, a young page of the courtpassing by threw a stone so exactly to a hair that he hit thepitcherand broke it to pieces. Whereupon the old woman, who had no hair on hertongue, turned to the page, full of wrath, and exclaimed, "Ah, youimpertinent young dog, you mule, you gallows-rope, youspindle-legs!Ill luck to you! May you be pierced by a Catalan lance! May a thousandills befall you and something more to boot, you thief, you knave!"The lad, who had little beard and less discretion, hearing this stringofabuse, repaid the old woman in her own coin, saying, "Have you done,you grandmother of witches, you old hag, you child-strangler!"When the old woman heard these compliments she flew into such a ragethat, losinghold of the bridle and escaping from the stable ofpatience, she acted as if she were mad, cutting capers in the air andgrinning like an ape. At this strange spectacle Zoza burst into such afit of laughter that she well-nighfainted away. But when the old womansaw herself played this trick, she flew into a passion, and turning afierce look on Zoza she exclaimed: "May you never have the least littlebit of a husband, unless you take thePrince of Round-Field."Upon hearing this, Zoza ordered the old woman to be called; and desiredto know whether, in her words, she had laid on her a curse, or had onlymeant to insult her. And the old woman answered,"Know then, that thePrince of whom I spoke is a most handsome creature, and is namedTaddeo, who, by the wicked spell of a fairy, having given the lasttouch to the picture of life, has been placed in a tomb outsidethewalls of the city; and there is an inscription upon a stone, sayingthat whatever woman shall in three days fill with tears a pitcher thathangs there upon a hook will bring the Prince to life and shall takehim for ahusband. But as it is impossible for two human eyes to weepso much as to fill a pitcher that would hold half a barrel, I havewished you this wish in return for your scoffing and jeering at me. AndI pray that it may cometo pass, to avenge the wrong you have done me."So saying, she scuttled down the stairs, for fear of a beating.Zoza pondered over the words of the old woman, and after turning over ahundred thoughts in her mind,until her head was like a mill full ofdoubts, she was at last struck by a dart of the passion that blinds thejudgment and puts a spell on the reasoning of man. She took a handfulof dollars from her father's coffers and leftthe palace, walking onand on, until she arrived at the castle of a fairy, to whom sheunburdened her heart. The fairy, out of pity for such a fair younggirl, who had two spurs to make her fall--little help and much loveforan unknown object--gave her a letter of recommendation to a sister ofhers, who was also a fairy. And this second fairy received her likewisewith great kindness; and on the following morning, when Nightcommandsthe birds to proclaim that whoever has seen a flock of black shadowsgone astray shall be well rewarded, she gave her a beautiful walnut,saying, "Take this, my dear daughter, and keep it carefully; butneveropen it, but in time of the greatest need." And then she gave her alsoa letter, commending her to another sister.After journeying a long way, Zoza arrived at this fairy's castle, andwas received with the sameaffection. And the next morning this fairylikewise gave her a letter to another sister, together with a chestnut,cautioning her in the same manner. Then Zoza travelled on to the nextcastle, where she was received with athousand caresses and given afilbert, which she was never to open, unless the greatest necessityobliged her. So she set out upon her journey, and passed so manyforests and rivers, that at the end of seven years, justat the time ofday when the Sun, awakened by the coming of the cocks, has saddled hissteed to run his accustomed stages, she arrived almost lame atRound-Field.There, at the entrance to the city, she saw a marbletomb, at the footof a fountain, which was weeping tears of crystal at seeing itself shutup in a porphyry prison. And, lifting up the pitcher, she placed it inher lap and began to weep into it, imitating the fountain to maketwolittle fountains of her eyes. And thus she continued without everraising her head from the mouth of the pitcher--until, at the end oftwo days, it was full within two inches of the top. But, being weariedwith so muchweeping, she was unawares overtaken by sleep, and wasobliged to rest for an hour or so under the canopy of her eyes.Meanwhile a certain Slave, with the legs of a grasshopper, came, as shewas wont, to the fountain,to fill her water-cask. Now she knew themeaning of the fountain which was talked of everywhere; and when shesaw Zoza weeping so incessantly, and making two little streams from hereyes, she was always watchingand spying until the pitcher should befull enough for her to add the last drops to it; and thus to leave Zozacheated of her hopes. Now, therefore, seeing Zoza asleep, she seizedher opportunity; and dexterously removingthe pitcher from under Zoza,and placing her own eyes over it, she filled it in four seconds. Buthardly was it full, when the Prince arose from the white marble shrine,as if awakened from a deep sleep, and embraced thatmass of dark flesh,and carried her straightways to his palace; feasts and marvellousilluminations were made, and he took her for his wife.When Zoza awoke and saw the pitcher gone, and her hopes with it, andtheshrine open, her heart grew so heavy that she was on the point ofunpacking the bales of her soul at the custom-house of Death. But, atlast, seeing that there was no help for her misfortune, and that shecould onlyblame her own eyes, which had served her so ill, she wenther way, step by step, into the city. And when she heard of the feastswhich the Prince had made, and the dainty creature he had married, sheinstantly knewhow all this mischief had come to pass; and said toherself, sighing, "Alas, two dark things have brought me to theground,--sleep and a black slave!" Then she took a fine house facingthe palace of the Prince; fromwhence, though she could not see theidol of her heart, she could at least look upon the walls wherein whatshe sighed for was enclosed.But Taddeo, who was constantly flying like a bat round that black nightof a Slave,chanced to perceive Zoza and was entranced with her beauty.When the Slave saw this she was beside herself with rage, and vowedthat if Taddeo did not leave the window, she would kill her baby whenit wasborn.Taddeo, who was anxiously desiring an heir, was afraid to offend hiswife and tore himself away from the sight of Zoza; who seeing thislittle balm for the sickness of her hopes taken away from her, knewnot, atfirst, what to do. But, recollecting the fairies' gifts, sheopened the walnut, and out of it hopped a little dwarf like a doll, themost graceful toy that was ever seen in the world. Then, seatinghimself upon the window, thedwarf began to sing with such a trill andgurgling, that he seemed a veritable king of the birds.The Slave, when she saw and heard this, was so enraptured that, callingTaddeo, she said, "Bring me the little fellow who issinging yonder, orI will kill the child when it is born." So the Prince, who allowed thisugly woman to put the saddle on his back, sent instantly to Zoza, toask if she would not sell the dwarf. Zoza answered she was notamerchant, but that he was welcome to it as a gift. So Taddeo acceptedthe offer, for he was anxious to keep his wife in good humour.Four days after this, Zoza opened the chestnut, when out came a henwith twelvelittle chickens, all of pure gold, and, being placed on thewindow, the Slave saw them and took a vast fancy to them; and callingTaddeo, she showed him the beautiful sight, and again ordered him toprocure the hen andchickens for her. So Taddeo, who let himself becaught in the web, and become the sport of the ugly creature, sentagain to Zoza, offering her any price she might ask for the beautifulhen. But Zoza gave the sameanswer as before, that he might have it asa gift. Taddeo, therefore, who could not do otherwise, made necessitykick at discretion, and accepted the beautiful present.But after four days more, Zoza opened thehazel-nut, and forth came adoll which spun gold--an amazing sight. As soon as it was placed at thesame window, the Slave saw it and, calling to Taddeo, said, "I musthave that doll, or I will kill the child." Taddeo, wholet his proudwife toss him about like a shuttle, had nevertheless not the heart tosend to Zoza for the doll, but resolved to go himself, recollecting thesayings: "No messenger is better than yourself," and "Let him whowouldeat a fish take it by the tail." So he went and