the king in yellow by robert w chambersthe yellow sign part 1"let the red dawn surmise what we shall do,when this blue starlight dies and all is through." there are so many things which are impossibleto explain! why should certain chords in music
snake venom in lip plumper, make me think of the brown and golden tintsof autumn foliage? why should the mass of sainte cã©cile bend my thoughts wanderingamong caverns whose walls blaze with ragged masses of virgin silver? what was it in theroar and turmoil of broadway at six o'clock that flashed before my eyes the picture ofa still breton forest where sunlight filtered
through spring foliage and sylvia bent, halfcuriously, half tenderly, over a small green lizard, murmuring: "to think that this alsois a little ward of god!" when i first saw the watchman his back wastoward me. i looked at him indifferently until he went into the church. i paid no more attentionto him than i had to any other man who lounged through washington square that morning, andwhen i shut my window and turned back into my studio i had forgotten him. late in theafternoon, the day being warm, i raised the window again and leaned out to get a sniffof air. a man was standing in the courtyard of the church, and i noticed him again withas little interest as i had that morning. i looked across the square to where the fountainwas playing and then, with my mind filled
with 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 menow, and with a perfectly involuntary movement i bent to see it. at the same moment he raisedhis head and looked at me. instantly i thought of a coffin-worm. whatever it was about theman that repelled me i did not know, but the impression of a plump white grave-worm wasso intense and nauseating that i must have shown it in my expression, for he turned hispuffy 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 modelto resume her pose. after working a while
i was satisfied that i was spoiling what ihad done as rapidly as possible, and i took up a palette knife and scraped the colourout again. the flesh tones were sallow and unhealthy, and i did not understand how icould have painted such sickly colour into a study which before that had glowed withhealthy tones. i looked at tessie. she had not changed, andthe clear flush of health dyed 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 forthe life of me i can't see how i came to paint such mud as that into the canvas," i replied.
"don't i pose well?" she insisted. "of course, perfectly." "then it's not my fault?" "no. it's my own." "i am very sorry," she said. i told her she could rest while i appliedrag and turpentine to the plague spot on my canvas, and she went off to smoke a cigaretteand look over the illustrations in the courrier franã§ais. i did not know whether it was something inthe turpentine or a defect in the canvas,
but the more i scrubbed the more that gangreneseemed to spread. i worked like a beaver to get it out, and yet the disease appeared tocreep from limb to limb of the study before me. alarmed, i strove to arrest it, but nowthe colour on the breast changed and the whole figure seemed to absorb the infection as asponge soaks up water. vigorously i plied palette-knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinkingall the time what a sã©ance i should hold with duval who had sold me the canvas; butsoon i noticed that it was not the canvas which was defective nor yet the colours ofedward. "it must be the turpentine," i thought angrily, "or else my eyes have become so blurredand confused by the afternoon light that i can't see straight." i called tessie, themodel. 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 colour it is now," she continued."do you think my flesh resembles green cheese?" "no, i don't," i said angrily; "did you everknow 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 walkedto the window. i scraped and rubbed until
i was tired, and finally picked up my brushesand hurled them through the canvas with a forcible expression, the tone alone of whichreached tessie's ears. nevertheless she promptly began: "that's it!swear and act silly and ruin your brushes! you have been three weeks on that study, andnow look! what's the good of ripping the canvas? what creatures artists are!" i felt about as much ashamed as i usuallydid after such an outbreak, and i turned the ruined canvas to the wall. tessie helped meclean my brushes, and then danced away to dress. from the screen she regaled me withbits 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 whereshe could not reach it on the shoulder. "everything went wrong from the time you cameback from the window and talked about that horrid-looking man you saw in the churchyard,"she announced. "yes, he probably bewitched the picture,"i said, yawning. i looked at my watch. "it's after six, i know," said tessie, adjustingher hat before the mirror. "yes," i replied, "i didn't mean to keep youso long." i leaned out of the window but recoiled with disgust, for the young man with the pastyface stood below in the churchyard. tessie saw my gesture of disapproval and leaned fromthe window. "is that the man you don't like?" she whispered.
i nodded. "i can't see his face, but he does look fatand soft. someway or other," she continued, turning to look at me, "he reminds me of adream,—an awful dream i once had. or," she mused, looking down at her shapely shoes,"was it a dream after all?" "how should i know?" i smiled. tessie smiled in reply. "you were in it," she said, "so perhaps youmight know something about it." "tessie! tessie!" i protested, "don't youdare flatter by saying that you dream about me!"
