 Section 7 of Lovecraft's Influences and Favorites. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Josh Kibbe. The Captain of the Pole Star by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Being an extract from the singular journal of John McAllister Ray, student of medicine. September 11. Latitude 81 degrees, 40 minutes north. Longitude 2 degrees east. Still lying too amid enormous ice fields. The one which stretches away to the north of us, and to which our ice anchor is attached, cannot be smaller than in English county. To the right and left, unbroken sheets extend to the horizon. This morning, the mate reported that there were signs of pack ice to the southward. Should this form of sufficient thickness to bar our return, we shall be in a position of danger, as the food I hear is already running somewhat short. It is late in the season, and the nights are beginning to reappear. This morning I saw a star, twinkling just over the four-yard, the first since the beginning of May. There is considerable discontent among the crew, many of whom are anxious to get back home to be in time for the herring season, when Labor always commands a high price upon the Scotch coast. As yet their displeasure is only signified by sullen countenances and black looks, but I heard from the second mate this afternoon that they contemplated sending a deputation to the captain to explain their grievance. I much doubt how he will receive it, as he is a man of fierce temper, and very sensitive about anything approaching to an infringement of his rights. I shall venture after dinner to say a few words to him upon the subject. I have always found that he will tolerate from me what he would resent from any other member of the crew. Amsterdam Island at the northwest corner of Spitsbergen is visible upon our starboard quarter, a rugged line of volcanic rocks, intersected by white seams, which represent glaciers. It is curious to think that at the present moment there is probably no human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements in the south of Greenland, a good 900 miles as the crow flies. A captain takes a great responsibility upon himself when he risks his vessel under such circumstances. No whaler has ever remained in these latitudes till so advanced a period of the year. 9 p.m. I have spoken to Captain Craigie, and though the result has been hardly satisfactory, I am bound to say that he listened to what I had to say very quietly and even differentially. When I had finished, he put on that air of iron determination which I frequently observed upon his face, and paced rapidly backwards and forwards across the narrow cabin for some minutes. At first I feared that I had seriously offended him, but he dispelled the idea by sitting down again and putting his hand upon my arm with a gesture which almost amounted to a caress. There is a depth of tenderness too in his wild dark eyes which surprised me considerably. Look here, doctor, he said. I am sorry I ever took you. I am indeed, and I would give fifty pounds this minute to see you standing safe upon the Dundee Quay. It's intermiss with me this time. There are fish to the north of us. How dare you shake your head, sir, when I tell you I saw them blowing from the mast head. This in a sudden burst of fury, though I was not conscious of having shown any signs of doubt. Two and twenty fish in as many minutes as I am a living man, and not one under ten foot. Now, doctor, do you think I can leave the country when there is only one infernal strip of ice between me and my fortune? If it came on to a blow from the north tomorrow, we could fill the ship and be away before the frost could catch us. If it came on to a blow from the south, well, I suppose the men are paid for risking their lives, and as for myself it matters but little to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world than to this one. I confess that I am sorry for you, though. I wish I had an old Angus Tate who was with me last voyage, for he was a man that would never be missed, and you? You said once that you were engaged, did you not? Yes, I answered, snapping the spring of the locket which hung from my watch chain, and holding up the little vignette of Flora. Curse you! he yelled, springing out of his seat with his very beard bristling with passion. What is your happiness to me? What have I to do with her that you must dangle or photograph before my eyes? I almost thought that he was about to strike me in the frenzy of his rage, but with another implication he dashed open the door of the cabin and rushed out upon deck, leaving me considerably astonished at his extraordinary violence. It is the first time that he has ever shown me anything but courtesy and kindness. I can hear him pacing excitedly up and down overhead as I write these lines. I should like to give a sketch of the character of this man, but it seems presumptuous to attempt such a thing upon paper, when the idea in my own mind is at best a vagant and certain one. Several times I have thought that I grasped the clue which might explain it, and need to be disappointed by his presenting himself in some new light which would upset all my conclusions. It may be that no human eye but my own shall ever rest upon these lines. It is a psychological study I shall attempt to leave some record of Captain Nicholas Craigie. A man's outer case generally gives some indication of the soul within. The captain is tall and well-formed, with dark, handsome face and a curious way of twitching his limbs, which may arise from nervousness or be simply an outcome of his excessive energy. His jaw and whole cast of countenance is manly and resolute, but the eyes are the distinctive feature of his face. They are of the very darkest hazel, bright and eager, with a singular mixture of recklessness in their expression and of something else which I have sometimes thought was more allied with horror than any other emotion. Generally the former predominated, but on occasions and more particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the look of fear would spread and deepen until it imparted a new character to his whole countenance. It is at these times that he is most subject to tempestuous fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of it, for I have known him lock himself up so that no one might approach him until his dark hour was past. He sleeps badly, and I have heard him shouting during the night, but his cabin is some little distance from mine, and I could never distinguish the words which he said. This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one. It is only through my close association with him, thrown together as we are day after day, that I have observed it. Otherwise he is an agreeable companion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant a seaman as ever trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the way in which he handled the ship when we were caught by a gale among the loose ice at the beginning of April. I have never seen him so cheerful and even hilarious as he was that night, as he paced backwards and forwards upon the bridge, amid the flashing of the lightning and the howling of the wind. He has told me several times that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him, which is a sad thing for a young man to say. He cannot be much more than thirty, though his hair and mustache are already slightly grizzled. Some great sorrow must have overtaken him and blighted his whole life. Perhaps I should be the same if I lost my flora. God knows. I think if it were not for her that I should care very little whether the wind blew from the north or the south tomorrow. There, I hear him come down the companion, and he has locked himself up in his room, which shows that he is still in an unamiable mood. And so to bed his old pepus would say, for the candle is burning down, and we have to use them now since the nights are closing in, and the steward is turned in so there are no hopes of another one. September 12th. Calm, clear day, and still lying in the same position. What when there is comes from the southeast, but it is very slight. Captain is in a better humour, and apologised to me at breakfast for his rudeness. He still looks somewhat distraite, however, and retains that wild look in his eye which in a highlander would mean that he was fae. At least so our chief engineer remarked to me, and he has some reputation among the Celtic portion of our crew as a seer and expounder of omens. It is strange that superstition should have obtained such mastery over this hard-headed and practical race. I could not have believed to what an extent it carried had I not observed it for myself. We have had a perfect epidemic of it this voyage, until I have felt inclined to serve out rations of sedatives and nerve tonics with the Saturday allowance of grog. The first symptom of it was that shortly after leaving Shetland, the men at the wheel used to complain that they heard plaintive cries and screams in the wake of the ship, as if something were following it and were unable to overtake it. This fiction had been kept up during the whole voyage, and in the dark nights at the beginning of the seal fishing, it was only with great difficulty that men could be induced to do their spell. No doubt what they had heard was either the creaking of the rudder chains or the cry of some passing seabird. I have been fetched out of bed several times to listen to it, but I need hardly say that I was never able to distinguish anything unnatural. The men, however, are so absurdly positive upon the subject that it is hopeless to argue with them. I mentioned the matter to the captain once, but to my surprise he took it very gravely, and indeed appeared to be considerably disturbed by what I told him. I should have thought that he at least would have been above such vulgar delusions. All this disquisition upon superstition leads me up to the fact that Mr. Manson, our second mate, saw a ghost last night, or at least says that he did, which of course is the same thing. It is quite refreshing to have some new topic of conversation after the eternal routine of bears and whales which has served us for so many months. Manson swears the ship is haunted, and that he would not stay in her a day if he had any other place to go. Indeed, the fellow was honestly frightened, and I had to give him some chloral and bromide of potassium this morning to steady him down. He seemed quite indignant when I suggested that he had been having an extra glass the night before, and I was obliged to pacify him by keeping as grave a countenance as possible during his story, which he certainly narrated in a very straightforward and matter-of-fact way. I was on the bridge, he said, about four bells in the middle watch, just when the night was at its darkest. There was a bit of a moon, but the clouds were blowing across it so that you couldn't see far from the ship. John McLeod, the harpooner, came aft from the folksal head and reported a strange noise on the starbird bow. I went forward and we both heard it, sometimes like a bear in crying, and sometimes like a windshield pain. I'd been seventeen years to the country and I never heard seal, old or young, make a sound like that. As we were standing there on the folksal head, the moon came out from behind a cloud, and we both saw a sort of white figure moving across the ice field in the same direction that we had heard the cries. We lost sight of it for a while, but it came back on the port bell and we could just make it out like a shadow on the ice. I set a hand aft for the rifles, and if McLeod and I went down to the pack thinking that maybe it might be a bear. When we got on the ice I lost sight of McLeod, but I pushed on in the direction where I could still hear the cries. I followed them for a mile or maybe more, and then running round a hammock I came right onto the top of it, standing and waiting for me seemingly. I don't know what it was. It wasn't a bear anyway. It was tall and white and straightened if it wasn't a man or a woman, I'll take my day if it was something worse. I made for the ship as hard as I could run, and to precious glad I was defended by self aboard. I signed articles to do my duty by the ship, and on the ship I'll stay, but you don't catch me on the ice again after sundown. That is his story, given as far as I can in his own words. I fancy what he saw must, in spite of his denial, have been a young bear erect upon its hind legs, an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. In the uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to a human figure, especially to a man whose nerves are already somewhat shaken. Whatever it may have been, the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has produced a most unpleasant effect upon the crew. There look so more still in them before, and their discontent more open. The double grievance of being debarred from the herring-fishing and of being detained in what they choose to call a haunted vessel may lead them to do something rash. Even the harpooners, who are the oldest and steadiest among them, are joining in the general agitation. Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition, things are looking rather more cheerful. The pack which was forming to the south of us has partly cleared away, and the water is so warm as to lead me to believe that we are lying in one of those branches of the Gulfstream which run up between Greenland and Spitzbergen. There are numerous small Medusa and Silamons about the ship with abundance of shrimps, so that there is every possibility of fish being sited. Indeed, one was seen blowing about dinnertime, but in such a position that it was impossible for the boats to follow it. September 13th. Had an interesting conversation with the chief mate, Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems that our captain is as great an enigma to the seaman, and even to the owners of the vessel as he has been to me. Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon returning from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and is not seen again until the approach of another season, when he walks quietly into the office of the company and asks whether his services will be required. He has no friend in Dundee, nor does anyone pretend to be acquainted with his early history. His position depends entirely upon his skill as a seaman, and the name for courage and coolness which he had earned in the capacity of mate had been entrusted with a separate command. The unanimous opinion seems to be that he is not a scotchman, and that his name is an assumed one. Mr. Milne thinks that he has devoted himself to wailing simply for the reason that it is the most dangerous occupation which he could select, and that he courts death in every possible manner. He mentioned several instances of this, one of which is rather curious, if true. It seems that on one occasion he did not put in an appearance at the office, and his substitute had to be selected in his place. That was at the time of the last Russian and Turkish war. When he turned up again next spring, he had a puckered wound in the side of his neck which he used to endeavor to conceal with his cravat. Whether the mate's inference that he had been engaged in the war was true or not, I cannot say. It was certainly a strange coincidence. The wind is varying round in an easterly direction, but is still very slight. I think the ice is lying closer than it did yesterday. As far as the eye can reach on every side, there is one wide expanse of spotless white only broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a humic. To the south there is the narrow lane of blue water which is our sole means of escape and which is closing up every day. The captain is taking a heavy responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of potatoes is finished and even the biscuits are running short, but he preserves the same impassable countenance and spends the greater part of the day at the crow's nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass. His manner is very variable and he seems to avoid my society, but there has been no repetition of the violence which he showed the other night. 7.30pm My deliberate opinion is that we are commanded by madmen. Nothing else can account for the extraordinary vagaries of Captain Craigie. It is fortunate that I have kept the sternum of our voyage as it will serve to justify us in case we have to put him under any sort of restraint, a step which I should only consent to as a last resource. Curiously enough, it was he himself who suggested lunacy and not mere eccentricity as a secret of his strange conduct. He was standing upon the bridge about an hour ago, peering as usual through his glass while I was walking up and down the quarter-deck. The majority of the men were below at their tee, for the watches have not been regularly kept of late. Tired of walking, I leaned against the bulwarks and admired the mellow glow cast by the sinking sun upon the great ice fields which surround us. I was suddenly aroused from the reverie into which I had fallen by a hoarse voice at my elbow, and as I was walking round, I found that the captain had descended and was standing by my side. He was staring out over the ice with an expression in which horror, surprise, and something approaching to joy were contending for the mastery. In spite of the cold, great drops of perspiration were coursing down his forehead, and he was evidently fearfully excited. His limbs twitched like those of a man upon the verge of an epileptic fit, and the lines about his mouth were drawn in hard. Look! he gasped, seizing me by the wrist, but still keeping his eyes upon the distant ice, and moving his head slowly in a horizontal direction, as if following some object which was moving across the field of vision. Look! there, man, there, between the hummocks, now coming from behind the far one. You see her? You must see her! There still, flying from me by God, flying from me, and gone. He uttered the last two words in a whisper of concentrated agony which shall never fade from my remembrance. Clinging to the rat-lines, he endeavored to climb up upon the top of the bulwarks as if in the hope of obtaining the last clamps at the departing object. His strength was not equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered back against the saloon skylights, where he leaned, panting, and exhausted. His face was so livid that I expected him to become unconscious, so lost no time in leading him down the companion and stretching him upon one of the sofas in the cabin. I then poured him out some brandy, which I held to his lips, and all effect upon him, bringing the blood back into his white face and steadying his poor, shaking limbs. He raised himself up upon his elbow and, looking round to see that we were alone, he beckoned to me to come and sit beside him. You saw it, didn't you? He asked, still in the same subdued, awesome tone so foreign to the nature of the man. No, I saw nothing. His head sank back again upon the cushions. No, he wouldn't without the glass, he murmured. He couldn't. It was the glass that showed her to me, and then the eyes of love, the eyes of love. I say, Doc, don't let the steward in. You'll think I'm mad. Just bolt the door, will you? I rose and did what he had commanded. He lay quiet for a while, lost and thought apparently, and then raised himself up upon his elbow again and asked for some more brandy. You don't think I am, do you, Doc? He asked, as I was putting the bottle back into the afterlocker. Tell me now, as man to man, do you think that I am mad? I think you have something on your mind, I answered, which is exciting you and doing you a good deal of harm. Right there, lad, he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the brandy. Plenty on my mind. Plenty! But I can work out the latitude and the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. You couldn't prove me mad in a court of law, could you now? It was curious to hear the man lying back and to coolly arguing out the question of his own sanity. Perhaps not, I said, but still I think you would be wise to get home as soon as you can and settle down to a quiet life for a while. Get home, eh? he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. One word for me and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with flora, pretty little flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness? Sometimes, I answered. What else? What would be the first symptoms? Pains in the head, noises in the ears, flashes before their eyes, delusions? Ah, what about them? he interrupted. What would you call a delusion? Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion. But she WAS there! he groaned to himself. She WAS there! And rising, he unbolted the door and walked with slow and uncertain steps to his own cabin, where I have no doubt that he will remain until tomorrow morning. His system seems to have received a terrible shock, whatever it may have been that he imagined himself to have seen. The man becomes a greater mystery every day, though I fear that the solution which he has himself suggested is the correct one, and that his reason is affected. I do not think that a guilty conscience has anything to do with his behaviour. The idea is a popular one among the officers and I believe the crew. But I have seen nothing to support it. I am not the heir of a guilty man, but of one who has had terrible usage at the hands of fortune, and who should be regarded as a martyr rather than a criminal. The wind is veering round to the south tonight. God help us if it blocks that narrow pass which is our only road to safety. Situated as we are on the edge of the main arctic pack, or the barrier as it is called by the whalers, any wind from the north has the effect of shredding out the ice around us and allowing our escape, while the wind from the south holds the loose ice behind us and helms us in between two packs. God help us, I say again. September 14th. Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears have been confirmed and the thin strip of blue water has disappeared from the southward. Nothing but the great motionless ice fields around us, with their weird hummocks and fantastic pinnacles. There is a deathly silence over their wide expanse which is horrible. No lapping of the waves now, no cries of seagulls or straining of sails, but one deep universal silence in which the murmurs of the seaman and the creak of their boots upon the white shining deck seem discordant and out of place. Our only visitor was an arctic fox, a rare animal upon the pack, though common enough upon the land. He did not come near the ship, however, but after surveying us from a distance fled rapidly across the ice. This was curious conduct, as they generally know nothing of man and being of an inquisitive nature so familiar that they are easily captured. Incredible as it may seem, even this little incident produced a bad effect upon the crew. Yon pure beastiekin's mare, I, and seas mare nor you nor me, was the comment of one of the leading harpooners and the others not of their acquiescence. It is vain to attempt to argue against such pure isle superstition. They have made up their minds that there was a curse upon the ship and nothing will ever persuade them to the contrary. The captain remained in seclusion all day, except for about half an hour in the afternoon, when he came out upon the quarter-deck. I observed that he kept his eye fixed upon the spot where the vision of yesterday had appeared and was quite prepared for another outburst, but none such came. He did not seem to see me, although I was standing close beside him. Divine service was read as usual by the chief engineer. It is a curious thing that in wailing vessels the Church of England prayer book is always employed, although there is never a member of that church among either officers or crew. Our men are all Roman Catholics or Presbyterians, the former predominating. Since a ritual is used which is foreign to both, neither can complain that the other is preferred to them and they listen with all attention and devotion so that the system has something to recommend it. A glorious sunset, which made the great fields of ice look like a lake of blood. I have never seen a finer and at the same time more weird effect. Wind is varying round. If it will blow 24 hours from the north, all will yet be well. September 15th Today is Floor's birthday. Dearest lass, it is well that she cannot see her boy as she used to call me, shut up among the ice fields with a crazy captain and a few weeks' provisions. No doubt she scans the shipping list in the Scotsman every morning to see if we are reported from Shetland. I have to set an example to the men and look cheery and unconcerned, but God knows my heart is very heavy at times. The thermometer is at 19 Fahrenheit today. There is but little wind and what there is comes from an unfavorable quarter. Captain is in an excellent humor. I think he imagines he has seen some other omen or vision, poor fellow, during the night, for he came into my room early in the morning and, stooping down over my bunk, whispered, It wasn't a delusion, doc. It's all right. After breakfast, he asked me to find out how much food was left, which the second mate and I proceeded to do. It is even less than we had expected. Forward they have half a tank full of biscuits, three barrels of salt-meat, and a very limited supply of coffee beans and sugar. In the after-hold and lockers, there are good mini-luxuries such as tinned salmon, soups, haricot mutton, etc., but they will go a very short way among a crew of fifty men. There are two barrels of flour in the storeroom and an unlimited supply of tobacco. Altogether, there is about enough to keep them in on half-frashings for eighteen or twenty days. Certainly not more. When we reported the state of things to the captain, he ordered all hands to be piped and addressed them from the quarter-deck. I never saw him to better advantage. With his tall, well-knit figure and dark animated face, he seemed a man born to command, and he discussed the situation in a cool sailor-like way which showed that while appreciating the danger, he had an eye for every loophole of escape. My lads, he said, no doubt you think I brought you into this fix, if it is a fix, and maybe some of you feel bitter against me on account of it. But you must remember that for many a season, no ship that comes to the country has as much oil-money as the old pole-star, and every one of you has had his share of it. You can leave your wives behind you in comfort while the other poor fellows come back to find their lasses on the parish. If you have to thank me for the one, you have to thank me for the other, and we may call it quits. We've tried a bold venture before this and succeeded, so now that we've tried one and failed, we've no cause to cry out about it. If the worst comes to the worst, we can make the land across the ice and lay in a stock of seals and don't come to that, though, for you'll see the Scotch Coast again before three weeks are out. At present, every man must go on half-rations, share and share alike, and no favor to any. Keep up your hearts and you'll put through this as you pulled through many a danger before. These few simple