W. B. Yeats's 1912 introduction to this selection positions Lord Dunsany's work as a deliberate retreat from the 'crowds, from noises in the street' of modern life. Yeats recalls Lady Wilde's story of a poet's funeral to argue that poetry once slid 'into men's ears so smoothly'—a contrast to the unpopularity he and Dunsany then faced. The introduction thus frames the fantastical plays and tales that follow as works made for 'few people,' not for mass understanding.

The excerpts themselves bear out this crafted distance. 'The Fall of Babbulkund' opens with a courtier's elaborate description of the city's seven wonders, including a lake lit from beneath by slaves 'with purple lights and with green lights intermingling.' The prose accumulates marvels in long, incantatory sentences, as if the narrator is a guide to a place that exists only in language.

Yeats's Framing of the Collection

Yeats's introduction is not merely a preface; it is a manifesto for a kind of literature that rejects the 'reliable, invariable men and women' of popular taste. He contrasts the old 'Library of Ireland'—which aimed to be understood by peasants—with this new 'Library' intended for 'few people.' The editor's voice is personal and anecdotal, yet it sets a clear expectation: Dunsany's writing will be 'phantastic' and philosophic, not designed for easy consumption.

Readers should note that Yeats does not summarize the plots. Instead, he establishes a context of artistic withdrawal. The introduction itself becomes a lens: the stories that follow are to be read as deliberate artifacts, shaped by a poet-editor who valued the 'unaccountable' over the crowd-pleasing.

The Inventory of Babbulkund

The excerpt from 'The Fall of Babbulkund' is dominated by a courtier's speech cataloguing the city's wonders. The prose is dense with proper names—'Ong Zwarba,' 'Annolith,' 'Voth'—and with precise, almost architectural detail: 'the lake whose shores and floors are of glass,' 'the purple garden of which I have told thee and which is a wonder even to the stars.' The effect is cumulative, as if the city is built word by word.

This inventory style is a recurring feature of Dunsany's writing. The narrator does not describe action but rather presents a static, ornate tableau. The reader is invited to marvel at the invention rather than to follow a plot. The passage also introduces a social hierarchy: only Nehemoths may worship the god Annolith, while the people pray to the dog Voth. Such details hint at a larger world beyond the excerpt.

The King's Alcove and the Jungle

Later in the same excerpt, the focus narrows to the king's opal alcove at the edge of a jungle that has been allowed to grow through a marble gate into the city. The description is sensuous and slightly unsettling: 'the climbing orchids of the jungle have long since crept from their homes through clefts of the opal alcove, lured by the lights of the lake.' Nature encroaches on artifice, and the king's hareems are categorized by origin—mountain women, jungle women, desert women, and princesses of his own kith.

The passage is notable for its stillness. The king sits in silence; 'the musicians sleep, and their hands have fallen dumb upon their instruments.' Only a desert woman's sigh 'has become half a song.' Dunsany's world is one of suspended animation, where wonders are described but little happens. This static quality is a deliberate aesthetic choice, reinforcing the sense of a distant, dreamlike realm.

Reading the Incomplete: Gaps and Inferences

The excerpts provide only fragments of the plays and tales in this collection. 'The Fall of Babbulkund' breaks off before any fall occurs; 'The Gods of the Mountain' is not excerpted here; and the opening of 'King Argimenes and the Unknown Warrior' is absent. Readers must rely on the catalog description—'Drama; Fantasy literature'—and Yeats's framing to guess at the overall shape.

What the excerpts do reveal is Dunsany's preference for elaborate description over narrative momentum. The prose is rhythmic, almost incantatory, with repeated phrases like 'the wonder of' and 'the marvel of.' The invented names and places (Babbulkund, Nehemoth, Ong Zwarba) create a consistent exoticism. A first-time reader should attend to the texture of the language rather than expect a conventional plot. The collection rewards those who savor the accumulation of strange detail.

These selections offer a concentrated dose of Dunsany's method: a world built from lists, proper names, and static tableaux. Yeats's introduction provides the key—this is literature for 'few people,' meant to be savored rather than consumed. A reader new to Dunsany might begin by reading the excerpts aloud to catch the rhythm of the prose, and then move to the complete plays and tales with an ear for the way language creates distance and wonder.