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|Along the shore the cloud waves break. The twin suns sink behind the lake. The shadows lengthen In Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise. And strange moons circle through the skies. But stranger still is Lost Carcosa. Songs that Michael Kors store [www.michaelkorsoutletstoreonlinesale.us"] the Hyades shall sing. Where flap the tatters of the King. Must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead. Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa.|
Cassildaııs Song in The King in Yellow. Act 1. Scene 2.
Being the Contents of an Unsigned Letter Sent to the Author
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 Sainte Cııcile send 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 oııclock that flashed before my eyes the picture of a still Breton forest where sunlight filtered through spring foliage and Silvia bent, half curiously, half tenderly, over a small green lizard, murmuring: ııTo think that this also is a little ward of God!ıı
When I first saw the watchman his back was toward me. I looked at him indifferently until he went into the church. I paid no more attention to him than I had to any other man who lounged through Washington Square that morning, and when I shut my window and turned back into my 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, and I noticed him again with as little interest as I had that morning. I looked across the square to where the fountain was playing and then, with my mind filled with vague impressions of trees, asphalt drives, and the moving groups of nursemaids and holidaymakers, 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 a 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 the man that repelled me I did not know, but the impression of a plump white grave-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 in a chestnut.
I went back to my easel and motioned the model to resume her pose. After working awhile 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 flesh tones were sallow and unhealthy, and I did not understand how I could have painted such sickly color into a study which before that had glowed with healthy tones.
I looked at Tessie. She had not changed, and the clear flush of health dyed her neck and cheeks as I frowned.
ııIs it something Iııve done?ıı she said.
ııNo ıı Iııve made a mess of this arm, and for the life of me I canııt see how I came to paint such mud as that into the canvas,ıı I replied.
ııDonııt I pose well?ıı she insisted.
ııOf course, perfectly.ıı
ııThen itııs not my fault?ıı
ııNo. Itııs my own.ıı
ııIıım very sorry,ıı she said.
I told her she could rest while I applied rag and turpentine to the plague spot on my canvas, and she went off to smoke a cigarette and look over the illustrations in the Courier Fran?ais.
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 now the color on the breast changed and the whole figure seemed to absorb the infection as a michael kors rose gold watch [www.shoppingmichaelkorswatches.com"] sponge soaks up water. Vigorously I plied palette knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinking all the time what a sııance I should hold with Duval 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. ııIt must be the turpentine,ıı I thought angrily, ııor else my eyes have become so blurred and confused by the afternoon light that I canııt see straight.ıı I called Tessie, the model. She came and leaned over my chair blowing rings of smoke into the air.
ııWhat have you been doing to it?ıı she exclaimed.
ııNothing,ıı I growled, ııit must be this turpentine!ıı
ııWhat a horrible color it is now,ıı she continued. ııDo you think my flesh resembles green cheese?ıı
ııNo, I donııt,ıı I said angrily, ııdid you ever know me to paint like that before?ıı
ııIt must be the turpentine, or something,ıı 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 Tessieııs ears.
Nevertheless she promptly began: ııThatııs it! Swear and act silly and ruin your brushes! You have been three weeks on that study, and now look! Whatııs the good of ripping the canvas? What creatures artists are!ıı
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 loss of temper, until, 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.
ııEverything went wrong from the time you came back from the window and talked about that horrid-looking man you saw in the churchyard,ıı she announced.
ııYes, he probably bewitched the picture,ıı I said, yawning. I looked at my watch.
ııItııs after six, I know,ıı said Tessie, adjusting her hat before the mirror.
ııYes,ıı I replied, ııI didnııt mean to keep you so long.ıı I leaned out of the window but recoiled with disgust, for the young man with the pasty face stood below in the churchyard. Tessie saw my gesture of disapproval and leaned from the window.
ııIs that the man you donııt like?ıı she whispered.
ııI canııt see his face, but he does look fat and soft. Someway or other,ıı she continued, turning to look at me, ııhe reminds me of a dream ıı an awful dream I once had. Or,ıı she mused, looking down at her shapely shoes, ııwas it a dream after all?ıı
ııHow should I know?ıı I smiled.
Tessie smiled in reply.