"but i did," she insisted; "shall i tell youabout it?" "go ahead," i replied, lighting a cigarette. tessie leaned back on the open window-silland began very seriously. "one night last winter i was lying in bedthinking about nothing at all in particular. i had been posing for you and i was tiredout, 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 hearingthe bells after that. it seemed to me that i had scarcely closed my eyes when i dreamedthat something impelled me to go to the window. i rose, and raising the sash leaned out. twenty-fifthstreet was deserted as far as i could see.
i began to be afraid; everything outside seemedso—so black and uncomfortable. then the sound of wheels in the distance came to myears, and it seemed to me as though that was what i must wait for. very slowly the wheelsapproached, and, finally, i could make out a vehicle moving along the street. it camenearer and nearer, and when it passed beneath my window i saw it was a hearse. then, asi trembled with fear, the driver turned and looked straight at me. when i awoke i wasstanding by the open window shivering with cold, but the black-plumed hearse and thedriver were gone. i dreamed this dream again in march last, and again awoke beside theopen window. last night the dream came again. you remember how it was raining; when i awoke,standing at the open window, my night-dress
was soaked." "but where did i come into the dream?" i asked. "you—you were in the coffin; but you werenot 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 rarebits, or lobstersalad?" i began, laughing, but the girl interrupted me with a frightened cry.
"hello! what's up?" i said, as she shrankinto the embrasure by the window. "the—the man below in the churchyard;—hedrove the hearse." "nonsense," i said, but tessie's eyes werewide with terror. i went to the window and looked out. the man was gone. "come, tessie,"i urged, "don't be foolish. you have posed too long; you are nervous." "do you think i could forget that face?" shemurmured. "three times i saw the hearse pass below my window, and every time the driverturned and looked up at me. oh, his face was so white and—and soft? it looked dead—itlooked as if it had been dead a long time." i induced the girl to sit down and swallowa glass of marsala. then i sat down beside
her, and tried to give her some advice. "look here, tessie," i said, "you go to thecountry for a week or two, and you'll have no more dreams about hearses. you pose allday, 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 sulzer'spark, or go to the eldorado or coney island, and when you come down here next morning youare fagged out. there was no real hearse. there was a soft-shell crab dream." she smiled faintly. "what about the man in the churchyard?"
"oh, he's only an ordinary unhealthy, everydaycreature." "as true as my name is tessie reardon, i swearto you, mr. scott, that the face of the man below in the churchyard is the face of theman 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 you reallydid, it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. there is nothing in that." tessie rose, unrolled her scented handkerchief,and taking a bit of gum from a knot in the hem, placed it in her mouth. then drawingon her gloves she offered me her hand, with
a frank, "good-night, mr. scott," and walkedout. part ii the next morning, thomas, the bell-boy, broughtme the herald and a bit of news. the church next door had been sold. i thanked heavenfor 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 echoedthrough the aisle of the church as if it had been my own rooms, and who insisted on hisr's with a nasal persistence which revolted my every instinct. then, too, there was afiend in human shape, an organist, who reeled off some of the grand old hymns with an interpretationof his own, and i longed for the blood of
a creature who could play the doxology withan 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: "and the lorrrrd said untomoses, the lorrrd is a man of war; the lorrrd is his name. my wrath shall wax hot and iwill kill you with the sworrrrd!" i wondered how many centuries of purgatory it would taketo atone for such a sin. "who bought the property?" i asked thomas. "nobody that i knows, sir. they do say thegent wot owns this 'ere 'amilton flats was lookin' at it. 'e might be a bildin' morestudios." i walked to the window. the young man withthe unhealthy face stood by the churchyard
gate, and at the mere sight of him the sameoverwhelming repugnance took possession of me. "by the way, thomas," i said, "who is thatfellow down there?" thomas sniffed. "that there worm, sir? 'esnight-watchman of the church, sir. 'e maikes me tired a-sittin' out all night on them stepsand lookin' at you insultin' like. i'd a punched 'is 'ed, sir—beg pardon, sir—" "go on, thomas." "one night a comin' 'ome with 'arry, the otherenglish boy, i sees 'im a sittin' there on them steps. we 'ad molly and jen with us,sir, the two girls on the tray service, an'
'e looks so insultin' at us that i up andsez: 'wat you looking hat, you fat slug?'—beg pardon, sir, but that's 'ow i sez, sir. then'e don't say nothin' and i sez: 'come out and i'll punch that puddin' 'ed.' then i hopensthe gate an' goes in, but 'e don't say nothin', only looks insultin' like. then i 'its 'imone, but, ugh! 'is 'ed was that cold and mushy it ud sicken you to touch 'im." "what did he do then?" i asked curiously. "'im? nawthin'." "and you, thomas?" the young fellow flushed with embarrassmentand smiled uneasily.
