Robert W. Chambers - The King in Yellow

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The King in Yellow

By Robert W. Chambers

Editor's Note:

The King in Yellow is a peculiar collection of semi-

related short stories, the most famous of which have

acquired the status of minor horror classics among

aficionados of the form. For that reason, Litrix has

placed The King in Yellow in its horror section. The

first six stories deal to a varying degree with a common

thread of a mysterious evil book, one glance at which is

enough to induce madness and death. The latter stories

are more or less realistic romances set among young

Bohemian artists in Paris's Latin Quarter, a thread that

runs through several of the horror tales as well. Despite

its fame among horror buffs, the book has seldom seen

print in the past few decades, and even used editions are

hard to come by. We believe this to be the first time the

full electronic text of The King in Yellow has appeared

anywhere on the Internet, and we are proud to be able

to provide it to interested readers.

Robert Raven, contributing editor

"Along the shore the cloud waves breaks, 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 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."

Cassilda's Song in The King in Yellow. Act I. Scene 2.

Contents

The Repairer of Reputations

The Mask

In the Court of the Dragon

The Yellow Sign

The Demoiselle d'Ys

The Prophet's Paradise

The Street of the Four Winds

The Street of the First Shell

The Street of Our Lady of the Fields

Rue Barrée

THE REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS

Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps

que la nôtre ... Voilà toute la differénce.

TOWARD THE END of the year 1920 the Government

of the United States had practically completed the

programme, adopted during the last months of

President Winthrop's administration. The country was

apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff

and Labor questions were settled. The war with

Germany, incident on that country's seizure of the

Samoan Islands, had left no visible scars upon the

republic, and the temporary occupation of Norfolk by

the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over

repeated naval victories and the subsequent ridiculous

plight of General Von Gartenlaube's forces in the State

of New Jersey. The Cuban and Hawaiian investments

had paid one hundred per cent. and the territory of

Samoa was well worth its cost as a coaling station. The

country was in a superb state of defence. Every coast

city had been supplied with land fortifications; the

army under the parental eye of the General Staff,

organized according to the Prussian system, had been

increased to 300,000 men with a territorial reserve of a

million; and six magnificent squadrons of cruisers and

battle-ships patrolled the six stations of the navigable

seas, leaving a steam reserve amply fitted to control

home waters. The gentlemen from the West had at least

been constrained to acknowledge that a college for the

training of diplomats was as necessary as law schools

are for the training of barristers. Consequently we were

no longer represented abroad by incompetent patriots.

The nation was prosperous. Chicago, for a moment

paralyzed after a second great fire, had risen from it

ruins, white and imperial, and more beautiful than the

white city which had been built for its plaything in 1893.

Everywhere good architecture was replacing bad and

even in New York, a sudden craving for decency had

swept away a great portion of the existing horrors.

Streets had been widened, properly paved and lighted,

trees had been planted, squares laid out, elevated

structures demolished and underground roads built to

replace them. The new government buildings and

barracks were fine bits of architecture, and the long

system of stone quays which completely surrounded the

island had been turned into parks which proved a

godsend to the population. The subsidizing of the state

theatre and state opera brought its own reward. The

United States National Academy of Design was much

like European institutions of the same kind. Nobody

envied the Secretary of Fine Arts, either his cabinet

position or his portfolio. The Secretary of Forestry and

Game Preservation had a much easier time, thanks to

the new system of National Mounted Police. We had

profited well by the latest treaties with France and

England; the exclusion of foreign born Jews as a

measure of nation self-preservation, the settlement of

the new independent negro state of Suanee, the

checking of immigration, the new laws concerning

naturalization, and the gradual centralization of power

in the executive all contributed to national calm and

prosperity. When the Government solved the Indian

problem and squadrons of Indian cavalry scouts in

native costume were substituted for the pitiable

organizations tacked on to the tail of skeletonized

regiments by a former Secretary of War, the nation

drew a long sigh of relief. When, after the colossal

Congress of Religions, bigotry and intolerance were laid

in their graves and kindness and charity began to draw

warring sects together, many thought the millennium

had arrived, at least in the new world, which after all is

a world by itself.

But self-preservation is the first law, and the United

States had to look on in helpless sorrow as Germany,

Italy, Spain and Belgium writhed in the throes of

Anarchy, while Russia, watching from the Caucasus,

stooped and bound them one by one.

In the city of New York the summer of 1899 was

signalized by the dismantling of the Elevated Railroads.

The summer of 1900 will live in the memories of New

York people for many a cycle; the Dodge Statue was

removed in that year. In the following winter began that

agitation for the repeal of the laws prohibiting suicide

which bore its final fruit in the month of April, 1920,

when the first Government Lethal Chamber was

opened on Washington Square.