ııYou were in it,ıı she said, ııso perhaps you might know something about it.ıı
ııTessie! Tessie!ıı I protested, ııdonııt you dare flatter by saying you dream about me!ıı
ııBut I did,ıı she insisted; ııshall I tell you about it?ıı
ııGo ahead,ıı I replied, lighting a cigarette.
Tessie leaned back on the open window-sill and began very seriously.
ııOne 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 donııt 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. Twenty-fifth Street was deserted as far as I could see. I began to be afraid; everything outside seemed so ıı 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-plumed hearse and the driver were gone. I dreamed this dream again in March last, and again awoke 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.ıı
ııBut where did I come into the dream?ıı I asked.
ııYou ıı you were in the coffin; but you were not dead.ıı
ııIn the coffin?ıı
ııHow did you know? Could you see me?ıı
ııNo; I only knew you were there.ıı
ııHad you been eating Welsh rarebits, or lobster salad?ıı I began laughing, but the girl interrupted me with a frightened cry.
ııHello! Whatııs up?ıı I said, as she shrank into the embrasure by the window.
ııThe ıı the man below in the churchyard; ıı he drove the hearse.ıı
ııNonsense,ıı I said, but Tessieııs eyes were wide with terror. I went to the window and looked out. The man was gone. ııCome, Tessie,ıı I urged, ııdonııt be foolish. You have posed too long; you are nervous.ıı
ııDo you think I could forget that face?ıı she murmured. ııThree 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 ıı and soft? It looked dead ıı it looked as if it had been dead a long time.ıı
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.
ııLook here, Tessie,ıı I said, ııyou go to the country for a week or two, and youııll have no more dreams about hearses. You pose all day, and when night comes your nerves are upset. You canııt keep this up. Then again, instead of going to bed when your dayııs work is done, you run off to picnics at Sulzerııs Park, or go to the Eldorado or Coney Island, and when you come down here next morning you are fagged out. There was no real hearse. That was a soft-shell-crab dream.ıı
She smiled faintly.
ııWhat about the man in the churchyard?ıı
ııOh, heııs only an ordinary unhealthy, everyday creature.ıı
ııAs true as my name is Tessie Reardon, I swear to you, Mr. Scott, that the face of the man below in the churchyard is the face of the man who drove the hearse!ıı
ııWhat of it?ıı I said. ııItııs an honest trade.ıı
ııThen you think I did see the hearse?ıı
ııOh,ıı I said, diplomatically, ııif you really did, it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. There is nothing in that.ıı
Tessie rose, unrolled her scented handkerchief, and taking a Michael Kors satchel bag [www.michaelkorssatchelbagsoutlets.com"] bit of gum from a knot in the hem, placed it in her mouth. Then drawing on her gloves she offered me her hand, with a frank, ııGood-night, Mr. Scott,ıı and walked out.
II 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 had any repugnance for the congregation next door, but because my nerves were shattered by a blatant exhorter, whose every word echoed through the aisle of the church as if it had been my own rooms, and who insisted on his rııs with a nasal persistence which revolted my every instinct. 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 I 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 believe the minister was a good man, but when he bellowed: ııAnd the Lorrrrd said unto Moses, the Lorrrd is a man of war; the Lorrrd is his name. My wrath shall wax hot and I will kill you with the sworrrd!ıı I wondered how many centuries of purgatory it would take to atone for such a sin.
ııWho bought the property?ıı I asked Thomas.
ııNobody that I knows, sir. They do say the gent wot owns this ııere ııAmilton flats was lookinıı at it. ııE might be a bildinıı more studios.ıı
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.
ııBy the way, Thomas,ıı I said, ııwho is that fellow down there?ıı
Thomas sniffed. ııThat there worm, sir? ııEııs night-watchman of the church, sir. ııE maikes me tired a-sittinıı out all night on them steps and lookinıı at you insultinıı like. Iııd a punched ııis ııed, sir ıı beg pardon, sir ıııı
ııGo on, Thomas.ıı
ııOne night a cominıı ııome with ııArry, the other English boy, I sees ııim a sittinıı there on them steps. We ııad Molly and Jen with us, sir, the two girls on the tray service, anıı ııe looks so insultinıı at us that I up and sez: ııWat you looking hat, you fat slug?ıııı beg pardon, sir, but thatııs ııow I sez, sir. Then ııe donııt say nothinıı and I sez; ııCome out and Iııll punch that puddinıı ııed.ıı Then I hopens the gate anıı goes in, but ııe donııt say nothinıı, only looks insultinıı like. Then I ııits ııim one, but, ugh! ııis ııed was that cold and mushy it ud sicken you to touch ııim.ıı
ııWhat did he do then?ıı I asked, curiously.