words of his had a wonderful effect upon the crew. His former unpopularity was forgotten and the old harpooner, whom I have already mentioned for a superstition, let off three cheers which were heartily joined in by all hands. September 16th The wind has veered round to the north during the night and the ice shows some symptoms of opening out. The men are in good humor in spite of the short allowance upon which they have been placed. Steam is kept up in the engine room that there may be no delay should an opportunity for escape present itself. The captain is in exuberant spirits though he still retains that wild fey expression which I have already remarked upon. This burst of cheerfulness puzzles me more than his former gloom. I cannot understand it. I think I mentioned in an early part of this journal that one of his oddities is that he never permits any person to enter his cabin but insists upon making his own bed such as it is and performing every other office for himself. To my surprise, he handed me the key today and requested me to go down there and take the time by his chronometer while he measured the altitude of the sun at noon. It is a bare little room containing a washing stand and a few books but little else in the way of luxury that I have seen in years upon the walls. The majority of these are small, cheap oleographs but there was one watercolor sketch of the head of a young lady which arrested my attention. It is evidently a portrait and not one of those fancy types of female beauty which sailors particularly affect. No artist could have evolved from his own mind such a curious mixture of character and weakness. The languid, dreamy eyes with their drooping lashes and the broad, low brow and ruffled by thought or care were in strong contrast with the clean cut, prominent jaw and the resolute set of the lower lip. Underneath it in one of the corners was written M.B. aged 19. That to anyone in the short space of 19 years of existence could develop such strength of will as was stamped upon her face seemed to me at the time to be well-nigh incredible. She must have been an extraordinary woman. Her features have thrown such a glamour over me that, though I had but a fleeting glance at them, I could, or I a draftsman, reproduce them line for line upon this page of the journal. I wonder what part she has played in our captain's life. He has hung her picture at the end of his birth so that his eyes continually rest upon it. Were he a less reserved man I should make some remark upon the subject. Of the other things in his cabin there was nothing worthy of mention, uniform coats, a camp stool, small-looking glass, tobacco box and numerous pipes including an oriental hookah. Give some color to Mr. Milne's story about his participation in the war, though the connection may seem rather a distant one. 11.20 PM Captain just gone to bed after a long and interesting conversation on general topics. When he chooses he can be a most fascinating companion, being remarkably well-read and having the power of expressing his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. I hate to have my intellectual toes trot upon. He spoke about the nature of the soul and sketched out the views of Aristotle and Plato upon the subject in a masterly manner. He seems to have a leaning for mentum psychosis and the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them we touched upon modern spiritualism and I made some joking allusion to the imposters of Slade upon which, to my surprise, he warned me most impressively against confusing the innocent with a guilty and argued that it would be as logical to brand Christianity as an error because Judas, who professed that religion, was a villain. He shortly afterwards bade me good night and retired to his room. The wind is freshening up and blows steadily from the north. The nights are as dark now as they are in England. I hope tomorrow we set us free from our frozen fetters. September 17. The bogey again. Thank heaven that I have strong nerves. The superstition of these poor fellows and the circumstantial accounts which they give with the utmost earnestness and self-conviction would horrify any man not accustomed to their ways. There are many versions of the matter but the sum total of them all is that something uncanny has been flitting around the ship all night and that Sandy McDonald Peter had and laying Peter Williamson of Shetland sought and also did Mr. Millen on the bridge. So, having three witnesses, they can make a better case of it than the second mate did. I spoke to Millen after breakfast and told him that he should be above such nonsense and that as an officer he ought to set them in a better example. He shook his weather-beaten head ominously but answered with characteristic caution. Maybe I, maybe not, doctor, he said, I did not call it a guest. I kind of say I preem my faith in sea-buggles and the like, though there's a money as claims to a scene of that in war. I'm no easy-feared, but maybe your own blood would run a bit cold, man, if instead of sparing it about and derelict you were with me last night and seed an awful like-shape would engross him while I was here while I was there and it greeted and came with the darkness like a bit lamby that I lost its mither. You would not be so ready to put it at under old wives' clavours, then, I'm thinking. I saw it was hopeless to reason with him so I continued myself with begging him as a personal favour to call me up the next time the spectre appeared, a request to which he acceded with many ejaculations expressive of his hopes that such an opportunity might never arise. As I had hoped, the white desert behind us had become broken by many thin streaks of water which intersected in all directions. Our latitude today was 80 degrees 52 minutes north, which shows that there was a strong, southerly drift upon the pack. Should the wind continue favourable, it will break up as rapidly as it formed. At present, we can do nothing but smoke and wait and hope for the best. I am rapidly becoming a fatalist. When dealing with such uncertain factors as wind and ice, a man can be nothing else. Perhaps it was the wind and sand of the Arabian deserts which gave the minds of the original followers of Muhammad their tendency to badic his met. These spectral alarms have a very bad effect upon the captain. I feared that it might excite his sensitive mind and endeavour to conceal the absurd story from him, but unfortunately, he overheard one of the men making an illusion to it and insisted upon being informed about it. As I had expected, it brought out all his latent lunacy in an exaggerated form. I can hardly believe that this is the same man who discovered philosophy last night with the most critical acumen and coolest judgement. He is pacing backwards and forwards upon the quarter-deck like a caged tiger, stopping now and again to throw out his hands with a yearning gesture and to stare impatiently out over the ice. He keeps up a continual mutter to himself, and once he called out But a little time, love! But a little time! Poor fellow, it is sad to see a gallant seaman and accomplished gentleman reduced to such a pass and to think that imagination and delusion can cow a mind to which real danger was but the salt of life. Was ever a man in such position as I between a demented captain and a ghost-seeing mate? I sometimes think I am the only really sane man aboard the vessel except perhaps the second engineer who is a kind of ruminant and would care nothing for all the fiends in the Red Sea so long as they would leave him alone and not disarrange his tools. The ice is still opening rapidly and there is every probability of our being able to make a start tomorrow morning. They will think I am inventing when I tell them at home all the strange things that have befallen me. 12 p.m. I have been a good deal startled though I feel steadier now thanks to a stiff glass of brandy. I am hardly myself yet however as this handwriting will testify. The fact is that I have gone through a very strange experience and in beginning to doubt whether I was justified in branding everyone on board as madmen because they professed to have seen things which had not seem reasonable to my understanding. Fshah! I am a fool to let such a trifle unnerve me and yet coming as it does after all these alarms it has an additional significance for I cannot doubt either Mr. Manson's story or that of the mate now that I have experienced that which I used formally to scoff at. After all it was nothing very alarming a mere sound and that was all. I cannot expect that anyone reading this if anyone ever should read it will sympathize with my feelings or realize the effect which it produced upon me at the time. supper was over and I had gone on dead to have a quiet pipe before turning in. The night was very dark so dark that standing under the quarter boat I was unable to see the officer upon the bridge. I think I have already mentioned the extraordinary silence which prevails in these frozen seas. In other parts of the world be they ever so barren there is some slight vibration of the air some faint hum be it from the distant haunts of men or from the leaves of the trees or the wings of the birds or even the faint rustle of the grass that covers the ground. One may not actively perceive the sound and yet if it were withdrawn it would be missed. It is only here in these arctic seas that stark unfathomable stillness obtrudes itself upon you in all its gruesome reality. You find your tympanum straining to catch some little murmur and dwelling eagerly upon every accidental sound within the vessel. In this state I was leaning against the bulwarks when there arose from the ice almost directly underneath me a cry sharp and shrill upon the silent air of the night beginning as it seemed to me at a note such as prima donna never reached and mounting from that ever higher and higher until it culminated in a long wail of agony which might have been the last cry of a lost soul. The ghastly scream is still ringing in my ears. Grief, an utterable grief, seemed to be expressed in it and a great longing, and yet through it all there is an occasional wild note of exultation. It shrilled out from close beside me and yet as I glared into the darkness I could discern nothing. I waited some little time but without hearing any repetition of the sound so I came below more shaken than I have ever been in my life before. As I came down the companion I met Mr. Milne coming up to relieve the watch. Real doctor, he said, maybe that's old wives, Clavertet. Did you know here at Skirling? Maybe that's a superstition? Or do you think a new? I was obliged to apologize to the honest fellow and acknowledged that I was as puzzled by it as he was. Perhaps tomorrow morning things may look different. At present I dare hardly write all that I think. Reading it again in days to come when I've shaken off all these associations I should despise myself for having been so weak. September 18th Past a restless and uneasy night still haunted by that strange sound the captain does not look as if he had had much repose either for his face has haggard in his eyes bloodshot. I have not told him of my adventure last night nor shall I. He is already restless and excited standing up, sitting down and apparently utterly unable to keep still. A fine lead appeared in the pack this morning as I had expected and we were able to cast off our ice anchor and steam about 12 miles in west-south-westerly direction. We were then brought to a halt by great flow as massive as any which we have left behind us. It bars our progress completely so we can do nothing but anchor again and wait until it breaks up which it will probably do within 24 hours if the wind holds. Several bladder-nosed seals were seen swimming in the water and one was shot an immense creature more than 11 feet long. They are fierce pugnacious animals and are said to be more than a match for a bear. Fortunately they are slow and clumsy in their movements so that there is little danger in attacking them upon the ice. The captain evidently does not think we have seen the last of our troubles though why he should take a gloomy view of the situation is more than I can fathom since everyone else on board considers that we have had a miraculous escape and are sure now to reach the open sea. As opposed to you think it's all right now doctor? He said as we sat together after dinner I hope so I answered we mustn't be too sure and no doubt you are right we'll all be in the arms of our own true loves before long lad won't we but we mustn't be too sure we mustn't be too sure He sat silent a little swinging his leg thoughtfully backwards and forwards look here he continued it's a dangerous place this even at its best a treacherous dangerous place I have known men cut off very subtly in a land like this a slip would do it sometimes a single slip and down you go through a crack and only a bubble on the green water to show where it was that you sink it's a queer thing he continued with a nervous laugh but all the years I've been in this country I never once thought of making a will not that I have anything to leave in particular but still when a man is exposed to danger he should have everything arranged and ready don't you think so? certainly I answered wondering what on earth he was driving at he feels better for knowing it's all settled he went on now if anything is said ever before me I hope that you will look after things for me there's very little in the cabin but such as it is I should like it to be sold and the money divided in the same proportion as the oil money among the crew the chronometer I wish you to keep