"mr. scott, sir, i ain't no coward, an' ican't make it out at all why i run. i was in the 5th lawncers, sir, bugler at tel-el-kebir,an' 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 grabbedmolly an' run, an' the rest was as frightened as i." "but what were they frightened at?" thomas refused to answer for a while, butnow my curiosity was aroused about the repulsive
young man below and i pressed him. three years'sojourn in america had not only modified thomas' cockney dialect but had given him the american'sfear of ridicule. "you won't believe me, mr. scott, sir?" "yes, i will." "you will lawf at me, sir?" "nonsense!" he hesitated. "well, sir, it's gawd's truththat when i 'it 'im 'e grabbed me wrists, sir, and when i twisted 'is soft, mushy fistone of 'is fingers come off in me 'and." the utter loathing and horror of thomas' facemust have been reflected in my own, for he
added: "it's orful, an' now when i see 'im i justgo away. 'e maikes me hill." 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 retreatedto my easel again, sickened and horrified, for i saw that the middle finger of his righthand was missing. at nine o'clock tessie appeared and vanishedbehind the screen with a merry "good morning, mr. scott." when she had reappeared and takenher pose upon the model-stand i started a new canvas, much to her delight. she remainedsilent as long as i was on the drawing, but as soon as the scrape of the charcoal ceasedand i took up my fixative she began to chatter.
"oh, i had such a lovely time last night.we went to tony pastor's." "who are 'we'?" i demanded. "oh, maggie, you know, mr. whyte's model,and pinkie mccormick—we call her pinkie because she's got that beautiful red hairyou artists like so much—and lizzie burke." i sent a shower of spray from the fixativeover the canvas, and said: "well, go on." "we saw kelly and baby barnes the skirt-dancerand—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 perfectgen'l'man."
i felt constrained to give her some parentaladvice concerning mashing, which she took with a bright smile. "oh, i can take care of a strange mash," shesaid, examining her chewing gum, "but ed is different. lizzie is my best friend." then she related how ed had come back fromthe stocking mill in lowell, massachusetts, to find her and lizzie grown up, and whatan accomplished young man he was, and how he thought nothing of squandering half-a-dollarfor ice-cream and oysters to celebrate his entry as clerk into the woollen departmentof macy's. before she finished i began to paint, and she resumed the pose, smiling andchattering like a sparrow. by noon i had the
study fairly well rubbed in and tessie cameto look at it. "that's better," she said. i thought so too, and ate my lunch with asatisfied feeling that all was going well. tessie spread her lunch on a drawing tableopposite me and we drank our claret from the same bottle and lighted our cigarettes fromthe same match. i was very much attached to tessie. i had watched her shoot up into aslender but exquisitely formed woman from a frail, awkward child. she had posed forme during the last three years, and among all my models she was my favourite. it wouldhave 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 allright. she and i never discussed morals at all, and i had no intention of doing so, partlybecause i had none myself, and partly because i knew she would do what she liked in spiteof 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 inamerica did not resemble in the least the same things in paris. yet, having lived withmy eyes open, i also knew that somebody would take tessie away some day, in one manner oranother, and though i professed to myself that marriage was nonsense, i sincerely hopedthat, 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 asi do, must confess to somebody. then, again, sylvia was catholic, and it was reason enoughfor me. but i was speaking of tessie, which is very different. tessie also was catholicand much more devout than i, so, taking it all in all, i had little fear for my prettymodel until she should fall in love. but then i knew that fate alone would decide her futurefor her, and i prayed inwardly that fate would keep her away from men like me and throw intoher path nothing but ed burkes and jimmy mccormicks, bless her sweet face!