besought Zoza to pardonhis impertinence, on account of the caprices of his wife; and Zoza, whowas in ecstasies at beholding the cause of her sorrow, put aconstrainton herself; and so let him entreat her the longer to keep in sight theobject of her love, who was stolen from her by an ugly slave. At lengthshe gave him the doll, as she had done the other things, butbeforeplacing it in his hands, she prayed the little doll to put a desireinto the heart of the Slave to hear stories told by her. And whenTaddeo saw the doll in his hand, without his paying a single coin, hewas so filled withamazement at such courtesy that he offered hiskingdom and his life in exchange for the gift. Then, returning to hispalace, he placed it in his wife's hands; and instantly such a longingseized her to hear stories told, thatshe called her husband and said,"Bid some story-tellers come and tell me stories, or I promise you, Iwill kill the child."Taddeo, to get rid of this madness, ordered a proclamation instantly tobe made, that all the womenof the land should come on the appointedday. And on that day, at the hour when the star of Venus appears, whoawakes the Dawn, to strew the road along which the Sun has to pass, theladies were all assembled at thepalace. But Taddeo, not wishing todetain such a rabble for the mere amusement of his wife, chose ten onlyof the best of the city who appeared to him most capable and eloquent.These were Bushy-haired Zeza,Bandy-legged Cecca, Wen-necked Meneca,Long-nosed Tolla, Humph-backed Popa, Bearded Antonella, Dumpy Ciulla,Blear-eyed Paola, Bald-headed Civonmetella, and Square-shoulderedJacova. Their names he wrotedown on a sheet of paper; and then,dismissing the others, he arose with the Slave from under the canopy,and they went gently to the garden of the palace, where the leafybranches were so closely interlaced, that theSun could not separatethem with all the industry of his rays. And seating themselves under apavilion, formed by a trellis of vines, in the middle of which ran agreat fountain--the schoolmaster of the courtiers, whom hetaughteveryday to murmur--Taddeo thus began:"There is nothing in the world more glorious, my gentle dames, than tolisten to the deeds of others; nor was it without reason that the greatphilosopher placed thehighest happiness of man in listening to prettystories. In hearing pleasing things told, griefs vanish, troublesomethoughts are put to flight and life is lengthened. And, for thisreason, you see the artisans leave theirworkshops, the merchants theircountry-houses, the lawyers their cases, the shopkeepers theirbusiness, and all repair with open mouths to the barbers' shops and tothe groups of chatterers, to listen to stories, fictions,and news inthe open air. I cannot, therefore, but pardon my wife, who has takenthis strange fancy into her head of hearing the telling of tales. So,if you will be pleased to satisfy the whim of the Princess and complywithmy wishes, you will, during the next four or five days, each ofyou relate daily one of those tales which old women are wont to tellfor the amusement of the little ones. And you will come regularly tothis spot; where,after a good repast, you shall begin to tell stories,so as to pass life pleasantly--and sorrow to him that dies!"At these words, all bowed assent to the commands of Taddeo; and thetables being meanwhile set out andfeast spread, they sat down to eat.And when they had done eating, the Prince took the paper and calling oneach in turn, by name, the stories that follow were told, in due order.IITHE MYRTLEThere lived in the village ofMiano a man and his wife, who had nochildren whatever, and they longed with the greatest eagerness to havean heir. The woman, above all, was for ever saying, "O heavens! if Imight but have a little baby--I shouldnot care, were it even a sprigof a myrtle." And she repeated this song so often, and so weariedHeaven with these words, that at last her wish was granted; and at theend of nine months, instead of a little boy or girl,she placed in thehands of the nurse a fine sprig of myrtle. This she planted with greatdelight in a pot, ornamented with ever so many beautiful figures, andset it in the window, tending it morning and evening withmorediligence than the gardener does a bed of cabbages from which hereckons to pay the rent of his garden.Now the King's son happening to pass by, as he was going to hunt, tooka prodigious fancy to this beautifulplant, and sent to ask themistress of the house if she would sell it, for he would give even oneof his eyes for it. The woman at last, after a thousand difficultiesand refusals, allured by his offers, dazzled by hispromises,frightened by his threats, overcome by his prayers, gave him the pot,beseeching him to hold it dear, for she loved it more than a daughter,and valued it as much as if it were her own offspring. Then thePrincehad the flower-pot carried with the greatest care in the world into hisown chamber, and placed it in a balcony, and tended and watered it withhis own hand.It happened one evening, when the Prince had gone tobed, and put outthe candles, and all were at rest and in their first sleep, that heheard the sound of some one stealing through the house, and comingcautiously towards his bed; whereat he thought it must besomechamber-boy coming to lighten his purse for him, or some mischievousimp to pull the bed-clothes off him. But as he was a bold fellow, whomnone could frighten, he acted the dead cat, waiting to see the upshotofthe affair. When he perceived the object approach nearer, andstretching out his hand felt something smooth, and instead of layinghold, as he expected, on the prickles of a hedgehog, he touched alittle creature moresoft and fine than Barbary wool, more pliant andtender than a marten's tail, more delicate than thistle-down, he flewfrom one thought to another, and taking her to be a fairy (as indeedshe was), he conceived at once agreat affection for her. The nextmorning, before the Sun, like a chief physician, went out to visit theflowers that are sick and languid, the unknown fair one rose anddisappeared, leaving the Prince filled with curiosityand wonder.But when this had gone on for seven days, he was burning and meltingwith desire to know what good fortune this was that the stars hadshowered down on him, and what ship freighted with the graces ofLoveit was that had come to its moorings in his chamber. So one night, whenthe fair maiden was fast asleep, he tied one of her tresses to his arm,that she might not escape; then he called a chamberlain, andbiddinghim light the candles, he saw the flower of beauty, the miracle ofwomen, the looking-glass and painted egg of Venus, the fair bait ofLove--he saw a little doll, a beautiful dove, a Fata Morgana, abanner--he saw agolden trinket, a hunter, a falcon's eye, a moon inher fifteenth day, a pigeon's bill, a morsel for a king, a jewel--hesaw, in short, a sight to amaze one.In astonishment he cried, "O sleep, sweet sleep! heap poppies ontheeyes of this lovely jewel; interrupt not my delight in viewing as longas I desire this triumph of beauty. O lovely tress that binds me! Olovely eyes that inflame me! O lovely lips that refresh me! O lovelybosom thatconsoles me! Oh where, at what shop of the wonders ofNature, was this living statue made? What India gave the gold for thesehairs? What Ethiopia the ivory to form these brows? What seashore thecarbuncles thatcompose these eyes? What Tyre the purple to dye thisface? What East the pearls to string these teeth? And from whatmountains was the snow taken to sprinkle over this bosom--snow contraryto nature, that nurturesthe flowers and burns hearts?"So saying he made a vine of his arms, and clasping her neck, she awokefrom her sleep and replied, with a gentle smile, to the sigh of theenamoured Prince; who, seeing her open her eyes,said, "O my treasure,if viewing without candles this temple of love I was in transports,what will become of my life now that you have lighted two lamps? Obeauteous eyes, that with a trump-card of light make thestarsbankrupt, you alone have pierced this heart, you alone can make apoultice for it like fresh eggs! O my lovely physician, take pity, takepity on one who is sick of love; who, having changed the air from thedarknessof night to the light of this beauty, is seized by a fever;lay your hand on this heart, feel my pulse, give me a prescription.But, my soul, why do I ask for a prescription? I desire no othercomfort than a touch of that littlehand; for I am certain that withthe cordial of that fair grace, and with the healing root of thattongue of thine, I shall be sound and well again."At these words the lovely fairy grew as red as fire, and replied, "Notso muchpraise, my lord Prince! I am your servant, and would doanything in the world to serve that kingly face; and I esteem it greatgood fortune that from a bunch of myrtle, set in a pot of earth, I havebecome a branch of