I had walked down that day from Dr. Archer's house on

Madison Avenue, where I had been as a mere formality.

Ever since that fall from my horse, four years before, I

had been troubled at times with pains in the back of my

head and neck, but now for months they had been

absent, and the doctor sent me away that day saying

there was nothing more to be cured in me. It was hardly

worth his fee to be told that; I knew it myself. Still I did

not grudge him the money. What I minded was the

mistake which he made at first. When they picked me

up from the pavement where I lay unconscious, and

somebody had mercifully sent a bullet through my

horse's head, I was carried to Doctor Archer, and he,

pronouncing my brain affected, placed me in his private

asylum where I was obliged to endure treatment for

insanity. At last he decided that I was well, and I,

knowing that my mind had always been as sound as his,

if not sounder, "paid my tuition" as he jokingly called

it, and left. I told him, smiling, that I would get even

with him for his mistake, and he laughed heartily, and

asked me to call once in a while. I did so, hoping for a

chance to even up accounts, but he gave me none, and I

told him I would wait.

The fall from my horse had fortunately left no evil

results; on the contrary it had changed my whole

character for the better. From a lazy young man about

town, I had become active, energetic, temperate, and

above all--oh, above all else--ambitious. There was only

one thing which troubled me, I laughed at my own

uneasiness, and yet it troubled me.

During my convalescence I had bought and read for the

first time, "The King in Yellow." I remember after

finishing the first act that it occurred to me that I had

better stop. I started up and flung the book into the fire-

place; the volume struck the barred grate and fell open

on the hearth in the fire-light. If I had not caught a

glimpse of the opening words in the second act I should

never have finished it, but as I stooped to pick it up, my

eyes became riveted to the open page, and with a cry of

terror, or perhaps it was of joy so poignant that I

suffered in every nerve, I snatched the thing out of the

coals and crept shaking to my bedroom, where I read it

and reread it, and wept and laughed and trembled with

a horror which at times assails me yet. This is the thing

that troubles me, for I cannot forget Carcosa where

black stars hand in the heavens; where the shadows of

men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon, where the

twin suns sink into the Lake of Hali; and my mind will

bear forever the memory of the Pallid Mask. I pray God

will curse the writer, as the writer has cursed the world

with this beautiful, stupendous creation, terrible in its

simplicity, irresistible in its truth--a world which now

trembles before the King in Yellow. When the French

Government seized the translated copies which had just

arrived in Paris, London, of course, became eager to

read it. It is well known how the book spread like

infectious disease, from city to city, from continent to

continent, barred here, confiscated there, denounced by

press and pulpit, censured even by the most advanced

of literary anarchists. No definite principles had been

violated in those wicked pages, no doctrine

promulgated, no convictions outraged. It could not be

judged by any known standard, yet, although it was

acknowledged that the supreme note of art had been

struck in "The King in Yellow," all felt that human

nature could not bear the strain, nor thrive on words in

which the essence of purest poison lurked. The very

banality and innocence of the first act only allowed the

blow to fall afterward with more awful effect.

It was, I remember, the 13th day of April, 1920, that the

first Government Lethal Chamber was established on

the south side of Washington Square, between Wooster

Street and South Fifth Avenue. The block which had

formerly consisted of a lot of shabby old buildings, used

as cafés and restaurants for foreigners, had been

acquired by the Government in the winter to 1898. The

French and Italian cafés and restaurants were torn

down; the whole block was enclosed by a gilded iron

railing, and converted into a lovely garden with lawns,

flowers and fountains. In the centre of the garden stood

a small, white building, severely classical in

architecture, and surrounded by thickets of flowers. Six

Ionic columns supported the roof, and the single door

was of bronze. A splendid marble group of "The Fates"

stood before the door, the work of a young American

sculptor, Boris Yvain, who had died in Paris when only

twenty-three years old.

The inauguration ceremonies were in progress as I

crossed University Place and entered the square. I

threaded my way through the silent throng of

spectators, but was stopped at Fourth Street by a

cordon of police. A regiment of United States lancers

were drawn up in a hollow square around the Lethal

Chamber. On a raised tribune facing Washington Park

stood the Governor of New York, and behind him were

grouped the Mayor of New York and Brooklyn, the

Inspector-General of Police, the Commandant of the

state troops, Colonel Livingston, military aid to the

President of the United States, General Blount,

commanding at Governor's Island, Major-General

Hamilton, commanding the garrison of New York and

Brooklyn, Admiral Buffby of the fleet in the North

River, Surgeon General Lanceford, the staff of the

National Free Hospital, senators Wyse and Franklin of

New York, and the Commissioner of Public Works. The

tribune was surrounded by a squadron of hussars of the

National Guard.