to yourself as some slight remembrance of our voyage of course all this is a mere precaution but I thought I would take the opportunity of speaking to you about it as opposed I might rely upon you if there were any necessity most assuredly I answered and since you are taking this step I may as well you! you! he interrupted you're alright what the devil is the matter with you there I I didn't mean to be peppery I'd like to hear a young fellow that has hardly began life speculating about death go up on deck and get some fresh air into your lungs instead of talking nonsense in the cabin and encouraging me to do the same the more I think of this conversation of ours the less do I like it why should the man be settling his affairs at the very time when we seem to be emerging from all danger there must be some method in his madness can it be that he contemplates suicide I remember that upon one occasion he spoke in a deeply reverent manner of the heinousness of the crime of self-destruction I shall keep my eye upon him however and though I cannot obtrude upon the privacy of his cabin I shall at least make a point of remaining on deck as long as he stays up Mr. Moon poo-poo's my fear and says it is only the skipper's little way he himself takes a very rosy view of the situation according to him we shall be out of the ice by the day after tomorrow pass you on Maya in two days after that and decides Shetland in little more than a week I hope you may not be too sanguine his opinion may be fairly balanced against the gloomy precautions of the captain for he is an old and experienced seaman and weighs his words well before uttering them the long impending catastrophe has come at last I hardly know what to write about it the captain is gone he may come back to us again alive but I fear me I fear me it is now seven o'clock in the morning of the 19th of September I have spent the whole night traversing the great ice floe in front of us with the party of seaman in the hope of coming upon some trace of him but in vain I shall try to give some account of the circumstances which attended upon his disappearance should anyone ever chance to read the words which I put down I trust they will remember that I do not write from conjecture or from hearsay but that I, a sane and educated man am describing accurately what actually occurred before my very eyes my inferences are my own but I shall be answerable for the facts the captain remained in excellent spirits after the conversation which I have recorded he appeared to be nervous and impatient however frequently changing his position and moving his limbs in an aimless choreic way which is characteristic of him at times in a quarter of an hour he went upon deck seven times only to descend after a few hurried paces I followed him each time for there was something about his face which confirmed my resolution not letting him out of my sight he seemed to observe the effect which his movements had produced for he endeavored by an overdone hilarity laughing boisterously at the very smallest of jokes to quiet my apprehensions after supper he went on to the poop once more and die with him the night was dark and very still save for the melancholy stuffing of the wind among the spars a thick cloud was coming up from the northwest and the ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it were drifting across the face of the moon which only shown now and again through a rift in the rack the captain paced rapidly backwards and forwards and then seeing me still dogging him he came across and hinted that he thought I should be better below which I need hardly say had the effect of strengthening my resolution to remain on deck I think you forgot about my presence after this before he stood silently leaning over the taffrel and parrying out across the great desert of snow part of which lay in shadow while part glittered mistily in the moonlight several times I could see by his movements that he was referring to his watch and once he muttered a short sentence of which I could only catch the one word already I confess to having felt an eerie feeling creeping over me as I watched the loom of his tall figure through the darkness I noted how completely he fulfilled the idea of a man who was keeping a trist a trist with whom some vague perception began to dawn upon me as I pieced one fact with another but I was utterly unprepared for the sequel by the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he saw something I crept up behind him he was staring with an eager questioning gaze at what seemed to be a wreath of mist blown swiftly in a line with the ship it was a dim, nebulous body devoid of shape sometimes more, sometimes less apparent as the light fell on it the moon was dimmed in its brilliancy at the moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud like the coating of an anemone come in lass come in cried the skipper in a voice of unfathomable tenderness and compassion like one who soothes the beloved one by some favor long looked for and as pleasant to bestow as to receive what followed happened in an instant I had no power to interfere he gave one spring to the top of the bulwarks and another which took him onto the ice almost to the feet of the pale misty figure he held out his hands as if to clasp it and so ran into the darkness with outstretched arms and loving words I still stood ready and motionless straining my eyes after his retreating form until his voice died away in the distance I never thought to see him again but at that moment the moon shone out brilliantly through a chink in the cloudy heaven and illuminated the great field of ice then I saw his dark figure already a very long way off running with prodigious speed across the frozen plain that was the last glimpse which we caught of him perhaps the last we ever shall a party was organized to follow him and I accompanied them but the men's hearts were not in the work and nothing was found another will be formed within a few hours I can hardly believe I have not been dreaming or suffering from some hideous nightmare as I write these things down 7.30pm just returned dead beat and utterly tired out from a second unsuccessful search for the captain the flow is of enormous extent for though we have traversed at least 20 miles of its surface there has been no sign of its coming to an end the frost has been so severe of late that the overlying snow is frozen as hard as granite otherwise we might have had the footsteps to guide us the crew are anxious that we should cast off and steam round the flow and so to the southward for the ice has opened up during the night and the sea is visible upon the horizon they argue that Captain Craigie is certainly dead and that we are all risking our lives to no purpose by remaining when we have an opportunity of escape Mr. Millen and I have had the greatest difficulty in persuading them to wait until tomorrow night and have been compelled to promise that we will not under any circumstances delay our departure longer than that we propose therefore to take a few hours sleep and then to start upon a final search 7.20pm I crossed the ice this morning with a party of men exploring the southern part of the flow while Mr. Millen went off in an orvilly direction we pushed on for 10 or 12 miles without seeing a trace of any living thing except a single bird which fluttered a great way over our heads and which by its flight I should judge to have been a falcon the southern extremity of the ice field tapered away into a long narrow spit which projected out into the sea when we came to the base of this promontory the men halted but I begged them to continue to the extreme end of it that we might have the satisfaction of knowing that no possible chance had been neglected we had hardly gone a hundred yards before McDonald of Peterhead cried out that he saw something in front of us and began to run we all got a glimpse of it and ran too at first it was only a vague darkness against the white ice but as we raced along together it took the shape of a man and eventually of the man of whom we were in search he was lying face downwards upon a frozen bank many little crystals of ice and feathers of snow had drifted on to him as he lay and sparkled upon his dark seaman's jacket as we came up some wandering puff of wind caught these tiny flakes in its vortex and they whirled up into the air partially descended again and then caught once more into the current sped rapidly away in the direction of the sea to my eyes it seemed but a snow drift but many of my companions averred that it started up in the shape of a woman stooped over the corpse and kissed it and then hurried away across the flow I've learned never to ridicule any man's opinion however strange it may seem sure it is that Captain Nicholas Craigie had met with no painful end for there was a bright smile upon his blue pinched features and his hands were still outstretched as though grasping at the strange visitor which had summoned him away into the dim world that lies beyond the grave we buried him the same afternoon with the ship's ensign around him and a thirty-two pound shot at his feet I read the burial service while the rough sailors wept like children for there were many who owed much to his kind heart and who showed now the affection which his strange ways had repelled during his lifetime he went off the grating with a dull, swollen splash and as I looked into the green water I saw him go down, down, down until he was but a little flickering patch of white hanging upon the outskirts of eternal darkness then even that faded away and he was gone there he shall lie with his secret and his sorrows and his mystery all still buried in his breast until that great day when the sea shall give up its dead he come out from among the ice with the smile upon his face and his stiffened arms outstretched and greeting I pray that his lot may be a happier one in that life than it has been in this I shall not continue my journal our road to home lies plain and clear before us and the great ice field will soon be but a remembrance of the past it will be some time before I get over the shock produced by recent events when I began this record of our voyage I thought little of how I should be compelled to finish it I'm writing these final words in the lonely cabin still starting at times and fancying I hear the quick nervous step of the dead man upon the deck above me I entered his cabin tonight as was my duty to make a list of his effects in order that they might be entered in the official log all was as it had been upon my previous visit save that the picture which I had described as having hung at the end of his bed had been cut out of its frame as with a knife and was gone with this last link in a strange chain of evidence that follows my diary of the voyage of the pole star note by Dr. John McAllister Ray Sr I have read over the strange events connected with the death of the captain of the pole star as narrated in the journal of my son that everything occurred exactly as he describes it I have the fullest confidence and indeed the most positive certainty for I know him to be a strong nervous and unimaginative man with the strictest regard for veracity still the story is on the face of it so vague and so improbable that I was long opposed to its publication within the last few days however I have had independent testimony upon the subject which throws a new light upon it I turned down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting of the British Medical Association when I chanced to come across Dr. P an old college chum of mine now practicing at Saltash in Devonshire upon my telling them of this experience of my sons he declared to me that he was familiar with the man and proceeded to my no small surprise to give me a description of him which tallied remarkably well with that given in the journal except that he depicted him as a younger man according to his account he had been engaged to a young lady of singular beauty residing upon the Cornish coast during his absence at sea his betrothed died under circumstances of peculiar horror end of the captain of the pole star section 8 of Lovecraft's influences and favorites this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Dan Ficklen Indianapolis The Yellow Sign by Robert W. Chambers The Yellow Sign Let the red dawn surmise what we shall do when this blue starlight dies and all is through 1. There are so many things which are impossible to explain Why should certain chords in music make me think of the brown and golden tints of autumn foliage? Why should the mass of St. Cecilie bend my thoughts wandering among caverns whose walls blaze with ragged masses of virgin silver? What was it in the roar and turmoil of Broadway at six o'clock the flash before my eyes the picture of a still-bretten forest where sunlight filtered through spring foliage and Sylvia bent, half curiously half tenderly over a small green lizard murmuring to think that this is also a little ward of God. When I first saw the Watchman his back was toward me. I looked at him indifferently until I went into the church. I paid no more attention to him than I had to any other man who had lounged through Watchman Square that morning and when I shut my window and turned my back into the studio I had forgotten him. Late in the afternoon, the day being warm I raised the window again and leaned out to get a sniff of air. A man was standing in the courtyard of the church I noticed him again with his little interest to cross the square to where the fountain was playing and then with my mind filled with the vague impressions of trees, asphalt drives and the moving groups of