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wailing Asteroid, by Murray LeinsterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States,you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: The Wailing AsteroidAuthor: Murray LeinsterRelease Date: September 20, 2015 [EBook #50022]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAILING ASTEROID ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net                         THE WAILINGASTEROID                          by Murray Leinster                           An Avon Original                          AVON BOOK DIVISION                        The Hearst Corporation                           959 EighthAvenue                         New York 19, New YorkCopyright, 1960, by Murray Leinster. Published by arrangement withthe author. Printed in the U.S.A.[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover anyevidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       *       *       *       *       *There was no life on the asteroid, but the miles of rock-hewn corridorsthrough which the earth party wandered left nodoubt about the purposeof the asteroid.It was a mighty fortress, stocked with weapons of destruction beyondman's power to understand.And yet there was no life here, nor had there been for untold centuries.What racehad built this stronghold? What unimaginable power were theydefending against? Why was it abandoned? There was no answer, all wasdead.But--not quite all.For in a room above the tomb-like fortress a powerfultransmitterbeamed its birdlike, fluting sounds toward earth. Near it, on a hugestar-map of the universe, with light-years measured by inches, ten tinyred sparks were moving, crawling inexorably toward thecenter.Moving, at many times the speed of light, with the acquired massof suns ... moving, on a course that would pass through the solarsystem.The unknown aliens would not even see our sun explode from the forceoftheir passing, would not even notice the tiny speck called Earth asit died....       *       *       *       *       *Chapter 1The signals from space began a little after midnight, local time, on aFriday. They were first picked upin the South Pacific, just westwardof the International Date Line. A satellite-watching station on anisland named Kalua was the first to receive them, though nobody heardthe first four or five minutes. But it is certainthat the very firstmessage was picked up and recorded by the monitor instruments.The satellite-tracking unit on Kalua was practically a duplicate ofall its fellows. There was the station itself with a verticalantennaoutside pointing at the stars. There were various lateral antennaeheld two feet above ground by concrete posts. In the instrument roomin the building a light burned over a desk, three or four monitorlightsglowed dimly to indicate that the self-recording instrumentswere properly operating, and there was a multiple-channel tape recorderbuilt into the wall. Its twin tape reels turned sedately, winding abrown plastic ribbonfrom one to the other at a moderate pace.The staff man on duty had gone to the installation's kitchen for a cupof coffee. No sound originated in the room, unless one counted thefluttering of a piece of weighted-downpaper on the desk. Outside,palm trees whispered and rustled their long fronds in the southeasttrade wind under a sky full of glittering stars. Beyond, there wasthe dull booming of surf upon the barrier reef of the island.But theinstruments made no sound. Only the tape reels moved.The signals began abruptly. They came out of a speaker and wereinstantly recorded. They were elfin and flutelike and musical. Theywere crisp anddistinct. They did not form a melody, but nearly all thecomponents of melody were there. Pure musical notes, each with its ownpitch, all of different lengths, like quarter-notes and eighth-notesin music. The soundsneeded only rhythm and arrangement to form aplaintive tune.Nothing happened. The sounds continued for something over a minute.They stopped long enough to seem to have ended. Then they began again.When thestaff man came back into the room with a coffee cup in hishand, he heard the flutings instantly. His jaw dropped. He said, "Whatthe hell?" and went to look at the instruments. He spilled some of hiscoffee when he sawtheir readings.The tracking dials said that the signals came from a stationary sourcealmost directly overhead. If they were from a stationary source,no plane was transmitting them. Nor could they be coming fromanartificial satellite. A plane would move at a moderate pace across thesky. A satellite would move faster. Much faster. This source, accordingto the instruments, did not move at all.The staff man listened with a blankexpression on his face. There wasbut one rational explanation, which he did not credit for an instant.The reasonable answer would have been that somebody, somewhere, had puta satellite out into an orbit requiringtwenty-four hours for a circuitof the earth, instead of the ninety to one-hundred-twenty-four-minuteorbits of the satellites known to sweep around the world from westto east and pole to pole. But the piping, musicalsounds were notthe sort of thing that modern physicists would have contrived tocarry information about cosmic-particle frequency, space temperature,micrometeorites, and the like.The signals stopped again, and againresumed. The staff man wasgalvanized into activity. He rushed to waken other members of theoutpost. When he got back, the signals continued for a minute andstopped altogether. But they were recorded on tape,with the instrumentreadings that had been made during their duration. The staff man playedthe tape back for his companions.They felt as he did. These were signals from space where man had neverbeen. They hadlistened to the first message ever to reach mankind fromthe illimitable emptiness between the stars and planets. Man was notalone. Man was no longer isolated. Man....The staff of the tracking station was very muchupset. Most of themen were white-faced by the time the taped message had been re-playedthrough to its end. They were frightened.Considering everything, they had every reason to be.The second pick-up was inDarjeeling, in northern India. The Indiangovernment was then passing through one of its periods of enthusiasticinterest in science. It had set up a satellite-observation post in aformer British cavalry stable on theoutskirts of the town. The actinghead of the observing staff happened to hear the second broadcast toreach Earth. It arrived some seventy-nine minutes after the firstreception, and it was picked up by two stations,Kalua and Darjeeling.The Darjeeling observer was incredulous at what he heard--fiverepetitions of the same sequence of flutelike notes. After eachpause--when it seemed that the signals had stopped before theyactuallydid so--the reception was exactly the same as the one before. Itwas inconceivable that such a succession of sounds, lasting a fullminute, could be exactly repeated by any natural chain of events. Fiverepetitionswere out of the question. The notes were signals. They werea communication which was repeated to be sure it was received.The third broadcast was heard in Lebanon in addition to Kalua andDarjeeling. Reception in allthree places was simultaneous. A signalfrom a nearby satellite could not possibly have been picked up so fararound the Earth's curvature. The widening of the area of reception,too, proved that there was no newsatellite aloft with an orbit periodof exactly twenty-four hours, so that it hung motionless in the skyrelative to Earth. Tracking observations, in fact, showed the source ofthe signals to move westward, as time passed,with the apparent motionof a star. No satellite of Earth could possibly exist with such anorbit unless it was close enough to show a detectable parallax. Thisdid not.A French station picked up the next batch of plaintivesounds. Kalua,Darjeeling, and Lebanon still received. By the time the next signal wasdue, Croydon, in England, had its giant radar-telescope trained on thepart of the sky from which all the tracking stations agreed thesignalscame.Croydon painstakingly made observations during four seventy-nine-minuteintervals and four five-minute receptions of the fluting noises. Itreported that there was a source of artificial signals at anextremelygreat distance, position right ascension so-and-so, declinationsuch-and-such. The signals