The first curtain rises. A near-naked male figure perches on the edge of a wooden chest, clutching a leather-bound book. The audience cannot see his face or the room he inhabits as it is dark, save the flickering candelabrum and little, reflective pieces of shattered mirror sparkling like grounded stars. As he opens the book, all-black figures rise from the ground, surrounding him like marionettes; some hang in the air, others sit like children waiting to listen to a story.
Narrator: “Above the stars, in lands of bliss/angelic wisps of Genesis/slip over floating dunes of dreams/to pick horizons from their seams”
His appearance is fleetingly comparable to a wing-cropped angel, preaching to the converted from a distant church-top on high. He swivels to face the light and a long-beaked mask greets the audience. His surreal, birdlike appearance shatters the previous angelic illusion.
Narrator: “Like dandelions in windswept trance/their coils of daring freedom dance/into the cracks of newborn light/where Mania laughs in sane delight”
He rises to stand on the chest as he reads, revealing his frail, emaciated body. His shadow seeps onto the wall behind him, growing into an ebony titan; a frightful, wing-stretched raven looming over the spellbound congregation.
Narrator: “Once more, anarchic verses shift/through ready minds, and cast adrift/all thoughts of danger, trading pain/for sung delirium, whirlwind flame”
He steps off of the chest and slowly walks towards the audience. Two of the Marionettes rush up to him like overprotective parents, concealing him in a rich purple cloak. He pulls off his mask, revealing a beautifully attractive, smiling Adonis.
Narrator: “So follow me into the land/of Liberty. Is’t not something grand/to live a life without a care?/But wait! Here the pages tear.”
He panics and rushes back towards the chest, throwing it open and rummaging inside. [For the rest of the play, he will continue to do so. Occasionally, as the chest is full of written work, he'll find scraps of paper to read aloud, but most of the time he’ll spend muttering, cursing, and rummaging]. A physically tired man climbs out of the Narrators chest; he wears a bowler hat, a ripped, damp jacket with cut-off trousers and a tri-prong fork-head pendant. The Narrator does not react to his arrival but the Marionettes drop to their knees; some kneel as beggars, others fall in worship at his feet.
[Main Character]: I feel compelled to -
Narrator: -know this place.
He stumbles around like a newborn fowl, trying to gain his feet whilst staring at the floor; there is no noise but the crunch of glass beneath him.
[Main Character]: Mirror mind, you've -
Narrator: -shattered! [A long pause follows]
The second curtain rises. An unusual birdsong breaks the silence. A ruinous gate of epic proportions dominates a vividly luscious landscape.
[Main Character]: And now the darkness -
Narrator: -breaks with grace.
[Main Character] stumbles from the dimly lit room and staggers towards the gate which now appears to have two statuesque figures on top; one laughs and rattles the broken chains dangling from his wrists, the other stares off into the distance in melancholic contemplation. [Main Character] looks up at the colossal structure.
[Main Character]: Excuse me, you there!
The laughing figure continues to laugh but the melancholic figure turns a heavy head towards [Main Character] and smiles warmly.
Gatekeeper: Hello again stranger. Welcome to the Penny Gates.
His archaic accent is reminiscent of a 19th century army general; he talks very slowly.
[Main Character]: Hello there. Do you –
Gatekeeper: [interrupting] Where have you been? It’s been an awfully long time. We were beginning to worry.
[Main Character]: [confused] I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean. I’ve never –
Gatekeeper: Please do not worry yourself, my man! No need to apologise! Hah! Those were the days, eh? I remember when you and, what was his name? Victor? George? Let’s just say it was George. I remember when you and old Georgey boy took me to the Gardens for the first time! Do you remember that? Do you remember the Airmaid? Hah! Those were the days!
[Main Character]: I apologise sir, but I honestly don’t remember –
Gatekeeper: Do you remember what happened to the Airmaid though? Oh, dear. Do you remember? Dark times, stranger, dark times. A spectrum - of dark and light, of course! Of course it was! The fusion…Hah! I almost forgot! Do you remember the statue [to self] or was it a fountain? [Re-addressing [Main Character]] Do you remember it?
