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314 Leonid Andreyev
shells. . . . And should the revolt still continue, we ll
shower the city.
The revolt is over. All is quiet the peace of
death. The ground is strewn with bodies, the
streets are soaked with blood. Fine ladies flit
about. They lift their children and bid them
kiss the mouth of the cannon, for the cannon have
saved the rich from destruction. Prayers and
hymns are offered up to the cannon, for they have
saved the masters and punished the starvelings.
And all is quiet, with the stillness of the graveyard
where sleep the dead.
King-Hunger, with hollow cheeks and sunken
eyes, makes a desperate last appeal to his chil
dren.
King-Hunger. Oh, my son, my son! You clamored
so loud why are you mute? Oh, my daughter, my
daughter, you hated so profoundly, so intensely, you most
miserable on earth arise. Arise from the dust! Rend
the shadowy bonds of death! Arise! I conjure you in
the name of Life! You re silent?
For a brief moment all remains silent and im
movable. Suddenly a sound is heard, distant at
first, then nearer and nearer, till a thousand-
throated roar breaks forth like thunder:
We shall yet come!
We shall yet come!
Woe unto the victorious!
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