began every seventy-nine minutes. They couldbe heard by any receiving instrument capable of handling themicrowavefrequency involved. The broadcast was extremely broad-band. It coveredmore than two octaves and sharp tuning was not necessary. A man-madesignal would have been confined to as narrow a wave-bandas possible,to save power for one reason, so it could not be imagined that thesignal was anything but artificial. Yet no Earth science could havesent a transmitter out so far.When sunrise arrived at the tracking station onKalua, it ceased toreceive from space. On the other hand, tracking stations in the UnitedStates, the Antilles, and South America began to pick up the crypticsounds.The first released news of the happening wasbroadcast in the UnitedStates. In the South Pacific and India and the Near East and Europe,the whole matter seemed too improbable for the notification of thepublic. News pressure in the United States, though, is verygreat. Herethe news rated broadcast, and got it.That was why Joe Burke did not happen to complete the business forwhich he'd taken Sandy Lund to a suitable, romantic spot. She was hissecretary and the onlypermanent employee in the highly individualbusiness he'd begun and operated. He'd known her all his life, andit seemed to him that for most of it he'd wanted to marry her. Butsomething had happened to him when hewas quite a small boy--and stillhappened at intervals--which interposed a mental block. He'd alwayswanted to be romantic with her, but there was a matter of two moonsin a strange-starred sky, and trees with foliagelike none on Earth,and an overwhelming emotion. There was no rational explanation for it.There could be none. Often he'd told himself that Sandy was real andutterly desirable, and this lunatic repetitive experience wasat worstinsanity and at the least delusion. But he'd never been able to domore than stammer when talk between them went away from matter-of-factthings.Tonight, though, he'd parked his car where a river sparkled inthemoonlight. There was a scent of pine and arbutus in the air and a faintthread of romantic music came from his car's radio. He'd brought Sandyhere to propose to her. He was doggedly resolved to break the chainsapsychological oddity had tied him up in.He cleared his throat. He'd taken Sandy out to dinner, ostensibly tocelebrate the completion of a development job for Interiors, Inc. Burkehad started Burke Development, Inc.,some four years out of collegewhen he found he didn't like working for other people and could workfor himself. Its function was to develop designs and processes forcompanies too small to haveresearch-and-development divisions of theirown. The latest, now-finished, job was a wall-garden which thoseexpensive interior decorators, Interiors, Inc., believed might appealto the very rich. Burke had made it. Itwas a hydroponic job. A richman's house could have one or more walls which looked like a grassysward stood on edge, with occasional small flowers or even fruitsgrowing from its close-clipped surface.[A]     [FootnoteA: Transcriber's Note: The following sentence has been     deleted at this point: "Interiors, Inc., would push the idea of a     a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarine where it would cation."     This is a possible printererror.  A later edition of this work     also has this sentence deleted.It was done. A production-job room-wall had been shipped and the checkfor it banked. Burke had toyed with the idea that growing vegetationlike thatmight be useful in a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarinewhere it would keep the air fresh indefinitely. But such ideas were forthe future. They had nothing to do with now. Now Burke was going totriumph over anobsessive dream."I've got something to say, Sandy," said Burke painfully.She did not turn her head. There was moonlight, rippling water, and thetranquil noises of the night in springtime. A perfect setting forwhatBurke had in mind, and what Sandy knew about in advance. She waited,her eyes turned away from him so he wouldn't see that they were shininga little."I'm something of an idiot," said Burke, clumsily. "It's onlyfair totell you about it. I'm subject to a psychological gimmick that a girlI--Hm." He coughed. "I think I ought to tell you about it.""Why?" asked Sandy, still not looking in his direction."Because I want to be fair," saidBurke. "I'm a sort of crackpot.You've noticed it, of course."Sandy considered."No-o-o-o," she said measuredly. "I think you're pretty normal,except--No. I think you're all right.""Unfortunately," he told her, "I'm not.Ever since I was a kid I'vebeen bothered by a delusion, if that's what it is. It doesn't makesense. It couldn't. But it made me take up engineering, I think,and ..."His voice trailed away."And what?""Made an idiot out ofme," said Burke. "I was always pretty crazy aboutyou, and it seems to me that I took you to a lot of dances and such inhigh school, but I couldn't act romantic. I wanted to, but I couldn't.There was this crazydelusion....""I wondered, a little," said Sandy, smiling."I _wanted_ to be romantic about you," he told her urgently. "But thisdamned obsession kept me from it.""Are you offering to be a brother to me now?" askedSandy."No!" said Burke explosively. "I'm fed up with myself. I want to bedifferent. Very different. With you!"Sandy smiled again."Strangely enough, you interest me," she told him. "Do go on!"But he was abruptlytongue-tied. He looked at her, struggling to speak.She waited."I w-want to ask you to m-m-marry me," said Burke desperately. "But Ihave to tell you about the other thing first. Maybe you won't want...."Her eyes weredefinitely shining now. There was soft music and ripplingwater and soft wind in the trees. It was definitely the time and placefor romance.But the music on the car radio cut off abruptly. A harshvoiceinterrupted:"_Special Bulletin! Special Bulletin! Messages of unknown origin arereaching Earth from outer space! Special Bulletin! Messages from outerspace!_"Burke reached over and turned up the sound. Perhapshe was the only manin the world who would have spoiled such a moment to listen to a newsbroadcast, and even he wouldn't have done it for a broadcast on anyother subject. He turned the sound high."_This is aspecial broadcast from the Academy of Sciences inWashington, D. C._" boomed the speaker. "_Some thirteen hours ago asatellite-tracking station in the South Pacific reported picking upsignals of unknown origin andgreat strength, using the microwavefrequencies also used by artificial satellites now in orbit aroundEarth. The report was verified shortly afterward from India, then NearEast tracking stations made the same report.European listening postsand radar telescopes were on the alert when the sky area from whichthe signals come rose above the horizon. American stations have againverified the report within the last few minutes.Artificial signals,plainly not made by men, are now reaching Earth every seventy-nineminutes from remotest space. There is as yet no hint of what themessages may mean, but that they are an attempt atcommunication iscertain. The signals have been recorded on tape, and the sounds whichfollow are those which have been sent to Earth by alien, non-human,intelligent beings no one knows how far away._"A pause.Then the car radio, with night sounds and the calls ofnightbirds for background, gave out crisp, distinct fluting noises,like someone playing an arbitrary selection of musical notes on astrange wind instrument.The effectwas plaintive, but Burke stiffened in every muscle at thefirst of them. The fluting noises were higher and lower in turn. Atintervals, they paused as if between groups of signals constitutinga word. The enigmatic soundswent on for a full minute. Then theystopped. The voice returned:"_These are the signals from space. What you have heard is apparentlya complete message. It is repeated five times and then ceases. An hourandnineteen minutes later it is again repeated five times...._"The voice continued, while Burke remained frozen and motionless inthe parked car. Sandy watched him, at first hopefully, and thenbewilderedly. The voice saidthat the signal strength was very great.But the power for artificial-satellite broadcasts is only a fraction ofa watt. These signals, considering the minimum distance from which theycould come, had at least thousands ofkilowatts behind them.Somewhere out in space, farther than man's robot rockets had ever gone,huge amounts of electric energy were controlled to send these signalsto Earth. Scientists were in disagreement about thepossible distancethe signals had traveled, whether they were meant