tessie sat blowing rings of smoke up to theceiling and tinkling the ice in her tumbler. "do you know that i also had a dream lastnight?" i observed. "not about that man," she laughed. "exactly. a dream similar to yours, only muchworse." it was foolish and thoughtless of me to saythis, but you know how little tact the average painter has. "i must have fallen asleep aboutten o'clock," i continued, "and after a while i dreamt that i awoke. so plainly did i hearthe 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 whichhad 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 overa 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 listenedand then tried to call. my voice was gone. i could hear the trample of the horses attachedto the wagon, and even the breathing of the driver. then another sound broke upon my earslike the raising of a window sash. i managed to turn my head a little, and found i couldlook, not only through the glass cover of my box, but also through the glass panes inthe side of the covered vehicle. i saw houses, empty and silent, with neither light nor lifeabout any of them excepting one. in that house
a window was open on the first floor, anda figure all in white stood looking down into the street. it was you." tessie had turned her face away from me andleaned on the table with her elbow. "i could see your face," i resumed, "and itseemed 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 sense that somebody was close to me made me unclose my eyes. then i saw the white faceof the hearse-driver looking at me through the coffin-lid——"
a sob from tessie interrupted me. she wastrembling like a leaf. i saw i had made an ass of myself and attempted to repair thedamage. "why, tess," i said, "i only told you thisto show you what influence your story might have on another person's dreams. you don'tsuppose i really lay in a coffin, do you? what are you trembling for? don't you seethat your dream and my unreasonable dislike for that inoffensive watchman of the churchsimply set my brain working as soon as i fell asleep?" she laid her head between her arms, and sobbedas if her heart would break. what a precious triple donkey i had made of myself! but iwas about to break my record. i went over
and put my arm about her. "tessie dear, forgive me," i said; "i hadno business to frighten you with such nonsense. you are too sensible a girl, too good a catholicto believe in dreams." her hand tightened on mine and her head fellback upon my shoulder, but she still trembled and i petted her and comforted her. "come, tess, open your eyes and smile." her eyes opened with a slow languid movementand met mine, but their expression was so queer that i hastened to reassure her again. "it's all humbug, tessie; you surely are notafraid 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 almostinaudible. "i—i care for you." at first i started to laugh, but when i understoodher, a shock passed through me, and i sat like one turned to stone. this was the crowningbit of idiocy i had committed. during the moment which elapsed between her reply andmy answer i thought of a thousand responses
to that innocent confession. i could passit by with a laugh, i could misunderstand her and assure her as to my health, i couldsimply point out that it was impossible she could love me. but my reply was quicker thanmy thoughts, and i might think and think now when it was too late, for i had kissed heron the mouth. that evening i took my usual walk in washingtonpark, pondering over the occurrences of the day. i was thoroughly committed. there wasno back 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 layburied in the sunlit forests of brittany. was it buried for ever? hope cried "no!" forthree years i had been listening to the voice
of hope, and for three years i had waitedfor a footstep on my threshold. had sylvia forgotten? "no!" cried hope. i said that i was no good. that is true, butstill i was not exactly a comic opera villain. i had led an easy-going reckless life, takingwhat 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 layhidden if not lost in the breton forests. it was too late for me to regret what hadoccurred during the day. whatever it had been, pity, a sudden tenderness for sorrow, or themore brutal instinct of gratified vanity, it was all the same now, and unless i wishedto bruise an innocent heart, my path lay marked
before me. the fire and strength, the depthof passion of a love which i had never even suspected, with all my imagined experiencein the world, left me no alternative but to respond or send her away. whether becausei am so cowardly about giving pain to others, or whether it was that i have little of thegloomy puritan in me, i do not know, but i shrank from disclaiming responsibility forthat thoughtless kiss, and in fact had no time to do so before the gates of her heartopened and the flood poured forth. others who habitually do their duty and find a sullensatisfaction in making themselves and everybody else unhappy, might have withstood it. i didnot. i dared not. after the storm had abated i did tell her that she might better haveloved ed burke and worn a plain gold ring,