nursemaids and holiday makers I started to walk back to my easel. As I turned, my listless glance included the man below in the churchyard. His face was toward me now and with perfectly involuntary movement I bent to see it. At the same moment he raised his head and looked at me instantly I thought of a coffin worm. Whatever it was about that man that repelled me I did not know the impression of a plump white grey worm was so intense and nauseating that I must have shown it in my expression. For he turned his puffy face away with a movement which made me think of a disturbed grub and a chestnut. I went back to my easel and motioned the model to resume her pose. After working a while I was satisfied that I was spoiling what I had done as rapidly as possible and I took up a palette knife and scraped the color out again. The fleshed tones were sallow and unhealthy and I did not understand how I could have painted such a sickly color into a study that I broke load with healthy tones. I looked at Tessie. She had not changed and the clear flush of help died her neck and cheeks as I frowned. Is it something I've done? She said. No, I've made a mess of this arm and for the life of me I can't see how I came to paint such mud into that canvas. I replied. Don't I pose well? She insisted. Of course, perfectly. Then it's not my fault. I am very sorry, she said. I told her she could rest while I applied rag and turpentine to the plagues spot on my canvas and she went off to smoke a cigarette and look over the illustrations in the courier of Francaise. I did not know whether it was something in the turpentine or a defect in the canvas but the more I scrubbed the more that gangrene seemed to spread. I worked like a beaver to get it out and yet the disease appeared to creep from limb to limb of the study before me. Alarmed I strove to arrest it but the color on the breasts changed and the whole figure seemed to absorb the infection as the sponge soaks up water. Vigorously I applied palette knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinking all the time what a seance I should hold Duvall who had sold me the canvas but soon I noticed that it was not the canvas which was defective, nor yet the colors of Edward. It must be the turpentine. I thought, angrily, or else my eyes had become so blurred and confused by the afternoon light that I can't see straight. The model. She came and leaned over my chair blowing rings of smoke into the air. What have you been doing to it? She exclaimed. Nothing. I growled. It must be this turpentine. What a horrible color it is now. She continued. Do you think my flesh resembles green cheese? No, I don't. I said angrily. Did you ever know me to paint like that before? No, indeed. Well then. It must be the turpentine or something. She admitted. She slipped on a Japanese robe and walked to the window. I scraped and rubbed until I was tired and finally picked up my brushes and hurled them through the canvas with a forcible expression, the tone alone of which reached Tessie's ears. Nevertheless she promptly began. That's it! Swear and act silly and ruin your brushes. You've been three weeks on that study and now look! What's the good of ripping the canvas? What creatures are to saw? I felt about as much ashamed as I usually did after such an outbreak and I turned the ruined canvas to the wall. Tessie helped me clean my brushes and then danced away to dress. From the screen she regaled me with bits of advice concerning whole or partial lost temper, intel thinking perhaps I had been tormented sufficiently. She came out to implore me to button her waist where she could not reach it on the shoulder. Everything went wrong from the time you came back from the window and talked about that horn-looking man you saw in the churchyard. She announced. Yes, he'd probably bewitched the picture. I said, yawning. I looked at my watch. It's after six, I know, said Tessie adjusting her hat before the mirror. Yes, I replied. I didn't mean to keep you so long. I leaned out the window but recoiled but disgust for the young man with a pasty face to blow in the churchyard. Tessie saw my gesture of disapproval and leaned from the window. Is that the man you don't like? She whispered. I nodded. I can't see his face but he does look fat and soft, some way or other. She continued, turning to look at me. He reminds me of a dream, an awful dream I once had. Or she mused, looking down at her shapely shoes. Was it a dream after all? Now should I know? I smiled. Tessie smiled and replied. You were in it, she said. So perhaps you might know something about it. Tessie, Tessie. I protested. Don't you dare flatter by saying that you dream about me. But I did, she insisted. Shall I tell you about it? Go ahead. I replied, lighting a cigarette. Tessie leaned back on the open window so and began very seriously. One night last winter I was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all in particular. I had been posing for you and I was tired out. Yet it seemed impossible for me to sleep. I heard the bells in the city ring ten, eleven, and midnight. I must have fallen asleep about midnight because I don't remember hearing the bells after that. It seemed to me that I had scarcely closed my eyes when I dreamed that something impelled me to go to the window. I rose and raising the sash leaned out. 25th Street was deserted as far as I could see. I began to be afraid. Everything outside seemed so so black and uncomfortable. Then the sound of wheels in the distance came to my ears and it seemed to me as though that was what I must wait for. Very slowly the wheels approached and finally I could make out a vehicle moving along the street. It came nearer and nearer and when it passed beneath my window I saw it was a hearse. Then as I trembled with fear the driver turned and looked straight at me. When I awoke I was standing by the open window shivering with cold but the black plume to hearse and the driver were gone. I dreamed this dream again at March last and again woke beside the open window. Last night the dream came again. You remember how it was raining. When I awoke standing at the open window my nightdress was soaked. But where did I come into the dream? I asked. You were in the coffin but you were not dead. In the coffin? Yes. How did you know? Could you see me? No, I only knew you were there. Had you been eating Welsh rare bits or lobster salad? I began laughing but the girl interrupted me with a frightened cry. Hello, what's up? I said as she shrank into the embrasure by the window. The man below in the churchyard he drove the hearse. Nonsense I said but Tessie's eyes were gone wide with terror. I went to the window and looked out. The man was gone. Come Tessie. I was urged. Don't be foolish. You've posed too long. You're nervous. I could forget that face. She murmured. Three times I saw the hearse pass below my window. And every time the driver turned and looked up at me. Oh, his face was so white and soft. He looked dead. It looked as if it had been dead a long time. I induced the girl to sit down and swallow a glass of Marsala. Then I sat down beside her and tried to give her some advice. Look here Tessie. I said you go to the country for a week or two and you'll have no more dreams about hearse's. You pose all day and when night comes your nerves are upset. You can't keep this up. Then again instead of going to bed when your day's work is done you run off to picnics at Solzers Park or you go to the El Dorado or Coney Island and when you come down here next morning you're fagged out. There was no real hearse. That was a soft shell crab dream. What about the man in the churchyard? Oh, he's only an ordinary unhealthy everyday creature. As true as my name is Tessie Reardon I swear to you Mr. Scott that the face of the man below the churchyard is the face of the man who drove the hearse. What of it? I said, it's an honest trade. Then you think I did see the hearse? Oh, I said diplomatically. If he really did it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. There's nothing in that. Tessie Rose unrolled her scented handkerchief and taking a bit of gum from the knot in the hem placed it in her mouth. Then drawing on her glove she offered me her hand with a frank, good night Mr. Scott and walked out. 2. The next morning Thomas, the bellboy, brought me the Herald and a bit of news. The church next door had been sold. I thanked heaven for it. Not that being a Catholic I'd had any repugnance for the congregation next door but because my nerves were shattered by a blatant exhorter whose every word echoed through the isle of the church as if it had been my own rooms and who insisted on his arse with a nasal persistence which revolted my every instant. Then, too, there was a fiend in human shape, an organist who reeled off some of the grand old hymns with an interpretation of his own and had longed for the blood of a creature who could play the doxology with an amendment of minor chords which one hears only in a quartet of very young undergraduates. I believed the minister was a good man but when he bellowed And the Lord said unto Moses The Lord is a man of war The Lord is his name My wrath shall wax hot and I will kill you with a sword I wondered how many centuries of purgatory it would take to atone for such a sin. Who bought the property? I asked Thomas Nobody that I know, sir They do say the gent what owns this air Hamilton Flats was looking at it He might be building more studios I walked to the window The young man with the unhealthy face stood by the churchyard gate and at the mere sight of him the same overwhelming repugnance took possession of me By the way, Thomas I said Who is that fellow down there? Thomas snipped That there warm, sir He's night watchman of the church, sir He makes me tired sitting out all night and on them steps and looking at you and saltin' like He had a punch to his head, sir, beg pardon, sir Go on, Thomas One night I come in home with Irie the other English boy I see some sitting there on them steps We had Mollie and Gin with us, sir the two girls at the tray service and he looks so insulted at us that I up and says What you looking at? You fat slug? Beg pardon, sir, but that's how I says it, sir Then he don't say nothing and I says come out and I'll punch that puddin' head Then I opens the gate and I goes in but he don't say nothing all he looks and saltin' like Then I hits him one, but ah, his head was that cold and mushy it had sickened you to touch him What did he do then? I asked curiously M. Northen And you, Thomas? The young fellow flushed up with embarrassment and smiled uneasily Mr. Scott, sir, I ain't no coward and I can't make it out at all while I run I was in the fifth lances, sir Buegler at Telecabir and was shot by the Wells You don't mean to say you ran away Yes, sir, I run Why? That's just what I want to know, sir I grab Molly and run and the rest of us frightened as I But what were they frightened at? Thomas refused to answer for a while but now my curiosity was roused about the repulsive young man below and I pressed him Three years soldier in America had not only his cockney dialect, but had given him the American's fear of ridicule He won't believe me, Mr. Scott, sir Yes, I will He will laugh at me, sir Nonsense He hesitated Well, sir, it's Scott's truth that when I hit him he grabbed me wrist, sir and when I twisted his soft mushy fist one of his fingers come off of me and The utter loathing and horror of Thomas' face must have been reflected in my own before he added, it's awful and now when I see him I just go away It makes me ill When Thomas had gone I went to the window The man stood beside the church railing with both hands on the gate but I hastily retreated to my easel again sickened and horrified for I saw that the middle finger of his right hand was missing At nine o'clock Tessie appeared and vanished behind the screen with a merry Good morning, Mr. Scott When she had reappeared and taken her pose upon the model stand, I started a new canvas much to her delight She remained silent as long as I was on the drawing but as soon as the scrape of the charcoal ceased and I took up my fixative she began to chatter Oh, I had such a lovely time last night We went to Tony Pastore's Who are we? I demanded Oh, Mackie, you know, Mr. White's model and Pinky McCormick We call her Pinky because she's got that beautiful red hair you artists like so much I sent a shower of spray from the fixative over the canvas and said Well, go on We saw Kelly and Baby Barnes a skirt dancer and all the rest I made a mash Then you have gone back on me, Tessie She laughed and shook her head He's Lizzie Burke's brother, Ed He's a perfect gentleman I felt constrained to give her some parental advice concerning mashing which she took with a bright smile Oh, I can take care of a strange mash She said, examining her chewing gum but Ed is different Lizzie is my best friend Then she related how Ed had come back from the stalking mill in Lowell, Massachusetts to find her and Lizzie grown up and what a accomplished young man he was and how he thought of nothing of squandering a half a dollar for ice cream and oysters to celebrate his entry as clerk into the woolen department at Macy's Before she finished I began to paint and she resumed the pose smiling and chattering like a sparrow really well rubbed in and Tessie came to look at it That's better She said I thought so too and ate my lunch with a satisfied feeling that all was going well Tessie spread her lunch on a drawing table opposite me and we drank our clare from the same bottle and lighted our cigarettes from the same match I was very much attached to Tessie I had watched