solely for Earthor not, and whether they were an attempt to open communication withhumanity. But nobody doubted that the signals were artificial.They hadbeen sent by technical means. They could not conceivably be naturalphenomena. Directional fixes said absolutely that they did not comefrom Mars or Jupiter or Saturn. Neptune and Uranus and Pluto werenotnearly in the line of the signals' travel. Of course Venus and Mercurywere to sunward of Earth, which ruled them out, since the signalsarrived only on the night side of mankind's world. Nobody could guess,as yet,where they did originate.Burke sat utterly still, every muscle tense. He was so pale that evenin the moonlight Sandy saw it. She was alarmed."Joe! What's the matter?""Did you--hear that?" he asked thinly. "Thesignals?""Of course. But what....""I recognized them," said Burke, in a tone that was somehow despairing."I've heard signals like that every so often since I was a kid." Heswallowed. "It was sounds like that, and whatwent with them, that hasbeen the--trouble with me. I was going to tell you about it--and askyou if you'd marry me anyway."He began to tremble a little, which was not at all like the Joe Burkethat Sandy knew."I don'tquite under--""I'm afraid I've gone out of my head," he said unsteadily. "Look,Sandy! I was going to propose to you. Instead, I'm going to take youback to the office. I'm going to play you a recording I made a yearago.I think that when you've heard it you'll decide you wouldn't wantto marry me anyhow."Sandy looked at him with astonished eyes."You mean those signals from somewhere mean something special to you?""Veryspecial," said Burke. "They raise the question of whether I'vebeen crazy, and am suddenly sane, or whether I've been sane up to now,and have suddenly gone crazy."The radio switched back to dance music. Burke cut itoff. He startedthe car's motor. He backed, swung around, and headed for the office andconstruction shed of Burke Development, Inc.Elsewhere, the profoundest minds of the planet gingerly examined theappalling factthat signals came to Earth from a place where men couldnot be. A message came from something which was not human. It was asuggestion to make cold chills run up and down any educated spine.But Burke drovetensely, and the road's surface sped toward the car'swheels and vanished under them. A warm breeze hummed and thutteredaround the windshield. Sandy sat very still."The way I'm acting doesn't make sense, doesit?" Burke asked. "Do youfeel like you're riding with a lunatic?""No," she said. "But I never thought that if you ever did get aroundto asking me to marry you, somebody from outer space would forbid thebanns! Can'tyou tell me what all this is about?""I doubt it very much," he told her. "Can you tell me what the signalsare about?"She shook her head. He drove through the night. Presently he said,"Aside from my private angle on thematter, there are some queerthings about this business. Why should somebody out in space send usa broadcast? It's not from a planet, they say. If there's a spaceshipon the way here, why warn us? If they want to befriends, they can'tbe sure we'll permit it. If they intend to be enemies, why throw awaythe advantage of surprise? In either case, it would be foolish to sendcryptic messages on ahead. And any message would have tobe cryptic."The car went whirring along the roadway. Soon twinkling lights appearedamong the trees. The small and larger buildings of Burke Development,Inc., came gradually into view. They were dark objects in a


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                                      SHALLOW GRAVE                                       Written by                                       JohnHodge                                                             FINAL DRAFT          INT. DAY                    A blurred image forms on a white screen. A horizontal strip of           face, eyes motionless andunblinking.                     DAVID          (VOICE-OVER)           Take trust, for instance, or friendship: these are the important           things in life, the things that matter, that help you onyour           way. If you can't trust your friends, well, what then?                    EXT. DAWN                     A series of fast-cut static scenes of empty streets.                    DAVID          (VOICE-OVER)          This could have been any city: they're all the same.                    A rapid, swerving track along deserted streets and downnarrow           lanes and passageways. Accompanied by soundtrack and credits.                    The track ends outside a solid, fashionable Edinburgh tenement.                    INT. STAIRWELL.DAY                    At the door of a flat on the third floor of the tenement. The           door is dark, heavy wood and on it is a plastic card embossed           with the names of three tenants. They are AlexLaw, David           Stevens, and Juliet Miller.                    A man climbs the stairs and reaches the door. He is Cameron           Clarke, thin and in his late twenties with a blue anorak and           lank, greasyhair. He is carrying an awkwardly bulky plastic bag.           Cameron gives the doorbell an ineffectual ring and then stands           back, shifting nervously from foot to foot until the dooris           answered.                    CAMERON          Hello, I've come about the room.                    Cameron enters and the door closes.                    INT. LIVING ROOM.DAY                    David, Alex, and Juliet sit in a line on the sofa directly           opposite Cameron, who shifts uneasily in his armchair. Alex           checks some items on a clipboard beforespeaking.                    ALEX          What's his name?                    DAVID          I don't know -- Campbell or something?                    JULIET          Cameron.                    ALEX          Cameron?                    JULIET          Yes.                    ALEX          (toJuliet)          Really?                    CAMERON          That's right.                    ALEX          (to Cameron)          What?                    Cameron is not sure what tosay.                    ALEX          (CONTINUED)          Well, Cameron, are you comfortable?                    CAMERON          Yes,thanks.                    ALEX          Good. Well, you've seen the flat?                    CAMERON          Yes.                    ALEX          And you likeit?                    CAMERON          Oh, yes, it's great.                    ALEX          Yes. It is, isn't it? We alllike it. And the room's nice too,           don't youthink?                    CAMERON          Yes.                    ALEX          Spacious, quiet, bright, well appointed, all that sort of stuff,           all thatcrap.                    CAMERON          Well, yes.                    ALEX          So tell me, Cameron, what on earth -- just tell me, because I           want to know -- what on earth couldmake you think that we would           want to share a flat like this with someone like you?                    INT. STAIRWELL. DAY                    As Cameron plods slowly down the stairs, hisshoes striking out           against the stone steps, Alex's criticisms continue.                    ALEX          (VOICE-OVER)                    I mean, my first impression, and they're rarelywrong, is that           you have none of the qualities that we would normally seek in a           prospective flatmate. I'm talking here about things like           presence, charisma, style and charm, and I don't thinkwe're           being unreasonable. Take David here, for instance: a chartered           accountant he may be, but at least he tries hard. The point is, I           don't think you're even trying.                    Cameronhas reached the bottom of the stairs. He opens the main           door.                    ALEX          (CONTINUED)          And, Cameron -- I mean this -- goodluck!                    Cameron leaves and the main door closes behind him.                    ALEX          (CONTINUED)          Do you think he wasupset?                    INT. STAIRWELL. DAY                    Inside the hall of the flat, David approaches the door toopenit.           Freeze-frame.                    ALEX          (VOICE-OVER)          David likes to keep spareshoelaces in sorted pairs in a box           marked, not just shoelaces', but spareshoelaces'.                    David opens the door to the Woman.                    WOMAN          I've come to see about the room.                    