ııAnd you, Thomas?ıı
The young fellow flushed with embarrassment and smiled uneasily.
ııMr. Scott, sir, I ainııt no coward anıı I canııt make it out at all why I run. I was in the 5th Lawncers, sir, bugler at Tel-el-Kebir, anıı was shot by the wells.ıı
ııYou donııt mean to say you ran away?ıı
ııYes, sir; I run.ıı
ııThatııs just what I want to know, sir. I grabbed Molly anıı run, anıı the rest was as frightened as I.ıı
ııBut what were they frightened at?ıı
Thomas refused to answer for a while, but now my curiosity was aroused about the repulsive young man below and I pressed him. Three yearsıı sojourn in America had not only modified Thomasıı *****ney dialect but had given him the Americanııs fear of ridicule.
ııYou wonııt believe me, Mr. Scott, sir?ıı
ııYes, I will.ıı
ııYou will lawf at me, sir?ıı
He hesitated. ııWell, sir, itııs Godııs truth that when I ııit ııim ııe grabbed me wrists, sir, and when I twisted ııis soft, mushy fist one of ııis fingers come off in me ııand.ıı
The utter loathing and horror of Thomasıı face must have been reflected in my own for he added: ııItııs orful, anıı now when I see ııim I just go away. ııE maikes me hill.ıı
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 oııclock Tessie appeared and vanished behind the screen with a merry ııGood-morning, Mr. Scott.ıı While 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.
ııOh, I had such a lovely time last night. We went to Tony Pastorııs.ıı
ııWho are ııweıı?ıı I demanded.
ııOh, Maggie, you know, Mr. Whyteııs model, and Pinkie McCormick ıı we call her Pinkie because sheııs got that beautiful red hair you artists like so much ıı and Lizzie Burke.ıı
I sent a shower of spray from the fixative over the canvas and said: ııWell, go on.ıı
ııWe saw Kelly and Baby Barnes the skirt-dancer and ıı and all the rest. I made a mash.ıı
ııThen you have gone back on me, Tessie?ıı
She laughed and shook her head.
ııHeııs Lizzie Burkeııs brother, Ed. Heııs a perfect genıılııman.ıı
I felt constrained to give her some parental advice concerning mashing, which she took with a bright smile.
ııOh, I can take care of a strange mash,ıı she said, ## examining her chewing gum, ııbut Ed is different. Lizzie is my best friend.ıı
Then she related how Ed had come back from the stocking mill in Lowell, Massachusetts, to find her and Lizzie grown up, and what an accomplished young man he was, and how he thought nothing of squandering half a dollar for ice-cream and oysters to celebrate his entry as clerk into the woolen department of Macyııs. Before she finished I began to paint, and she resumed the pose, smiling and chattering like a sparrow. By noon I had the study fairly well rubbed in and Tessie came to look at it.
ııThatııs better,ıı 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 claret 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 ııtoughıı or ııfly,ıı 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 also I 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 some day, in one manner or another, and though I professed to myself that marriage was nonsense, I sincerely hoped that, in this case, there would be a priest at the end of the vista. I am a Catholic. 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 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 all, I had little fear for my pretty model until she should fall in love. But then I knew that fate alone would decide her future for her, and I prayed inwardly that fate would keep her away from men like me and throw into her path nothing but Ed Burkes and Jimmy McCormicks, bless her sweet face!
Tessie sat blowing rings of smoke up to the ceiling and tinkling the ice in her tumbler.
ııDo you know, Kid, that I also had a dream last night?ıı I observed. I sometimes called her ııthe Kid.ıı
ııNot about that man,ıı she laughed.
ııExactly. A dream similar to yours, only much worse.ıı
It was foolish and thoughtless of me to say this, but you know how little tact the average painter has.
ııI must have fallen asleep about 10 oııclock,ıı I continued, ııand after awhile I dreamt that I awoke. So plainly did I hear the 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 a stony pavement. After a while I became impatient and tried to move but the box was too narrow. My hands were crossed on my breast so 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 found I could look, not only through the glass cover of my box, but also through the glass panes in 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 in white stood looking down into the street. It was you.ıı
Tessie had turned her face away from me and leaned on the table with her elbow.