her shoot up into a slender but exquisitely formed woman from a frail, awkward child She had posed for me during the last three years and among all my models she was my favorite It would have troubled me very much indeed had she become tough or fly as the phrase goes but I never noticed any deterioration of her manner and felt at heart that she was all right She and I never discussed morals at all and I had no intention of doing so partly because I had none myself and partly because I knew she would do what she liked in spite of me Still I did hope she would steer clear of complications because I wished her well and then I also had a selfish desire to retain the best model I had I knew that mashing, as she termed it had no significance with girls like Tessie and that such things in America did not resemble in the least the same things in Paris yet having lived with my eyes open I also knew that somebody would take Tessie away someday in one manner or another and though I professed to myself that marriage was nonsense I sincerely hope that in this case there would be a priest at the end of the vista I am a Catholic and when I listen to high mass when I sign myself I feel that everything, including myself is more cheerful and when I confess, it does me good a man who lives as much alone as I do must confess to somebody then again, Sylvia was Catholic and it was a reason enough for me but I was speaking of Tessie which is very different Tessie also was Catholic and much more devout than I so taking it all in I had little fear for my pretty model who alone would decide her future for her and I prayed inwardly that fate would keep her away from men like me and throw in her path nothing but Ed Burks and Jimmy McCormick's lesser sweet face Tessie sat blowing a ring of smoke up to the ceiling and tinkling the ice in her tumbler do you know that I also had a dream last night I observed not about that man she laughed exactly, a dream similar to yours only much worse I was foolish and thoughtless of me to say this but you know how little tacked the average painter has I must have fallen asleep about ten o'clock I continued and after a while I dreamt that I awoke so plainly did I hear that midnight bells the wind in the tree branches and the whistle of steamers from the bay that even now I can scarcely believe I was not awake I seemed to be lying in a box which had a glass cover dimly I saw the street lamps as I passed for I must tell you Tessie the box in which I reclined appeared to lie in a cushioned wagon which jolted me over stony pavement after a while I became impatient tried to move but the box was too narrow my hands were crossed on my breast so that I could not raise them to help myself I listened and then tried to call my voice was gone I could hear the trample of the horses attached to the wagon and even the breathing of the driver then another sound broke upon my ears like the raising of a window sash I managed to turn my head a little and I found that I could look not only through the glass cover of my box but also through the glass panes on the side of the covered vehicle I saw houses empty and silent with neither light nor life about any of them excepting one in that house a window was open on the first floor and a figure all unwise stood looking into the street it was you Tessie had turned her face away from me and leaned on the table with her elbow I could see your face I resumed and it seemed to me to be very sorrowful then we passed on and turned into a narrow black lane presently the horses stopped I waited and waited closing my eyes with fear and impatience but all was silent as the grave after what seemed to me ours I began to feel uncomfortable a sense that something was close to me that made me unclose my eyes and I saw the white face of that hearse driver looking at me through the coffin lid I saw him from Tessie interrupted me she was trembling like a leaf I saw I had made an asset myself and attempted to repair the damage why Tess? I said I only told you this to show you what influence your story might have on another person's dreams you don't suppose I really lay in a coffin do you? what are you trembling for? don't you see that your dream and my unreasonable dislike for that inoffensive watchman of the church simply set my brain working as soon as I fell asleep she laid her head between my arms and saw if her heart would break what a precious triple donkey I had made of myself but I was about to break my record I went over and put my arm around her Tessie dear forgive me I said I had no business to frighten you with such nonsense you are too sensible a girl too good a Catholic to believe in dreams her hand tightened on mine and her head fell back upon my shoulder but she still trembled and comforted her come Tess open your eyes and smile her eyes opened with a slow language movement and met mine but their expression was so queer that I hastened to reassure her again it's all humbug Tessie you surely are not afraid that any harm will come to you because of that no she said but her scarlet lips quivered then what's the matter? are you afraid? yes not for myself for me then I demanded gaily for you she murmured in a voice almost inaudible I I care for you at first I started to laugh but when I understood her a shock passed through me and I sat like one turned stone this was the crowning bit of idiocy I had committed during the moment which elapsed between her reply and my answer I thought of a thousand responses to that innocent confession I could pass it by with a laugh I could misunderstand her and assure her as to my health I could simply point out that it was impossible she could love me but my reply was quicker than my thoughts and I might think and think now when it was too late for I had kissed her on the mouth that evening I took my usual walk in Washington park pondering over the occurrences of the day I was thoroughly committed there was no back out now the future straight in the face I was not good not even scrupulous but I had no idea of deceiving either myself or Tessie the one passion of my life I buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany was it buried forever hope cried no for three years I had been listening for the voice of hope and for three years I had waited for a footstep on my threshold had Sylvia forgotten no cried hope I said that I was no good that is true but still I was not exactly a comic opera villain I had led an easy going reckless life taking what invited me a pleasure deploring and sometimes bitterly regretting consequences and one thing alone except my painting was I serious and that was something which lay hidden if not lost in the Bretton forests it was too late for me to regret what had occurred during the day whatever it had been the sudden tenderness for sorrow or the more brutal instinct of gratified vanity it was all the same now and unless I wished to bruise an innocent heart my path lay marked before me the fire in strength the depth of passion of a love which I had never even suspected with all my imagined experience in the world left me no alternative but to respond or send her away whether because I am so cowardly about giving pain to others or whether it was that I have little of the gloomy puritan of me I do not know but I shrank from disclaiming responsibility for that thoughtless kiss and in fact had no time to do so before the gates of her heart opened and the flood poured forth others who habitually do their duty and find a soul in satisfaction in making themselves and everybody else unhappy might have withstood it I did not I dared not after the storm had abated I did tell her that she might have better loved Ed Burke and worn a plain gold ring and decided to love somebody she could not marry it had better be me I at least could treat her with an intelligent affection and whenever she became tired of her infatuation she could go on, none the worse for it for I was decided on that point although I knew how hard it would be I remembered the usual termination of platonic liaisons and I thought how disgusted I had been whenever I heard of one I knew I was undertaking a great deal for so unscrupulous a man as I was and I dreamed the future did I doubt that she was safe with me had it been anybody but Tessie I should not have bothered my head about scruples for it did not occur to me to sacrifice Tessie as I would have sacrificed a woman of the world I looked the future squarely in the face and saw the several probable endings to the affair she would either tire of the whole thing or become so unhappy that I should have either to marry her or go away if I married her we would be unhappy I with a wife unsuited to me she with a husband unsuitable for any woman for my past life could scarcely entitle me to marry if I went away she might either fall ill recover and marry some Eddie Burke or she might recklessly or deliberately go and do something foolish on the other hand if she tired of me then her whole life would be before her with beautiful vistas of Eddie Burke's and marriage rings and twins and Harlem flats and heaven knows what as I strolled along through the trees by the Washington arch to find a substantial friend in me anyway and the future could take care of itself then I went into the house and put on my evening dress with a little faintly perfumed note on my dresser said have a cab at the stage door at 11 and the note was signed Edith Carmichael Metropolitan Theatre I took supper that night or rather we took supper miss Carmichael and I at Solaris and the dawn was just beginning to gild the cross on the memorial church as I entered Washington Square after leaving Edith at the Brunswick there was not a soul in the park as I passed through the trees and took the walk which leads from the Garibaldi statue to the Hamilton apartment house but as I passed the churchyard I saw a figure sitting on the stone steps in spite of myself a chill crept over me at the sight of a white puffy face and I hastened to pass then he said something which might have been addressed to me or might merely have been a mutter to himself but a sudden furious anger flamed up within me that such a creature should address me for an instant I felt like wheeling about and smashing my stick over his head but I walked on and entering the Hamilton went to my apartment for some time I tossed about the bed trying to get the sound of his voice out of my ears but could not it filled my head that muttering sound like thick oily smoke from a fat rendering bat or an odor of noisome decay and as I lay and tossed about the voice of my ears seemed more distinct and I began to understand the words he had muttered they came to me slowly as if I had forgotten them and at last I could make some sense out of the sounds it was this have you found the yellow sign have you found the yellow sign have you found the yellow sign have you found the yellow sign I was furious what did he mean by that then with a curse upon him and his I rolled over and went to sleep but when I awoke later I looked pale and haggard for I had dreamed the dream of the night before and it troubled me more than I cared to think I dressed and went down into my studio Tessie sat by the window but as I came in she rose and put both arms around my neck for an innocent kiss she looked so sweet and dainty that I kissed her again and then sat down before the easel hello where's the study I began yesterday I asked Tessie looked conscious but did not answer I began to hunt among the piles of canvas as saying hurry up Tess get ready we must take advantage of the morning light when at last I gave up the search among the other canvases and turned to look around the room for the missing study I noticed Tessie standing by the screen with her clothes still on what's the matter I asked don't you feel well yes then hurry do you want me to pose as I have always posed then I understood here was a new complication of course the best nude model I'd ever seen I looked at Tessie her face was scarlet alas alas we had eaten the tree of knowledge and eaten the native innocence were dreams of the past I mean for her I suppose she noticed the disappointment on my face for she said I will pose if you wish the study is behind the screen here where I put it no I said we will begin something new I went into my wardrobe and picked out a moorish costume which fairly blazed with tinsel it was a genuine costume and Tessie retired to the screen with it enchanted when she came forth again I was astonished her long black hair was bound above her forehead with a circlet of turquoise and the ends curled about her glittering girl her feet were encased in the embroidered pointed slippers and the skirt of her costume curiously wrought with arabesque and silver fell to her ankles the deep metallic blue vest embroidered with silver and the short maresque jacket spangled and sewn with turquoises became her wonderfully she came up to me and held up her face smiling I slipped my hand into my pocket and drawing out a gold chain with a cross attached dropped it over her head it's yours Tessie mine she faltered yours now go and pose then with a radiant smile she ran behind the screen and presently reappeared with a little box on which was written my name I had intended to give it to you when I went home tonight she said but I can't wait now I opened the box on the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx on which was enlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold it was neither Arabic nor Chinese nor as I found afterwards that it belonged to any human script it's all I had to give you for a keepsake she said timidly I was annoyed but I told her how much