INT. STAIRWELL.DAY                    Outside the door of the flat a young Goth girl, aged about           twenty, rings the doorbell.                    INT. HALL. DAY                    Inside the hall of theflat Alex approaches the door to open it.           Freeze-frame.                    JULIET          (VOICE-OVER)          Alex is a vegetarian. Do you know why? Because he feels it           providesan interesting counterpoint to his otherwise callous           personality. It doesn't. He thinks he's the man for me. He isn't,           though there was a time when, well, there was a timewhen...                    Alex opens the door to the Goth.                    GOTH          I've come about the room.                    INT. STAIRWELL. DAY                    Atthe door of the flat a Man aged about thrity-five rings the           bell.                    INT. HALL. DAY                    Inside the hall of the flat Juliet approaches the door to open           it.Freeze-frame.                    DAVID          (VOICE-OVER)          Like one of those stupid posters -- you know, a gorilla cuddling           a hedgehog, caption love hurts --- that's what I thinkwhen I           think of Juliet.                    Juliet opens the door to the Man.                    MAN          I've come about the room.                    INT. LIVING ROOM.DAY                    In the living room each of the candidates is interviewed           individually with the same seating arrangements as before (i.e.           the trio on the sofa and the applicant on the chair).What we see           are briskly intercut excerpts from each of these interviews. We           do not get the responses to the questions, although we may see           some facial reaction.                    All ofDavid's questions are to the Woman.                    All of Alex's questions are to the Goth.                    All of Juliet's questions are to the Man.                    DAVID          All right,just a few questions.                    ALEX          I'd like to ask you about your hobbies.                    JULIET          Why do you want a roomhere?                    DAVID          Do you smoke?                    ALEX          When you slaughter a goat and wrench its heart out with your bare           hands, do you then summonhellfire?                    JULIET          I mean, what are you actually doing here? What is the hidden           agenda?                    DAVID          Do a little freebasemaybe, from timeto time?                    ALEX          Or maybe just phone out for a pizza?                    JULIET          Look, it's a fairly straightforward question. You're either           divorced oryou're not.                    DAVID          OK, I'm going to play you just a few seconds of this tape -- I'd           like you to name the song, the lead singer and the three hit           singles subsequentlyrecorded by him with another band.                    ALEX          When you get up in the morning, how do you decide what shade of           black towear?                    JULIET          Now, let me get this straight. This affair that you're not           having, is it not with a man or not with awoman?                    DAVID          Turning very briefly to the subject of corporate finance -- no,           this is important. Leveraged buy-outs -- a good thing or abad           thing?                    ALEX          With which of the following figures do you most closely identify:           Joan of Arc, Eva Braun or MarilynMonroe?                    JULIET          It's just that you strike me as a man trapped in a crisis of           emotional direction, afflicted by a realization that the partner           of your dreams is, quitesimply, just that.                    DAVID          Did you ever kill a man?                    ALEX          And when did anyone last say to you these exact words: You are           thesunshine of my life'?                    JULIET          OK, so A has left you, B is ambivalent, you're still seeing C but           D is the one you yearn for. What are we to make of this? If I           were you,I'd ditch the lot. There's a lot more letters in the           alphabet of love.                    DAVID          And what if I told you that I was the antichrist?                    INT. SQUASH COURT.EVENING                    In a sports centre Juliet sits outside a glass-walled squash           court. She is ready to play, but at present is watching Alex and           David, who are inside thecourt.                    INT. SQUASH COURT. EVENING                    Inside the squash court, Alex is about to serve.                    ALEX          Squash is often used as ametaphor to represent a struggle for           personal domination.                    DAVID          Serve.                    ALEX          I was trying to educateyou.                    DAVID          Just serve.                    ALEX          In the same fashion as


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The House of the Seven Gables, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The House of the Seven GablesAuthor: Nathaniel HawthorneRelease Date: June 17, 2008[EBook #77]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES ***Produced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.THE HOUSE OF THE SEVENGABLESbyNATHANIEL HAWTHORNETable of Contents         INTRODUCTORY NOTE         AUTHOR'S PREFACE     I.  THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY    II.  THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW   III.  THE FIRST CUSTOMER    IV.  ADAY BEHIND THE COUNTER     V.  MAY AND NOVEMBER    VI.  MAULE'S WELL   VII.  THE GUEST  VIII.  THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY    IX.  CLIFFORD AND PHOEBE     X.  THE PYNCHEON GARDEN    XI.  THE ARCHEDWINDOW   XII.  THE DAGUERREOTYPIST  XIII.  ALICE PYNCHEON   XIV.  PHOEBE'S GOOD-BYE    XV.  THE SCOWL AND SMILE   XVI.  CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER  XVII.  THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS XVIII.  GOVERNORPYNCHEON   XIX.  ALICE'S POSIES    XX.  THE FLOWER OF EDEN   XXI.  THE DEPARTURE                         INTRODUCTORY NOTE.THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.IN September of the year during the February ofwhich Hawthorne hadcompleted "The Scarlet Letter," he began "The House of the SevenGables." Meanwhile, he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in BerkshireCounty, Massachusetts, where he occupied with his familya small redwooden house, still standing at the date of this edition, near theStockbridge Bowl."I sha'n't have the new story ready by November,"  he explained to hispublisher, on the 1st of October, "for I am never goodfor anything inthe literary way till after the first autumnal frost, which hassomewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliagehere about me-multiplying and brightening its hues." But byvigorousapplication he was able to complete the new work about the middle ofthe January following.Since research has disclosed the manner in which the romance isinterwoven with incidents from the history of theHawthorne family,"The House of the Seven Gables" has acquired an interest apart fromthat by which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne (as thename was then spelled), the great-grandfather of NathanielHawthorne,was a magistrate at Salem in the latter part of the seventeenthcentury, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there.It is of record that he used peculiar severity towards a certain womanwhowas among the accused; and the husband of this woman prophesiedthat God would take revenge upon his wife's persecutors.  