but she would not hear of it, and i thoughtperhaps as long as she had decided to love somebody she could not marry, it had betterbe me. i, at least, could treat her with an intelligent affection, and whenever she becametired of her infatuation she could go none the worse for it. for i was decided on thatpoint although i knew how hard it would be. i remembered the usual termination of platonicliaisons, and thought how disgusted i had been whenever i heard of one. i knew i wasundertaking a great deal for so unscrupulous a man as i was, and i dreamed the future,but never for one moment did i doubt that she was safe with me. had it been anybodybut tessie i should not have bothered my head about scruples. for it did not occur to meto sacrifice tessie as i would have sacrificed
a woman of the world. i looked the futuresquarely in the face and saw the several probable endings to the affair. she would either tireof 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 husbandunsuitable for any woman. for my past life could scarcely entitle me to marry. if i wentaway she might either fall ill, recover, and marry some eddie burke, or she might recklesslyor deliberately go and do something foolish. on the other hand, if she tired of me, thenher whole life would be before her with beautiful vistas of eddie burkes and marriage ringsand twins and harlem flats and heaven knows what. as i strolled along through the treesby 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 eveningdress, for the little faintly-perfumed note on my dresser said, "have a cab at the stagedoor at eleven," and the note was signed "edith carmichel, metropolitan theatre." i took supper that night, or rather we tooksupper, miss carmichel and i, at solari's, and the dawn was just beginning to gild thecross on the memorial church as i entered washington square after leaving edith at thebrunswick. there was not a soul in the park as i passed along the trees and took the walkwhich leads from the garibaldi statue to the hamilton apartment house, but as i passedthe churchyard i saw a figure sitting on the
stone steps. in spite of myself a chill creptover me at the sight of the white puffy face, and i hastened to pass. then he said somethingwhich might have been addressed to me or might merely have been a mutter to himself, buta sudden furious anger flamed up within me that such a creature should address me. foran instant i felt like wheeling about and smashing my stick over his head, but i walkedon, and entering the hamilton went to my apartment. for some time i tossed about the bed tryingto get the sound of his voice out of my ears, but could not. it filled my head, that mutteringsound, like thick oily smoke from a fat-rendering vat or an odour of noisome decay. and as ilay and tossed about, the voice in my ears seemed more distinct, and i began to understandthe words he had muttered. they came to me
slowly as if i had forgotten them, and atlast i could make some sense out of the sounds. it was this: "have you found the yellow sign?" i was furious. what did he mean by that? thenwith a curse upon him and his i rolled over and went to sleep, but when i awoke lateri looked pale and haggard, for i had dreamed the dream of the night before, and it troubledme more than i cared to think. i dressed and went down into my studio. tessiesat by the window, but as i came in she rose and put both arms around my neck for an innocentkiss. she looked so sweet and dainty that i kissed her again and then sat down beforethe 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 canvases, saying, "hurry up, tess, and get ready; wemust take advantage of the morning light." when at last i gave up the search among theother canvases and turned to look around the room for the missing study i noticed tessiestanding by the screen with her clothes still on. "what's the matter," i asked, "don't you feelwell?" "then hurry." "do you want me to pose as—as i have alwaysposed?"
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 facewas scarlet. alas! alas! we had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and eden and native innocencewere dreams of the past—i mean for her. i suppose she noticed the disappointment onmy face, for she said: "i will pose if you wish. the study is behind the screen herewhere i put it." "no," i said, "we will begin something new;"and i went into my wardrobe and picked out a moorish costume which fairly blazed withtinsel. it was a genuine costume, and tessie retired to the screen with it enchanted. whenshe came forth again i was astonished. her long black hair was bound above her foreheadwith a circlet of turquoises, and the ends,
curled about her glittering girdle. her feetwere encased in the embroidered pointed slippers and the skirt of her costume, curiously wroughtwith arabesques in silver, fell to her ankles. the deep metallic blue vest embroidered withsilver and the short mauresque 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 drawingout 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 radiantsmile she ran behind the screen and presently
reappeared with a little box on which waswritten my name. "i had intended to give it to you when i wenthome to-night," she said, "but i can't wait now." i opened the box. on the pink cotton insidelay a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold. it wasneither arabic nor chinese, nor, as i found afterwards, did it belong 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 shouldprize it, and promised to wear it always. she fastened it on my coat beneath the lapel.
