The dreadful dragon of Hay Hill

by Sir Max Beerbohm

There was, as Thia had known there must be, a great concourse of people around and about the dragon.

There was a long line of children riding on its back; there were infants in arms being urged by their mothers never to forget that they had seen it; there were many young men and women trying to rip off some of its scales, as reminders; and there were elders exchanging reminiscences of its earliest raids and correcting one another on various points. And the whole crowd of holiday-makers was so intent that the gradual approach of that earnest worker, Thol, was not noticed until he came quite near.

Very gradual, very tortuous and irregular, his approach was. Thia, just now, was letting him shift for himself, offering no hints at all. For the homelanders’ sake, she wished him to be seen at his worst. It was ill that they should worship a false god. To her, he was something better than a real god. But this was another matter. To the homelanders, he ought to seem no more than a man who had done a great deed and set a high example. And for his own sake, and so for hers—for how could his not be hers?—she wished him to have no more honour than was his due. Splendid man though he was, and only a year younger than herself, he was yet a child; and children, thought Thia—though she was conscious that she herself, for all the petting she had received, was rather perfect—are easily spoilt. Altogether, the goose-girl’s motives were as pure as her perception was keen. Admirable, too, were her tactics; and they should have succeeded. Yet they failed. In the eyes of the homelanders the goose-god lost not a jot of his divinity.

No hint of disillusion was in the moans evoked by the sight of him. Grief, shame, horror at his condescension, and a deep wrath against the whilom darling Thia, were all that was felt by the kneeling and swaying crowd.

Thia knew it. She was greatly disappointed. Indeed, she was near to shedding tears again. Pride saved her from that. Besides, she was angry, and not only angry but amused. And in a clear voice that was audible above the collective moaning, ‘Have patience, O homelanders,’ she cried. ‘He is new to his work. He will grow in skill. These geese will find that he is no fool. And it may be that hereafter, if you are all very good, I will teach him to sing and dance for you, with flowers in his bright red hair.’

Having thus spoken, she ran to overtake her husband, and soon, guiding the flock in good order, went her way with him back to the pond.

There was a general desire that the dragon should not be buried anywhere within the confines of the homeland. Shib conceived that if the trunks of felled trees were used as rollers the carcass might be transported to the swamps and be sunk there. By its vast weight the carcass frustrated this scheme. A long deep trench must be dug beside it. All the able-bodied men of the homeland offered their services, and of course Shib was a most efficient director of the work.

You will be glad to hear that Shib was a more sympathetic character than he once was. The public spirit that had always been his was unmarred now by vanity and personal ambition. He was a quiet, disinterested, indefatigable worker for the common weal, burning always with that hard, gem-like flame which Mr. Pater discerned in the breasts of our own Civil Servants. He had forgotten, or he remembered without bitterness, the time when he was a popular hero. Thol’s great deed was a source of genuine pleasure to him. Nay (for he had long ago outgrown his callow atheism), he accepted Thol as a god, though he was too cautious to rate him higher than the sun.

Thus he was much shocked when Thol came wishing to help in the labour. Rising, at Thol’s earnest entreaty, from his knees, he ventured to speak firmly to the god—reverently but very firmly pointing out to him that the labourers, if their religious feelings were flouted, would probably cease work; and he hinted that he himself would have to consider whether he could retain his post. So Thol went back to the goose-pond and was so much chidden by Thia for his weakness that he almost wished she believed him to be a god. Of course he was not a god. Of course Thia was right. Still, Shib was known to be a very wise man. It was strange that Shib should be mistaken. Inwardly, he could not agree with Thia that Shib was a fool. And I think she must have suspected him of this reservation, for she looked at him with much trouble in her eyes and was for a while silent, and then, fondlingly, made him promise that he never would trust any one’s thoughts but hers.