Thiscircumstance doubtless furnished a hint for that piece of tradition inthe book whichrepresents a Pyncheon of a former generation as havingpersecuted one Maule, who declared that God would give his enemy "bloodto drink." It became a conviction with the Hawthorne family that acurse had beenpronounced upon its members, which continued in force inthe time of the romancer; a conviction perhaps derived from therecorded prophecy of the injured woman's husband, just mentioned; and,here again, we have acorrespondence with Maule's malediction in thestory. Furthermore, there occurs in the "American Note-Books" (August27, 1837), a reminiscence of the author's family, to the followingeffect. Philip English, a characterwell-known in early Salem annals,was among those who suffered from John Hathorne's magisterialharshness, and he maintained in consequence a lasting feud with the oldPuritan official. But at his death English leftdaughters, one of whomis said to have married the son of Justice John Hathorne, whom Englishhad declared he would never forgive. It is scarcely necessary to pointout how clearly this foreshadows the final union ofthose hereditaryfoes, the Pyncheons and Maules, through the marriage of Phoebe andHolgrave. The romance, however, describes the Maules as possessing someof the traits known to have been characteristic of theHawthornes: forexample, "so long as any of the race were to be found, they had beenmarked out from other men--not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line,but with an effect that was felt rather than spoken of--byanhereditary characteristic of reserve." Thus, while the generalsuggestion of the Hawthorne line and its fortunes was followed in theromance, the Pyncheons taking the place of the author's family, certaindistinguishingmarks of the Hawthornes were assigned to the imaginaryMaule posterity.There are one or two other points which indicate Hawthorne's method ofbasing his compositions, the result in the main of pure invention, onthesolid ground of particular facts.  Allusion is made, in the firstchapter of the "Seven Gables," to a grant of lands in Waldo County,Maine, owned by the Pyncheon family.  In the "American Note-Books"there is an entry,dated August 12, 1837, which speaks of theRevolutionary general, Knox, and his land-grant in Waldo County, byvirtue of which the owner had hoped to establish an estate on theEnglish plan, with a tenantry to make itprofitable for him.  Anincident of much greater importance in the story is the supposed murderof one of the Pyncheons by his nephew, to whom we are introduced asClifford Pyncheon.  In all probability Hawthorneconnected with this,in his mind, the murder of Mr. White, a wealthy gentleman of Salem,killed by a man whom his nephew had hired.  This took place a few yearsafter Hawthorne's graduation from college, and was oneof thecelebrated cases of the day, Daniel Webster taking part prominently inthe trial.  But it should be observed here that such resemblances asthese between sundry elements in the work of Hawthorne's fancyanddetails of reality are only fragmentary, and are rearranged to suit theauthor's purposes.In the same way he has made his description of Hepzibah Pyncheon'sseven-gabled mansion conform so nearly to several olddwellingsformerly or still extant in Salem, that strenuous efforts have beenmade to fix upon some one of them as the veritable edifice of theromance.  A paragraph in the opening chapter has perhaps assistedthisdelusion that there must have been a single original House of the SevenGables, framed by flesh-and-blood carpenters; for it runs thus:--"Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection--for it has been anobject ofcuriosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of thebest and stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the sceneof events more full of interest perhaps than those of a gray feudalcastle--familiar as itstands, in its rusty old age, it is thereforeonly the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which itfirst caught the sunshine."Hundreds of pilgrims annually visit a house in Salem, belonging to onebranch of theIngersoll family of that place, which is stoutlymaintained to have been the model for Hawthorne's visionary dwelling.Others have supposed that the now vanished house of the identicalPhilip English, whose blood, as wehave already noticed, became mingledwith that of the Hawthornes, supplied the pattern; and still a thirdbuilding, known as the Curwen mansion, has been declared the onlygenuine establishment. Notwithstandingpersistent popular belief, theauthenticity of all these must positively be denied; although it ispossible that isolated reminiscences of all three may have blended withthe ideal image in the mind of Hawthorne. He, it willbe seen, remarksin the Preface, alluding to himself in the third person, that he trustsnot to be condemned for "laying out a street that infringes uponnobody's private rights... and building a house of materials long inusefor constructing castles in the air." More than this, he stated topersons still living that the house of the romance was not copied fromany actual edifice, but was simply a general reproduction of a style ofarchitecturebelonging to colonial days, examples of which survivedinto the period of his youth, but have since been radically modified ordestroyed. Here, as elsewhere, he exercised the liberty of a creativemind to heighten theprobability of his pictures without confininghimself to a literal description of something he had seen.While Hawthorne remained at Lenox, and during the composition of thisromance, various other literary personagessettled or stayed for a timein the vicinity; among them, Herman Melville, whose intercourseHawthorne greatly enjoyed, Henry James, Sr., Doctor Holmes, J.  T.Headley, James Russell Lowell, Edwin P.  Whipple,Frederika Bremer, andJ.  T.  Fields; so that there was no lack of intellectual society inthe midst of the beautiful and inspiring mountain scenery of the place."In the afternoons, nowadays," he records, shortly beforebeginning thework, "this valley in which I dwell seems like a vast basin filled withgolden Sunshine as with wine;" and, happy in the companionship of hiswife and their three children, he led a simple, refined, idylliclife,despite the restrictions of a scanty and uncertain income.  A letterwritten by Mrs. Hawthorne, at this time, to a member of her family,gives incidentally a glimpse of the scene, which may properly find aplacehere.  She says:  "I delight to think that you also can lookforth, as I do now, upon a broad valley and a fine amphitheater ofhills, and are about to watch the stately ceremony of the sunset fromyour piazza.  But youhave not this lovely lake, nor, I suppose, thedelicate purple mist which folds these slumbering mountains in airyveils.  Mr. Hawthorne has been lying down in the sun shine, slightlyfleckered with the shadows of a tree,and Una and Julian have beenmaking him look like the mighty Pan, by covering his chin and breastwith long grass-blades, that looked like a verdant and venerablebeard." The pleasantness and peace of hissurroundings and of hismodest home, in Lenox, may be taken into account as harmonizing withthe mellow serenity of the romance then produced.  Of the work, when itappeared in the early spring of 1851, he wrote toHoratio Bridge thesewords, now published for the first time:--"'The House of the Seven Gables' in my opinion, is better than 'TheScarlet Letter:' but I should not wonder if I had refined upon theprincipal character a littletoo much for popular appreciation, nor ifthe romance of the book should be somewhat at odds with the humble andfamiliar scenery in which I invest it.  But I feel that portions of itare as good as anything I can hope towrite, and the publisher speaksencouragingly of its success."From England, especially, came many warm expressions of praise,--a factwhich Mrs. Hawthorne, in a private letter, commented on as thefulfillment of apossibility which Hawthorne, writing in boyhood to hismother, had looked forward to.  He had asked her if she would not likehim to become an author and have his books read in England.G. P.L.                              PREFACE.WHEN a writer calls his work a Romance, it need hardly be observed thathe wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion andmaterial, which he would not have felt himselfentitled to assume hadhe professed to be writing a Novel.  The latter form of composition ispresumed to aim at a very minute fidelity, not merely to the possible,but to the probable and ordinary course of man'sexperience.  Theformer--while, as a work of art, it must rigidly subject itself tolaws, and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerve aside fromthe truth of the human heart--has fairly a right to present thattruthunder circumstances, to a great extent, of the writer's own choosing orcreation.  If he think fit, also, he may so manage his atmosphericalmedium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrichtheshadows of the picture.  He will be wise, no doubt, to make a verymoderate use of the privileges here stated, and, especially, to minglethe Marvelous rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor, thanas anyportion of the actual substance of the dish offered to thepublic.  He can hardly be said, however, to commit a literary crimeeven if he disregard this caution.In the present work, the author has proposed to himself--butwith whatsuccess, fortunately, it is not for him to judge--to keep undeviatinglywithin his immunities.  