The Governor was finishing his reply to the short

speech of the Surgeon-General. I heard him say: "The

laws prohibiting suicide and providing punishment for

any attempt at self-destruction have been repealed. The

Government has seen fit to acknowledge the right of

man to end an existence which may have become

intolerable to him, through physical suffering or mental

despair. It is believed that the community will be

benefited by the removal of such people from their

midst. Since the passage of this law, the number of

suicides in the United States has not increased. Now

that the Government has determined to establish a

Lethal Chamber in every city, town and village in the

country, it remains to be seen whether or not that class

of human creatures from whose desponding ranks new

victims of self-destruction fall daily will accept the relief

thus provided." He paused, and turned to the white

Lethal Chamber. The silence in the street was absolute.

"There a painless death awaits him who can no longer

bear the sorrows of this life. If death is welcome let him

seek it there." Then quickly turning to the military aid

of the President's household, he said, "I declare the

Lethal Chamber open," and again facing the vast crowd

he cried in a clear voice: "Citizens of New York and of

the United States of America, through me the

Government declares the Lethal Chamber to be open."

The solemn hush was broken by a sharp cry of

command, the squadron of hussars filed after the

Governor's carriage, the lancers wheeled and formed

along Fifth Avenue to wait for the commandant of the

garrison, and the mounted police followed them. I left

the crowd to gape and stare at the white marble Death

Chamber, and, crossing South Fifth Avenue, walked

along the western side of that thoroughfare to Bleecker

Street. Then I turned to the right and stopped before a

dingy shop which bore the sign,

HAWBERK, ARMORER.

I glanced into the doorway and saw Hawberk busy in

his little shop at the end of the hall. He looked up at the

same moment, and catching sight of me cried in his

deep, hearty voice, "Come in, Mr. Castaigne!"

Constance, his daughter, rose to meet me as I crossed

the threshold, and help out her pretty hand, but I saw

the blush of disappointment on her cheeks, and knew

that it was another Castaigne she had expected, my

Cousin Louis. I smiled at her confusion and

complimented her on the banner which she was

embroidering from a colored plate. Old Hawberk sat

riveting the worn greaves of some ancient suit of armor,

and the ting! ting! of his little hammer sounded

pleasantly in the quaint shop. Presently he dropped his

hammer, and fussed about for a moment with a tiny

wrench. The soft clash of the mail sent a thrill of

pleasure through me. I loved to hear the music of steel

brushing against steel, the mellow shock of the mallet on

thigh pieces, and the jungle of chain armor. That was

the only reason I went to see Hawberk. He had never

interested me personally, nor did Constance, except for

the fact of her being in love with Louis. This did occupy

my attention, and sometimes even kept me awake at

night. But I knew in my heart that all would come right,

and that I should arrange their future as I expected to

arrange that of my kind doctor, John Archer. However,

I should never have troubled myself about visiting them

just then, had it not been, as I say, that the music of the

tinkling hammer had for me this strong fascination. I

would sit for hours, listening and listening, and when a

stray sunbeam struck the inlaid steel, the sensation it

gave me was almost too keen to endure. My eyes would

become fixed, dilating with a pleasure that stretched

every nerve almost to breaking, until some movement of

the old armorer cut off the ray of sunlight, then, still

thrilling secretly, I leaned back and listened again to the

sound of the polishing rag, swish! swish! rubbing rust

from the rivets.

Constance worked with the embroidery over her knees,

now and then pausing to examine more closely the

pattern in the colored plate from the Metropolitan

Museum.

"Who is this for?" I asked.

Hawberk explained, that in addition to the treasures of

armor in the Metropolitan Museum of which he had

been appointed armorer, he also had charge of several

collections belonging to rich amateurs. This was the

missing greave of a famous suit which a client of his had

traced to a little shop in Paris on the Quai d'Orsay. He,

Hawberk, had negotiated for and secured the greave,

and now the suit was complete. He laid down his

hammer and read me the history of the suit, traced

since 1450 from owner to owner until it was acquired by

Thomas Stainbridge. When his superb collection was

sold, this client of Hawberk's bought the suit, and since

then the search for the missing greave had been pushed

until it was, almost by accident, located in Paris.

"Did you continue the search so persistently without

any certainty of the greave being still in existence?" I

demanded.

"Of course," he replied coolly.

Then for the first time I took a personal interest in

Hawberk.

"It was worth something to you," I ventured.

"No," he replied, laughing, "my pleasure in finding it

was my reward."

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Robert W. Chambers - The King in Yellow

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