ııI could see your face,ıı I resumed, ııand 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 hours, I began to feel uncomfortable. A Michael Kors outlet store [www.michaelkorsoutletonlinestoresaleus.com"] sense that somebody was close to me made me unclose my eyes. Then I saw the white face of the hearse-driver looking at me through the coffin-lid ıııı
A sob from Tessie interrupted me. She was trembling like a leaf. I saw I had made an ass of myself and attempted to repair the damage.
ııWhy, Tess,ıı I said, ııI only told you this to show you what influence your story might have on another personııs dreams. You donııt suppose I really lay in a coffin, do you? What are you trembling for? Donııt 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?ıı She laid her head between her arms and sobbed as 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 about her.
ııTessie dear, forgive me,ıı I said; ııI had no business to frighten you with such nonsense. You are too sensible a girl, too good a Catholic to believe in dreams.ıı
Her hand tightened on mine and her head fell back upon my shoulder, but she still trembled and I petted her and comforted her.
ııCome, Tess, open your eyes and smile.ıı
Her eyes opened with a slow languid movement and met mine, but their expression was so queer that I hastened to reassure her again.
ııItııs all humbug, Tessie, you surely are not afraid that any harm will come to you because of that.ıı
ııNo,ıı she said, but her scarlet lips quivered.
ııThen whatııs the matter? Are you afraid?ıı
ııYes. Not for myself.ıı
ııFor me, then?ıı I demanded gayly.
ııFor you,ıı she murmured in a voice almost inaudible, ııIıı I care ıı for you.ıı
At first I started to laugh, but when I understood her, a shock passed through me and I sat like one turned to 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 reassure 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 backing out now, and I stared 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 lay buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany. Was it buried forever? Hope cried ııNo!ıı For three years I had been listening to the voice of Hope, and for three years I had waited for a footstep on my threshold. Had Sylvia forgotten? ııNo!ıı cried Hope.
I said that I was not 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 of pleasure, deploring and sometimes bitterly regretting consequences. In one thing alone, except my painting, was I serious, and that was something which lay hidden if not lost in the Breton forests.
It was too late now for me to regret what had occurred during the day. Whatever it had been, pity, a 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 and 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 in 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 sullen 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 better have loved Ed Burke and worn a plain gold ring, but she would not hear of it, and I thought perhaps that as long as she had 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 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 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 dreaded the future, but never for one moment did I doubt that she was safe with me. Had it been anybody but Tessie I should not michal kors purse outlet [www.michalkors-purseoutlet.com"] 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, and 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 Burkes and marriage rings and twins and Harlem flats and Heaven knows what. As I strolled along through the trees by the Washington Arch, I decided that she should 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 for the little faintly perfumed note on my dresser said, ııHave a cab at the stage door at eleven,ıı and the note was signed ııEdith Carmichael, Metropolitan Theater, June 19th, 189 ıı.ıı
I took supper that night, or rather we took supper, Miss Carmichel and I, at Solariııs 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 among 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 the 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 vat or an odor of noisome decay. And as I lay and tossed about, the voice in 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:
ııHave you found the Yellow Sign?ıı
ııHave you found the Yellow Sign?ıı
ııHave you found the Yellow Sign?ıı
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.
ııHello! Whereııs the study I began yesterday?ıı I asked.
Tessie looked conscious, but did not answer. I began to hunt among the piles of canvases, saying, ııHurry up, Tess, and get ready; we must take advantage of the morning light.ıı
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.
ııWhatııs the matter,ıı I asked, ııdonııt you feel well?ıı
ııDo you want me to pose as ıı as I have always posed?ıı
Then I understood. Here was a new complication. I had lost, of course, the best nude model I had ever seen. I looked at Tessie. Her face was scarlet. Alas! Alas! We had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and Eden and native innocence were dreams of the past ıı I mean ıı for her.
I suppose she noticed the disappointment on my face, for she said: ııI will pose if you wish. The study is behind the screen here where I put it.ıı
ııNo,ıı I said, ııwe will begin something new;ıı and 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 turquoises, and the ends curled about her glittering girdle. Her feet were encased in the embroidered pointed slippers and the skirt of her costume, curiously wrought with arabesques in silver, fell to her ankles. The deep metallic blue vest embroidered with silver and the short Mauresque jacket spangled and sewn with turquoises became her wonderfully. She came up to me Michael Kors wallet [www.cheapsmichaelkorswallets.com"] 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.
