by H. P. Lovecraft
Into the north window of my chamber glows the Pole Star with uncanny
light. All through the long hellish hours of blackness it shines
there. And in the autumn of the year, when the winds from the north
curse and whine, and the red-leaved trees of the swamp mutter things
to one another in the small hours of the morning under the horned
waning moon, I sit by the casement and watch that star. Down from the
heights reels the glittering Cassiopeia as the hours wear on, while
Charles' Wain lumbers up from behind the vapour-soaked swamp trees
that sway in the night wind. Just before dawn Arcturus winks ruddily
from above the cemetery on the low hillock, and Coma Berenices
shimmers weirdly afar off in the mysterious east; but still the Pole
Star leers down from the same place in the black vault, winking
hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some
strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message
to convey. Sometimes, when it is cloudy, I can sleep.
Well do I remember the night of the great Aurora, when over the swamp
played the shocking coruscation's of the daemon light. After the beam
came clouds, and then I slept.
And it was under a horned waning moon that I saw the city for the
first time. Still and somnolent did it lie, on a strange plateau in a
hollow betwixt strange peaks. Of ghastly marble were its walls and its
towers, its columns, domes, and pavements. In the marble street, were
marble pillars, the upper parts of which were carven into the images
of grave bearded men. The air was warm and stirred not. And overhead,
scarce ten degrees from the zenith, glowed that watching Pole Star.
Long did I gaze on the city, but the day came not. When the red
Aldebaran, which blinked low in the sky but never set, had crawled a
quarter of the way around the horizon, I saw light and motion in the
houses and the streets. Forms strangely robed, but at once noble and
familiar, walked abroad and under the horned waning moon men talked
wisdom in a tongue which I understood, though it was unlike any
language I had ever known. And when the red Aldebaran had crawled more
than halfway around the horizon, there were again darkness and
silence.
When I awaked, I was not as I had been. Upon my memory was graven the
vision of the city, and within my soul had arisen another and vaguer
recollection, of whose nature I was not then certain. Thereafter, on
the cloudy nights when I could sleep, I saw the city often; sometimes
under that horned waning moon, and sometimes under the hot yellow rays
of a sun which did not set, but which wheeled low around the horizon.
And on the clear nights the Pole Star leered as never before.
Gradually I came to wonder what might be my place in that city on the
strange plateau betwixt strange peaks. At first content to view the
scene as an all-observant uncorporeal presence, I now desired to
define my relation to it, and to speak my mind amongst the grave men
who conversed each day in the public squares. I said to myself, "This
is no dream, for by what means can I prove the greater reality of that
other life in the house of stone and brick south of the sinister swamp
and the cemetery on the low hillock, where the Pole Star peeps into my
north window each night?"
One night as I listened to the discourse in the large square
containing many statues I felt a change; and perceived that I had at
last a bodily form. Nor was a stranger in the streets of Olathoe,
which lies on the plateau of Sarkis, betwixt the peaks Noton and
Kadiphonek. It was my friend Alos who spoke, and his speech was one
that pleased my soul, for it was the speech of a true man and patriot.
That night had the news come of Daikos' fall, and of the advance of
the Inutos; squat, hellish yellow fiends who five years ago had
appeared out of the unknown west to ravage the confines of our kingdom
and finally to besiege our towns. Having taken the fortified places at
the foot of the mountains, their way now lay open to the plateau,
unless every citizen could resist with the strength of ten men. For
the squat creatures were mighty in the arts of war, and knew not the
scruples of honour which hold back our tall, grey-eyed men of Lomar
from ruthless conquest.
Alos, my friend, was commander of all the forces on the plateau, and
in him lay the last hope of our country. On this occasion he spoke of
the perils to be faced and exhorted the men of Olathoe, bravest of the
Lomarians, to sustain the traditions of their ancestors, who when
forced to move southward from Zobna before the advance of the great
ice sheet, (even as our descendants must some day flee from the land
of Lomar) valiantly and victoriously swept aside the hairy,
long-armed, cannibal Gnophkehs that stood in their way. To me Alos
denied a warrior's part, for I was feeble and given to strange
faintings when subjected to stress and hardships. But my eyes were the
keenest in the city, despite the long hours I gave each day to the
study of the Pnakotic manuscripts and the wisdom of the Zobnarian
Fathers; so my friend, desiring not to doom me to inaction, rewarded
me with that duty which was second to nothing in importance. To the
watchtower of Thapnen he sent me, there to serve as the eyes of our
army. Should the Inutos attempt to gain the citadel by the narrow pass
behind the peak Noton and thereby surprise the garrison, I was to give
the signal of fire which would warn the waiting soldiers, and, save
the town from immediate disaster.
Alone I mounted the tower, for every man of stout body was needed in
the passes below. My brain was sore dazed with excitement and fatigue,
for I had not slept in many days; yet was my purpose firm, for I loved
my native land of Lomar, and the marble city Olathoe that lies betwixt
the peaks of Noton and Kadiphonek.
But as I stood in the tower's topmost chamber, I beheld the horned
waning moon, red and sinister, quivering through the vapours that
hovered over the distant valley of Banof. And through an opening in
the roof glittered the pale Pole Star, fluttering as if alive, and
leering like a fiend and tempter. Methought its spirit whispered evil
counsel, soothing me to traitorous somnolence with a damnable
rhythmical promise which it repeated over and over:
"Slumber, watcher, till the spheres,
Six and twenty thousand years
Have revolv'd, and I return
To the spot where now I burn.
Other stars anon shall rise
To the axis of the skies;
Stars that soothe and stars that bless
With a sweet forgetfulness:
Only when my round is o'er
Shall the past disturb thy door."
Vainly did I struggle with my drowsiness, seeking to connect these
strange words with some lore of the skies which I had learnt from the
Pnakotic manuscripts. My head, heavy and reeling, drooped to my
breast, and when next I looked up it was in a dream; with the Pole
Star grinning at me through a window from over the horrible swaying
trees of a dream-swamp. And I am still dreaming.
In my shame and despair I sometimes scream frantically, begging the
dream-creatures around me to waken me ere the Inutos steal up the pass
behind the peak Noton and take the citadel by surprise; but these
creatures are daemons, for they laugh at me and tell me I am not
dreaming. They mock me whilst I sleep, and whilst the squat yellow foe
may be creeping silently upon us. I have failed in my duty and
betrayed the marble city of Olathoe; I have proven false to Alos, my
friend and commander. But still these shadows of my dreams deride me.
They say there is no land of Lomar, save in my nocturnal imaginings;
that in those realms where the Pole Star shines high, and red
Aldebaran crawls low around the horizon, there has been naught save
ice and snow for thousands of years, and never a man save squat,
yellow creatures, blighted by the cold, whom they call "Esquimaux."
And as I writhe in my guilty agony, frantic to save the city whose
peril every moment grows, and vainly striving to shake off this
unnatural dream of a house of stone and brick south of a sinister
swamp and a cemetery on a low hillock; the Pole Star, evil and
monstrous, leers down from the black vault, winking hideously like an
insane watching eye which strives to convey some message, yet recalls
nothing save that it once had a message to convey.
* * * * *
Watch for another story by H. P. Lovecraft in an early issue.