[Main Character]: No, as I was trying to say –
Gatekeeper: Of course you do! We all remember the statue. Well, that was it! That was the fusion the books talked about, but did we understand? No. No, we tried to understand but could we? Do you remember the fusion...and the Staring, stranger? What was it Smiles used to say? “Pray remember the poor lunaticks…”
Narrator: “…and put your charity into the box with your own hand.”
Gatekeeper: [Hearing the Narrator, but believing [Main Character] is the one speaking] That was it! Precisely, my friend. Do you remember the dawn of money? Didn’t you start that? Hah! Those were the days! Do you have any on you now?
[Main Character]: I’ve nothing to spare. Everything I have needs to be spent on food and shelter; I’m cold, famished and so tired.
Gatekeeper: None? You have nothing for us? I can’t remember the last time someone had nothing [pauses] actually yes I can! It was a long time ago, long before we (I mean, you and I) met…
[Main Character]: [Getting aggravated] I’ve never met you before, you lunatic! I was born and raised in a closed-city; in fact I don’t know how I even got here! Now please, do you know-
[Main Character] stops talking as the Gatekeeper is busy speculating with himself, obviously not listening to him. The laughing figure stops laughing and swings his head down to get a closer look at [Main Character]. Although they speak the same language, it is apparent that they genuinely cannot understand each other.
Sentinel: Your face…that face [thinks to himself] - your face is full of wrinkles, but your body’s just a toy.
[Main Character]: [Sighs] I’m sorry, I don’t under-
Sentinel: You speak like you’re an ancient, but I know you’re just a boy. Your rags are…rags. But rags of silk! And threads of silver hue! Let’s feel them. Hm. They feel like ice. All drenched in water too…
[Main Character]: Yes Sentinel, as you can feel I’m extremely cold. Do you have a blanket? Perhaps some warm clothes?
Sentinel: Who am I? I’m the Gatekeeper! This Gate you see is mine!
[Main Character]: [pointing to Gatekeeper] Does he?
Sentinel: Please ignore my brother, he’s gone. Lost himself in time! But me?
[Main Character]: [Sighs again] I’ll pretend that that was a no.
Sentinel: I’m free! Too free to rhyme, (but rhyming’s all I do). Speech bores me. Ha! Without my rhyme, I would not speak to you.
[Main Character]: Please stop, I just need you to point me towards the nearest shelter.
Sentinel: And though I hear you question me, my logic never fails, not e’en when faced with broken gates-
[Main Character]: You must know-
Sentinel:[Raise voice] - or rusting of the rails!
[Main Character]: - where I might find one, with or without [actions himself eating] food or a warm bed? Please-
Sentinel: [Voice getting even louder] But they would never rust, not here, for as I hold this key, the ruins stay forever young-
[Main Character]: - I implore you Sentinel-
Sentinel: - and freedom stays with me!
[Main Character]: - help me.
Sentinel: You want the key? [He dances around [Main Character]] Whatever for? [He picks s a coin from [Main Character]’s pocket] The gates are open, see?
Sentinel pushes [Main Character] through the Penny Gates. He falls into a bustling city square; at the centre of which an onyx, ram-horned devil plays the cello for a white marble angel, both forever caught mid-song. The buildings surrounding the perimeter have no set architectural pattern and range from Elizabethan to surreally nomadic in style. It appears as though [Main Character] has arrived during this city’s annual festival; there are banners flapping in the wind, balloons floating in the air and all sorts of strangely dressed people dancing across the busy square. Sentinel calls from the other side of the gate.
Sentinel: The path which lies before you is the path to Liberty!
Narrator: [Simultaneously] O Liberté, que de crimes on commet en ton nom!
The Penny Gates slam shut.
“Oh Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!” - On 8 November 1793, Madame Rolande was conveyed to the guillotine; before placing her head on the block, she bowed before the clay statue of Liberty in the Place de la Révolution and uttered this famous remark.