I should prize it I promised to wear it always she fastened it on my coat beneath the lapel how foolish Tess to go and buy me such a beautiful thing as this I said I did not buy it she laughed where did you get it then she told me how she had found it one day when coming home from the aquarium in the battery and how she had advertised it and watched the papers but at last gave up all hope finding the owner that was last winter she said the very day I had that first horrid dream about the hearse I remember my dream of the previous night but said nothing and presently my charcoal was flying over a new canvas and Tessie stood motionless on the model stand 3 the day following was a disastrous one for me while moving a framed canvas from one easel to another my foot slipped on the polished floor and I fell heavily on both wrists they were so badly sprained that it was useless to attempt to hold a brush and I was obliged to wander about the studio I did not finish drawings and sketches until the spare seized me and I sat down to smoke and twiddle my thumbs with rage the rain blew against the windows and rattled on the roof of the church driving me into a nervous fit with this interminable pattern Tessie sat sewing by the window and every now and then raised her head and looked at me with such innocent compassion that I began to feel ashamed of my irritation and looked about for something to occupy me I had read all the papers and all the books in the library but for the sake of something to do I went to the bookcases and shoved them over with my elbow I knew every volume by its color and examined them all passing slowly around the library and whistling to keep up my spirits I was turning to go into the dining room when my eye fell upon a book bounded serpent skin standing in a corner on the top shelf of the last bookcase I did not remember it and from the floor could not decipher the pale lettering on the back so I went to the smoking room and called Tessie she came in from the studio and kept to reach the book What is it? I asked the king in yellow I was dumbfounded who had placed it there how came it in my rooms I had long ago decided that I should never open that book and nothing on earth should have persuaded me to buy it fearful less curiosity might tempt me to open it I had never even looked at it at the bookstores if I ever had any curiosity to read it the awful tragedy of young Castain whom I knew prevented me from exploring its wicked pages I had always refused to listen to any description of it and indeed nobody ever ventured to discuss the second part aloud so I had absolutely no knowledge of what those leaves might reveal I stared at the poisonous model binding as I would at a snake Don't touch it Tessie I said come down Of course my admonition was enough to arouse her curiosity and before I could prevent it she took the book and laughing into the studio with it I called to her but she slipped away with a tormenting smile at my helpless hands and I followed her with some impatience Tessie I cried entering the library listen I am serious put that book away I do not wish you to open it the library was empty I went into both drawing rooms then into the bedrooms, laundry, kitchen and finally returned to the library and began a systematic search she had hidden herself so well it was half an hour later when I discovered her crouching, white and silent by the loudest window in the storeroom above at the first glance I saw that she had been punished for her foolishness the king in yellow lay at her feet but the book was open at the second part I looked at Tessie and saw it was too late she had opened the king in yellow then I took her by the hand and led her into the studio she seemed dazed and when I told her to lie down on the sofa after a while she closed her eyes and her breathing became regular and deep but I could not determine whether or not she slept for a long while I sat silently beside her but she neither stirred nor spoke and at last I rose and entering the unused storeroom took the book in my least injured hand it seemed heavy as lead but I carried it into the studio again and sitting down on the rug beside the sofa opened it had read it through from beginning to end when faint with the excess of my emotions I dropped the volume and leaned weirdly back against the sofa Tessie opened her eyes and looked at me we had been speaking for some time and a dull monotonous strain before I realized that we were discussing the king in yellow oh the sin of writing such words words which are clear as crystal limpid and musical as bubbling springs words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medici's oh the wickedness the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with such words words understood by the ignorant and wise alike words which are more precious than jewels more soothing than music more awful than death we talked on unmindful of the gathering shadows and she was begging me to throw away the clasp of black onyx quaintly unlaid with what we now knew to be the yellow sign I never know why I refused though even at this hour here in my bedroom as I write this confession I should be glad to know what it was that prevented me from tearing the yellow sign from my breast and casting it into the fire I am sure I wished to do so and yet Tessie pleaded with me in vain night fell and the hours dragged on but still we murmured to each other of a king and the pallid mask and midnight sounded from the misty spires in the fall-wrapped city we spoke of Hastur and of Casilda and while outside the fog rolled against the blank window-pains as the cloud waves roll and break on the shores of Halley the house was very silent now and not a sound came up from the misty streets Tessie lay among the cushions her face a gray blot in the gloom but her hands were clasped in mine and I knew that she knew and read my thoughts as I read hers for we had understood the mystery of the high age and the phantom of truth was laid then as we answered each other swiftly, silently thought on thought the shadows stirred in the gloom about us and far in the distance treats we heard a sound nearer and nearer it came the dull crunching of wheels nearer and yet nearer and now outside before the door it ceased and I dragged myself to the window and saw a black-plumed hearse the gate below opened and shut and I kept shaking to the door and bolted it but I knew no bolts no locks could keep that creature out who was coming for the yellow sign and now I heard him moving very softly along the hall now he was at the door the bolts rotted his touch now he had entered with eyes starting from my head I peered into the darkness but when he came into the room I did not see him I did not see him it was only when I felt him envelop me in this cold soft grasp that I cried out struggled with deadly fury but my hands were useless and he tore the honest clasp from my coat and struck me full in the face then as I fell I heard Tessie's soft cry and her spirit fled and even while falling I longed to follow her for I knew that the king in yellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry to now I could tell more but I cannot see what help it would be to the world as for me, I am past human help or hope as I lie here, writing careless even whether or not I die before I finish I can see the doctor gathering up his powders and filed with a vague gesture to the good priest beside me which I understand they will be very curious to know the tragedy they of the outside world who write books and print millions of newspapers but I shall write no more and the father and confessor will seal my last words with a seal of sanctity when his holy office is done they of the outside world may send their creatures to direct homes and death smitten firesides and their newspapers will baton on blood and tears but with me their spies must halt before the confessional they know that Tessie is dead and that I am dying they know how the people in the house aroused by an infernal scream rushed into my room found one living and two dead but they do not know what I shall tell them now they do not know that the doctor said as he pointed to the horrible decomposed heap on the floor the living corpse of the watchman from the church I have no theory no explanation that man must have been dead for months I think I am dying I wish the priest would end of the yellow sign recording by Dan Ficklin Indianapolis Section 9 of Lovecraft's Influences and Favorites this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Peter Yersley Helutia by M.P. Sheil he goeth after her and noeth not from a diary three days ago by heaven it seems an age but I am shaken my reason is debauched a while since I fell into a momentary coma precisely resembling an attack of petty mal tombs and worms and epitaphs that is my dream at my age with my physique to walk staggery like a man stricken but all that will pass I must collect myself three days ago it seems an age I sat on the floor before an old sister full of letters I lighted upon a packet of cosmos why I had forgotten them they are turning sear truly I can no more call myself a young man I sat reading listlessly wrapped back by memory to muse is to be lost of that evil habit I must ring the neck or look to perish once more I threaded the mazy sphere harmony of the minuet reeled in the waltz long pumps of candelabra the noonday of the bacchanal about me gosma was the very tsar and maharaja of the siborites the pre-ap of the detraque in every unexpected alcove of the roman villa was a couch raised high with necessary footstool flanked and canopied with mirrors verified gold consumption fastened upon him reclining at last at table he could till warmed scarce lift the wine his eyes were like two fat glow-worms coiled together they seemed haloed with vaporous emanations of phosphorus desperate one could see was the secret struggle with the devourer but to the end the princely smile persisted calm to the end to the last day he continued among that comic crew unchallenged coragus of all the riots I will not say of pathos but of quimos and bal peor warmed he did not refuse the revel the dance the darkened chamber it was utterly black rayless approached by a secret passage in shape circular the air hot haunted always by odours of balms, delium hints of dulcimer and flute and radiated round with a hundred thick, strewn ottomans of morocco here lucy hill stabbed to the heart kachafogo mistaking the scar on his back for the scar of soriac in a bath of malachite the princess eggla waking late one morning found cosmo lying stiffly dead covering him wholly but in god's name merime so he wrote to think of chelucha dead chelucha can a moonbeam then perish of suppurations can the rainbow be eaten by worms ha ha ha laugh with me my friend el derranger a la lamfer she will introduce the pad de tarantul into tofet chelucha the feminine chelucha recalling the splendid harlots of history weep with me manat rara mayas lacrima pergenas expertest sargailia cultured as aspasia purple as semi-ramis she comprehended the human tabernacle my friend its secret springs and tempers more intimately than any savant of salamanca who breathes terrare but chelucha is not dead vitality is not mortal you cannot wrap flame in a shroud chelucha where then is she translated perhaps wrapped to a constellation like the daughter of leda she journeyed to hindustan accompanied by the train and a pertinences of a begum threatening dissent upon the emperor of tartary i spoke of the desolation of the west she kissed me and promised return you too mary may her conqueror mary may destroyer of woman a breath from the conservatory rioting among the ambery whiffs of her forlocks sending it singly a wave over that thulite tint you know costumed cup a pier she had my friend the dainty little completeness of a daisy mirrored bright in the eye of the browsing ox a simile of milton had for years she said inflamed the lust of her eye the barren plains of sericanre where chineses drive with sails and wind their caney wakens light I and the sabaeans she assured me wrongly considered flame the whole of being the other half of things being Aristotle's quintessential light in the orrhenia hierarchy and the foust book this burning seraph cherub full of eyes chelucha combined them she would reconquer the oriant for Dionysius and return I heard of her blazing at deli drawn in a chariot by lions then this rumour probably false indeed it comes from a source somewhat turgid like Odin, Arthur and the rest chelucha will reappear soon subsequently Cosmo lay down in his balneum of malachite and slept having drawn over him the water as a coverlet I in England heard little of chelucha first that she was alive then dead then alighted at old tadmoor in the wilderness palmyra now nor did I greatly care chelucha having long since turned to apples of Sodom in my mouth till I sat by the sister and re-read Cosmo she had for some years passed from my active memories the habit is now confirmed in me of spending the greater part of the day in sleep while by night I wonder far and wide through the city under the sedative influence of a tincture which has become necessary to my life such an existence of shadow is not without charm nor I think could many minds be fully subjected to its conditions without elevation deepened awe to travel alone with the primordial cannot but be solemn the moon is of the hue of the glow worm and night of the sepulchre nox bore not less thanatos than hoopnos and the bitter tears of ices redundant to a flat at three if a cab rolls by and has the augustness of thunder once at two near a corner I came upon a priest seated dead