"how foolish, tess, to go and buy me sucha 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 oneday while coming from the aquarium in the battery, how she had advertised it and watchedthe papers, but at last gave up all hopes of finding the owner. "that was last winter," she said, "the veryday i had the first horrid dream about the hearse." i remembered my dream of the previous nightbut said nothing, and presently my charcoal
was flying over a new canvas, and tessie stoodmotionless on the model-stand. part iii the day following was a disastrous one forme. while moving a framed canvas from one easel to another my foot slipped on the polishedfloor, and i fell heavily on both wrists. they were so badly sprained that it was uselessto attempt to hold a brush, and i was obliged to wander about the studio, glaring at unfinisheddrawings and sketches, until despair seized me and i sat down to smoke and twiddle mythumbs 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, andevery now and then raised her head and looked
at me with such innocent compassion that ibegan to feel ashamed of my irritation and looked about for something to occupy me. ihad read all the papers and all the books in the library, but for the sake of somethingto do i went to the bookcases and shoved them open with my elbow. i knew every volume byits colour and examined them all, passing slowly around the library and whistling tokeep up my spirits. i was turning to go into the dining-room when my eye fell upon a bookbound in serpent skin, standing in a corner of the top shelf of the last bookcase. i didnot 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 upto reach the book.
"what is it?" i asked. "the king in yellow." i was dumfounded. who had placed it there?how came it in my rooms? i had long ago decided that i should never open that book, and nothingon earth could have persuaded me to buy it. fearful lest curiosity might tempt me to openit, 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 wickedpages. i had always refused to listen to any description of it, and indeed, nobody everventured to discuss the second part aloud, so i had absolutely no knowledge of what thoseleaves might reveal. i stared at the poisonous
mottled binding as i would at a snake. "don't touch it, tessie," i said; "come down." of course my admonition was enough to arouseher curiosity, and before i could prevent it she took the book and, laughing, dancedoff into the studio with it. i called to her, but she slipped away with a tormenting smileat 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 finallyreturned to the library and began a systematic
search. she had hidden herself so well thatit was half-an-hour later when i discovered her crouching white and silent by the latticedwindow in the store-room above. at the first glance i saw she had been punished for herfoolishness. the king in yellow lay at her feet, but the book was open at the secondpart. i looked at tessie and saw it was too late. she had opened the king in yellow. theni took her by the hand and led her into the studio. she seemed dazed, and when i toldher to lie down on the sofa she obeyed me without a word. after a while she closed hereyes and her breathing became regular and deep, but i could not determine whether ornot 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
store-room, took the book in my least injuredhand. it seemed heavy as lead, but i carried it into the studio again, and sitting downon the rug beside the sofa, opened it and read it through from beginning to end. when, faint with excess of my emotions, idropped the volume and leaned wearily back against the sofa, tessie opened her eyes andlooked at me.... we had been speaking for some time in a dullmonotonous strain before i realized that we were discussing the king in yellow. oh thesin of writing such words,—words which are clear as crystal, limpid and musical as bubblingsprings, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the medicis! oh thewickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul
who could fascinate and paralyze human creatureswith such words,—words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are moreprecious 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 inlaid with what wenow 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 thatprevented 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 thehours 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 hasturand of cassilda, while outside the fog rolled against the blank window-panes as the cloudwaves roll and break on the shores of hali. the house was very silent now, and not a soundcame up from the misty streets. tessie lay among the cushions, her face a grey blot inthe gloom, but her hands were clasped in mine, and i knew that she knew and read my thoughtsas i read hers, for we had understood the mystery of the hyades and the phantom of truthwas laid. then as we answered each other, swiftly, silently, thought on thought, theshadows 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-plumedhearse. 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 yellowsign. and now i heard him moving very softly along the hall. now he was at the door, andthe bolts rotted at his touch. now he had entered. with eyes starting from my head ipeered into the darkness, but when he came into the room i did not see him. it was onlywhen i felt him envelope me in his cold soft grasp that i cried out and struggled withdeadly fury, but my hands were useless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat and struckme full in the face. then, as i fell, i heard
tessie's soft cry and her spirit fled: andeven while falling i longed to follow her, for i knew that the king in yellow had openedhis tattered mantle and there was only god to cry to now. i could tell more, but i cannot see what helpit 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 uphis 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—theyof the outside world who write books and print millions of newspapers, but i shall writeno more, and the father confessor will seal
my last words with the seal of sanctity whenhis holy office is done. they of the outside world may send their creatures into wreckedhomes 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 deadand 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 shalltell them now; they do not know that the doctor
said as he pointed to a horrible decomposedheap on the floor—the livid 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—