ııItııs yours, Tessie.ıı
ııMine?ıı she faltered.
ııYours. Now go and pose.ıı Then with a radiant smile she ran behind the screen and presently reappeared with a little box on which was written my name.
ııI had intended to give it to you when I went home tonight,ıı she said, ııbut I canııt wait now.ıı
I opened the box. On the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold. It was neither Arabic nor Chinese, nor as I found afterwards did it belong to any human script.
ııItııs all I had to give you for a keepsake,ıı she said, timidly.
I was annoyed, but I told her how much I should prize it, and promised to wear it always. She fastened it on my coat beneath the lapel.
ııHow foolish, Tess, to go and buy me such a beautiful thing as this,ıı I said.
ııI did not buy it,ıı she laughed.
ııWhere did you get it?ıı
Then she told me how she had found it one day while coming from the Aquarium in the Battery, how she had advertised it and watched the papers, but at last gave up all hopes of finding the owner.
ııThat was last winter,ıı she said, ııthe very day I had the first horrid dream about the hearse.ıı
I remembered 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.
III 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, glaring at unfinished drawings and sketches until despair 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 its interminable patter. 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 open 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 bound in yellow, standing in a corner of 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 climbed up to reach the book.
ııWhat is it?ıı I asked.
ııThe King in Yellow.ıı
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 could have persuaded me to buy it. Fearful lest curiosity might tempt me to open it, I had never even looked at it in book-stores. If I ever had had any curiosity to read it, the awful tragedy of young Castaigne, 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 yellow binding as I would at a snake.
ııDonııt touch it, Tessie,ıı I said, ııcome down.ıı
Of course my admonition was enough to arouse her curiosity, and before I could prevent it she took the book and, laughing, danced away 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.
ııTessie!ıı I cried, entering the library, ıılisten, I am serious. Put that book away. I do not wish you to open it!ıı 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 that it was half an hour later when I discovered her crouching white and silent by the latticed window in the store-room above. At the first glance I saw 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 she obeyed me without a word. 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 email@example.com long while I sat silently beside her, but she neither stirred nor spoke, and at last I rose and entering the unused store-room took the yellow 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 and read it through from beginning to end.
When, faint with the excess of my emotions, I dropped the volume and leaned wearily back against the sofa, Tessie opened her eyes and looked at me.
We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous strain before I realized that we were discussing The King in Yellow. Oh the sin of writing such words ıı words which are clear as crystal, limpid and musical as bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medicis! Oh the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with such words ıı words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are more precious than jewels, more soothing than Heavenly music, more awful than death itself.
We talked on, unmindful of the gathering shadows, and she was begging me to throw away the clasp of black onyx quaintly inlaid with what we now knew to be the Yellow Sign. I never shall 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, but Tessie pleaded with me in vain.
Night fell and the hours dragged on, but still we murmured to each other of the King and the Pallid Mask, and midnight sounded from the misty spires in the fog-wrapped city. We spoke of Hastur and of Cassilda, while outside the fog rolled against the blank window-panes as the cloud waves roll and break on the shores of Hali.
The house was very silent now and not a sound from the misty streets broke the silence. 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 Hyades 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 distant streets 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 crept shaking to my 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, and the bolts rotted at 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. It was only when I felt him envelop me in his cold soft grasp that I cried out and struggled with deadly fury, but my hands were useless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat and struck me full in the face. Then, as I fell, I heard Tessieııs soft cry and her spirit fled to God, 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 Christ to cry to now.
I could tell more, but I cannot see what help it will 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 phials with a vague gesture to the good priest beside me, which I understand.
They will be very curious to know the tragedy ıı they of the outside world who write books and print millions of newspapers, but I shall write no more, and the father confessor will seal my last words with the seal of sanctity when his holy office is done. They of the outside world may send their creatures into wrecked homes and death-smitten firesides, and their newspapers will batten 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 and 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 a horrible decomposed heap on the floor ıı the livid corpse of the watchman from the church: ııI have no theory, no explanation. That man must have been dead for months!ıı
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