leering his legs bent one arm supported on a knee pointed with rigid accusing forefinger obliquely upward by exact observation I found that he indicated betelgeur the star a which shoulders the wet sword of Orion he was hideously swollen having perished of dropsy thus in all Supremes is a grotesquerie and one of the sons of night is Bufo in a London square deserted I should imagine even in the day I was aware of the metallic silvery clinking approach of little shoes it was three in a heavy morning of winter a day after my rediscovery of Cosmo I had stood by the railing sail as under the sea-legged pilotage of a moon wrapped in cloaks of inclemency turning I saw a little lady very gloriously dressed she had walked straight to me her head was bare and crisped with the amber stream which rolled lax to a globe needed thick with jewels at her nape in the redundance of her decollete development she resembled Parvati a round-hipped love-goddess of the luscious fancy of the Brahmin she addressed to me the question what are you doing there, darling? her loveliness stirred me and night is bon camarade I replied, sunning myself by means of the moon all that is borrowed lustre she returned you have got it from old Drummond's flowers of scion looking back I cannot remember that she approached me, so it should of course, have done so I said, on my soul no, but you you might guess whence I come you are dazzling you come from Paz oh, father than that, my son say a subscription-ball in Soho yes, and alone in the cult, on foot why, I am old and a philosopher I can pick you out riding andromeda yonder from the ridden ram they are in error, monsieur who suppose an atmosphere on the broad side of the moon I have reason to believe that on Mars dwells a race whose lids are transparent like glass so that the eyes are visible during sleep and every varying dream moves imaged forth to the beholder in tiny panorama on the limpid iris you cannot imagine me a mere fee to be escorted is to admit yourself a woman and that is improper in nowhere young Eos drives an equipage a catre but Artemis walks alone get out of my borrowed light in the name of diogenes I am going home far, near Piccadilly but a cab no cabs for me, thank you the distance is a mere nothing come, we walked forward the canyon at once put an interval between us quoting from the Spanish curate that the open is an enemy to love the Talmudists she twice insisted rightly held the hand the sacredest part of the person and at that point also contact was for the moment interdict her walk was extremely rapid I followed not a cat was anywhere visible we reached at length the door of a mansion James's there was no light it seemed tenetless the windows all uncurtained pasted across some of them with the words to let my companion however flitted up the steps and beckoning passed inward I, following, slammed the door and was in darkness I heard her ascend and presently a region of glimmer above revealed a stairway of marble curving broadly up on the floor where I stood no carpet nor furniture the dust was very thick I had begun to mount when to my surprise she stood by my side returned and whispered to the very top darling she soared nimbly up anticipating me higher I could no longer doubt that the house was empty but for us all was a vacuum full of dust and echoes but at the top light streamed from a door I entered a good-sized oval saloon at about the centre of the house I was completely dazzled by the sudden resplendence of the apartment in the midst was a spread table square, opulent with gold plate fruit, dishes three ponderous chandeliers of electric light above and I noticed also what was very bizarre one little candlestick of common tin containing an old soiled curve of tallow on the table the impression of the whole chamber was one of gorgeousness not less than Assyrian an ivory couch at the far end was made sun-like by a head-piece of calcedony forming a sea for the sport of emerald ichthyotorii copper hangings panelled with mirrors in the aspirated crystal corresponded with a dome of flame and copper yet this latter I now remember produced upon my glance an impression of actual grime my companion reclined on a small sigma couch raised high to the table-level in the semitic manner visible to her saffron slippers of satin she pointed me a seat opposite the incongruity of its presence in the middle of this arrogance of pomp so tickled me that no power could have kept me from a smile it was a grimy chair I mean all would nor was I long in discovering one leg somewhat shorter than its fellows she indicated wine in a black glass bottle and a tumbler but herself made no pretence of drinking or eating she lay on hip and elbow petite, resplendent and looked gravely upward I, however, drank you are tired, I said one sees that you see, she returned dreamy, hardly glancing how? your mood is changed, then your morose you never, I think, saw a Norse passage-grave and abrupt never? a passage-grave? no it is worth a journey they are circular on oblong chambers of stone covered by great earth-mounds with a passage of slabs connecting them with the outer air all round the chamber and sit with the head resting upon the bent knees and consult together in silence drink wine with me and be less tartarian you certainly seem to be a fool she replied with perfect sardonic iciness is it not, then highly romantic they belong, you know, to the neolithic age as the teeth fall one by one from the lipless mouths they are caught by the lap when the lap thins they roll to the floor of stone thereafter every tooth that drops all round the chamber sharply breaks the silence ha ha ha ha yes, it is like a century slow circularly successive dripping of slime in some cavern of the far subterine ha ha ha this wine seems heady that they express themselves in a dialect largely dental the ape on the other hand in a language wholly guttural a town clock told for her talk was hold with silences and heavy paste the wine's yeasty exhalation reached my brain I saw her through mist dilating large uncertain shrinking again to dainty compactness but amorousness had died within me do you know, she asked what has been discovered in one of the danish kukenmothings by a little boy it was ghastly the skeleton of a huge fish with human you are most unhappy be silent you are full of care I think you are a great fool you are wracked with misery you are a child you have not even an instinct of the meaning of the word how? am I not a man? I too miserable, careful you are not really anything until you can create create what? matter that is foppish matter cannot be created nor destroyed truly then you must be a creature of unusually weak intellect I see that now matter does not exist then there is no such thing really it is an appearance a spectrum every writer not imbecile from Plato to Fichte has voluntary or involuntary proved that for your good to create it is to produce an impression of its reality upon the senses of others to destroy it is to wipe a wet rag across a scribbled slate perhaps I do not care since no one can do it no one? you are mere embryo who then? anyone whose power of will is equivalent to the gravitating force of a star of the first magnitude ha ha ha by heaven you choose to be facetious are there then wills of such equivalents? there have been three the founders of religions there was a fourth a cobbler of Herculaneum whose mere volition induced the cataclysm of Vesuvius in 79 in direct opposition to the gravity of Sirius there are more fames than you have ever sung the greater number of disembodied spirits too I feel certain by heaven I cannot but think you full of sorrow poor white come drink with me the wine is thick and boon is it not settian? it makes you sway and swell before me I swear like a purple cloud of evening you are mere claye ponderance I did not know that you are no companion your little interest revolves round the lowest centres come forget your agonies what think you is the portion of the buried body first sought by the worm? the eyes the eyes you are hideously wrong you are so utterly at sea my god I went forward with such a rage of contradiction as to approach me closely a loose gown of amber silk wide-sleeved had replaced her ball attire though at what opportunity I could not guess wondering I noticed it as she now placed her palms far forth upon the table a sudden wafture as of spice and orange flowers mingled with the abhorrent faint odour of mortality over ready for the tomb greeted my sense a chill crept upon my flesh you are so hopelessly at fault for god's sake you are so miserably deluded not the eyes at all then in heaven's name what? five told from a clock the uvula the soft drop of mucous flesh you know suspended from the palette above the glottis they eat through the face cloth and cheek or crawl by the lips through a broken tooth filling the mouth they make straight for it it is the delizier of the vault at her horror of interest I grew sick at her odour and her words some unspeakable sense of insignificance of debility held me dumb you say I am full of sorrows you say I am wracked with woe that I gnash with anguish well you are a mere child in intellect you use words without realisation of meaning like those minds in what Leibniz called symbolical consciousness but suppose it were so it is so you know nothing I see you twist and grind your eyes are very pale I thought they were hazel they are of the faint bluishness of phosphorus shimmering seen in darkness that proves nothing but the white of the sclerotic to yellow and you look in wood why do you look so pale in wood so woe-worn upon your soul why can you speak of nothing but the sepulchre and its rottenness your eyes seem to me one with centuries of vigil with mysteries and millenniums of pain pain but you know so little of it you are wind and words of its philosophy and rationale nothing who knows I will give you a hint of the subconsciousness in conscious creatures of eternity and of eternal loss the least prick of a pin not peyenne and isculapius and the powers of heaven and hell can utterly heal of an everlasting loss of pristine wholeness the conscious body is subconscious and pain is its sigh at the tragedy so is all pain greater the greater the loss the hugest of losses the loss of time if you lose that any of it you plunge at once into the transcendentalisms the infinitudes of loss if you lose all of it but you so wildly exaggerate you rant I tell you of common places with the woe hell is where a clear untrammeled spirit is subconscious of lost time where it boils and writhes with envy of the living world hating it forever and all the sons of life but curb yourself drink I implore I implore for God's sake but once to hasten the snare that is woe to drive your ship upon the lighthouse rock that is Mara to wake and feel it irrevocably true that you went after her and the dead were there and her guests were in the depths of hell and you did not know it though you might have look out the houses of the city this dawning day not one I tell you but in it haunts some soul walking up and down the old theater of its little day goading imagination by a thousand childish tricks frais somblance elaborately duping itself into the momentary fantasy that it still lives the chance of life is not forever and for ever lost yet writhing all the time with under memories of the wasted summer the lapsed brief light between the two eternal glooms writhing I say and shriek to you writhing Mary May you destroying fiend she had sprung tall now she seemed to me between couch and table Mary May I named my name harlot in your maniac mouth my godwoman you terrify me to death I too sprang the hairs of my head catching stiff horror from my fancies your name can you imagine me ignorant of your name or anything concerning you Mary May why did you not sit yesterday and read of me in a letter of cosmos ah hysteria bursting high in sob and laughter from my arid lips ha ha ha ha my memory grows palsied and grey halucha pity me my walk is in the very valley of shadow senile and seer observe my hair halucha it's grizzled growth trepidant halucha clouded I am not the man you knew halucha in the palaces of cosmos you are halucha you rave poor worm her face contorted by a species of malicious contempt halucha died of cholera ten years ago at anteoch I wiped the froth from her lips her nose underwent a green decay before burial so far sunken into the brain was the left eye you you are halucha I shrieked voices now of thunder howl it within my consciousness and by the holy God halucha though you blight me with the breath of the hell you are I shall clasp you living or damned I rushed to water the word madman hissed as by the tongues of ten thousand serpents through the chamber I heard a belch of pestilent corruption puffed poisonous upon the putrid air for a moment to my wildered eyes there seemed to rear itself swelling high to the roof a formless tower of ragged cloud and before my projected arms had closed upon the very emptiness of inanity I was tossed by the operation of some behemoth potency far circling backwards to the utmost circumference of the oval where my head colliding I fell shocked into insensibility when the sun was low toward night I lay awake and listlessly observed the grimy roof and the sordid chair and the candlestick of tin and the bottle of which I had drunk the table was small filthy of common deal uncovered all bore the appearance of having stood there for years but for them the room was void the vision of luxury thinned to air sudden memory flashed upon me I scrambled to my feet and plunged and dotted balling through the twilight into the street end of Helucha