The point of view in which this tale comesunder the Romantic definition lies in the attempt to connect a bygonetimewith the very present that is flitting away from us.  It is alegend prolonging itself, from an epoch now gray in the distance, downinto our own broad daylight, and bringing along with it some of itslegendary mist, whichthe reader, according to his pleasure, may eitherdisregard, or allow it to float almost imperceptibly about thecharacters and events for the sake of a picturesque effect.  Thenarrative, it may be, is woven of so humble atexture as to requirethis advantage, and, at the same time, to render it the more difficultof attainment.Many writers lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose, atwhich they profess to aim their works.  Notto be deficient in thisparticular, the author has provided himself with a moral,--the truth,namely, that the wrong-doing of one generation lives into thesuccessive ones, and, divesting itself of every temporaryadvantage,becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief; and he would feel it asingular gratification if this romance might effectually convincemankind--or, indeed, any one man--of the folly of tumbling downanavalanche of ill-gotten gold, or real estate, on the heads of anunfortunate posterity, thereby to maim and crush them, until theaccumulated mass shall be scattered abroad in its original atoms.  Ingood faith, however,he is not sufficiently imaginative to flatterhimself with the slightest hope of this kind.  When romances do reallyteach anything, or produce any effective operation, it is usuallythrough a far more subtile process than theostensible one.  The authorhas considered it hardly worth his while, therefore, relentlessly toimpale the story with its moral as with an iron rod,--or, rather, as bysticking a pin through a butterfly,--thus at once deprivingit of life,and causing it to stiffen in an ungainly and unnatural attitude.  Ahigh truth, indeed, fairly, finely, and skilfully wrought out,brightening at every step, and crowning the final development of a workof fiction, mayadd an artistic glory, but is never any truer, andseldom any more evident, at the last page than at the first.The reader may perhaps choose to assign an actual locality to theimaginary events of this narrative.  Ifpermitted by the historicalconnection,--which, though slight, was essential to his plan,--theauthor would very willingly have avoided anything of this nature.  Notto speak of other objections, it exposes the romance toan inflexibleand exceedingly dangerous species of criticism, by bringing hisfancy-pictures almost into positive contact with the realities of themoment.  It has been no part of his object, however, to describelocalmanners, nor in any way to meddle with the characteristics of acommunity for whom he cherishes a proper respect and a natural regard.He trusts not to be considered as unpardonably offending by laying outastreet that infringes upon nobody's private rights, and appropriatinga lot of land which had no visible owner, and building a house ofmaterials long in use for constructing castles in the air.  Thepersonages of thetale--though they give themselves out to be ofancient stability and considerable prominence--are really of theauthor's own making, or at all events, of his own mixing; their virtuescan shed no lustre, nor their defectsredound, in the remotest degree,to the discredit of the venerable town of which they profess to beinhabitants.  He would be glad, therefore, if-especially in the quarterto which he alludes-the book may be read strictlyas a Romance, havinga great deal more to do with the clouds overhead than with any portionof the actual soil of the County of Essex.LENOX, January 27, 1851.THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLESbyNathanielHawthorne                       I  The Old Pyncheon FamilyHALFWAY down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rustywooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards variouspoints of thecompass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst.  Thestreet is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and anelm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar toevery town-bornchild by the title of the Pyncheon Elm.  On myoccasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn downPyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of thesetwo antiquities,--the great elm-treeand the weather-beaten edifice.The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected me like a humancountenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm andsunshine, but expressive also, of the longlapse of mortal life, andaccompanying vicissitudes that have passed within.  Were these to beworthily recounted, they would form a narrative of no small interestand instruction, and possessing, moreover, a certainremarkable unity,which might almost seem the result of artistic arrangement.  But thestory would include a chain of events extending over the better part oftwo centuries, and, written out with reasonable amplitude,would fill abigger folio volume, or a longer series of duodecimos, than couldprudently be appropriated to the annals of all New England during asimilar period.  It consequently becomes imperative to make shortworkwith most of the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House,otherwise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the theme.With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances amid whichthefoundation of the house was laid, and a rapid glimpse at its quaintexterior, as it grew black in the prevalent east wind,--pointing, too,here and there, at some spot of more verdant mossiness on its roof andwalls,--weshall commence the real action of our tale at an epoch notvery remote from the present day.  Still, there will be a connectionwith the long past--a reference to forgotten events and personages, andto manners, feelings,and opinions, almost or wholly obsolete--which,if adequately translated to the reader, would serve to illustrate howmuch of old material goes to make up the freshest novelty of humanlife.  Hence, too, might be drawn aweighty lesson from thelittle-regarded truth, that the act of the passing generation is thegerm which may and must produce good or evil fruit in a far-distanttime; that, together with the seed of the merely temporarycrop, whichmortals term expediency, they inevitably sow the acorns of a moreenduring growth, which may darkly overshadow their posterity.The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks, was not thefirsthabitation erected by civilized man on precisely the same spot ofground.  Pyncheon Street formerly bore the humbler appellation ofMaule's Lane, from the name of the original occupant of the soil,before whosecottage-door it was a cow-path.  A natural spring of softand pleasant water--a rare treasure on the sea-girt peninsula where thePuritan settlement was made--had early induced Matthew Maule to build ahut, shaggywith thatch, at this point, although somewhat too remotefrom what was then the centre of the village.  In the growth of thetown, however, after some thirty or forty years, the site covered bythis rude hovel had becomeexceedingly desirable in the eyes of aprominent and powerful personage, who asserted plausible claims to theproprietorship of this and a large adjacent tract of land, on thestrength of a grant from thelegislature.  Colonel Pyncheon, theclaimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are preserved, wascharacterized by an iron energy of purpose.  Matthew Maule, on theother hand, though an obscure man, wasstubborn in the defence of whathe considered his right; and, for several years, he succeeded inprotecting the acre or two of earth which, with his own toil, he hadhewn out of the primeval forest, to be his garden groundand homestead.No written record of this dispute is known to be in existence.  Ouracquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from tradition.It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust, to venture adecisiveopinion as to its merits; although it appears to have been at least amatter of doubt, whether Colonel Pyncheon's claim were not undulystretched, in order to make it cover the small metes and bounds ofMatthewMaule.  What greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the factthat this controversy between two ill-matched antagonists--at a period,moreover, laud it as we may, when personal influence had far moreweight thannow--remained for years undecided, and came to a close onlywith the death of the party occupying the disputed soil.  The mode ofhis death, too, affects the mind differently, in our day, from what itdid a century and a