The King in Yellow

by Robert W. Chambers

  V

  It took Clifford a month to entirely recover, although at the end of thefirst week he was pronounced convalescent by Elliott, who was anauthority, and his convalescence was aided by the cordiality with whichRue Barree acknowledged his solemn salutes. Forty times a day he blessedRue Barree for her refusal, and thanked his lucky stars, and at the sametime, oh, wondrous heart of ours!--he suffered the tortures of theblighted.

  Elliott was annoyed, partly by Clifford's reticence, partly by theunexplainable thaw in the frigidity of Rue Barree. At their frequentencounters, when she, tripping along the rue de Seine, with music-roll andbig straw hat would pass Clifford and his familiars steering an easterlycourse to the Cafe Vachette, and at the respectful uncovering of the bandwould colour and smile at Clifford, Elliott's slumbering suspicions awoke.But he never found out anything, and finally gave it up as beyond hiscomprehension, merely qualifying Clifford as an idiot and reserving hisopinion of Rue Barree. And all this time Selby was jealous. At first herefused to acknowledge it to himself, and cut the studio for a day in thecountry, but the woods and fields of course aggravated his case, and thebrooks babbled of Rue Barree and the mowers calling to each other acrossthe meadow ended in a quavering "Rue Bar-ree-e!" That day spent in thecountry made him angry for a week, and he worked sulkily at Julian's, allthe time tormented by a desire to know where Clifford was and what hemight be doing. This culminated in an erratic stroll on Sunday which endedat the flower-market on the Pont au Change, began again, was gloomilyextended to the morgue, and again ended at the marble bridge. It wouldnever do, and Selby felt it, so he went to see Clifford, who wasconvalescing on mint juleps in his garden.

  They sat down together and discussed morals and human happiness, and eachfound the other most entertaining, only Selby failed to pump Clifford, tothe other's unfeigned amusement. But the juleps spread balm on the stingof jealousy, and trickled hope to the blighted, and when Selby said hemust go, Clifford went too, and when Selby, not to be outdone, insisted onaccompanying Clifford back to his door, Clifford determined to see Selbyback half way, and then finding it hard to part, they decided to dinetogether and "flit." To flit, a verb applied to Clifford's nocturnalprowls, expressed, perhaps, as well as anything, the gaiety proposed.Dinner was ordered at Mignon's, and while Selby interviewed the chef,Clifford kept a fatherly eye on the butler. The dinner was a success, orwas of the sort generally termed a success. Toward the dessert Selby heardsome one say as at a great distance, "Kid Selby, drunk as a lord."

  A group of men passed near them; it seemed to him that he shook hands andlaughed a great deal, and that everybody was very witty. There wasClifford opposite swearing undying confidence in his chum Selby, and thereseemed to be others there, either seated beside them or continuallypassing with the swish of skirts on the polished floor. The perfume ofroses, the rustle of fans, the touch of rounded arms and the laughter grewvaguer and vaguer. The room seemed enveloped in mist. Then, all in amoment each object stood out painfully distinct, only forms and visageswere distorted and voices piercing. He drew himself up, calm, grave, forthe moment master of himself, but very drunk. He knew he was drunk, andwas as guarded and alert, as keenly suspicious of himself as he would havebeen of a thief at his elbow. His self-command enabled Clifford to holdhis head safely under some running water, and repair to the streetconsiderably the worse for wear, but never suspecting that his companionwas drunk. For a time he kept his self-command. His face was only a bitpaler, a bit tighter than usual; he was only a trifle slower and morefastidious in his speech. It was midnight when he left Clifford peacefullyslumbering in somebody's arm-chair, with a long suede glove dangling inhis hand and a plumy boa twisted about his neck to protect his throat fromdrafts. He walked through the hall and down the stairs, and found himselfon the sidewalk in a quarter he did not know. Mechanically he looked up atthe name of the street. The name was not familiar. He turned and steeredhis course toward some lights clustered at the end of the street. Theyproved farther away than he had anticipated, and after a long quest hecame to the conclusion that his eyes had been mysteriously removed fromtheir proper places and had been reset on either side of his head likethose of a bird. It grieved him to think of the inconvenience thistransformation might occasion him, and he attempted to cock up his head,hen-like, to test the mobility of his neck. Then an immense despair stoleover him,--tears gathered in the tear-ducts, his heart melted, and hecollided with a tree. This shocked him into comprehension; he stifled theviolent tenderness in his breast, picked up his hat and moved on morebriskly. His mouth was white and drawn, his teeth tightly clinched. Heheld his course pretty well and strayed but little, and after anapparently interminable length of time found himself passing a line ofcabs. The brilliant lamps, red, yellow, and green annoyed him, and he feltit might be pleasant to demolish them with his cane, but mastering thisimpulse he passed on. Later an idea struck him that it would save fatigueto take a cab, and he started back with that intention, but the cabsseemed already so far away and the lanterns were so bright and confusingthat he gave it up, and pulling himself together looked around.

  A shadow, a mass, huge, undefined, rose to his right. He recognized theArc de Triomphe and gravely shook his cane at it. Its size annoyed him. Hefelt it was too big. Then he heard something fall clattering to thepavement and thought probably it was his cane but it didn't much matter.When he had mastered himself and regained control of his right leg, whichbetrayed symptoms of insubordination, he found himself traversing thePlace de la Concorde at a pace which threatened to land him at theMadeleine. This would never do. He turned sharply to the right andcrossing the bridge passed the Palais Bourbon at a trot and wheeled intothe Boulevard St. Germain. He got on well enough although the size of theWar Office struck him as a personal insult, and he missed his cane, whichit would have been pleasant to drag along the iron railings as he passed.It occurred to him, however, to substitute his hat, but when he found ithe forgot what he wanted it for and replaced it upon his head withgravity. Then he was obliged to battle with a violent inclination to sitdown and weep. This lasted until he came to the rue de Rennes, but therehe became absorbed in contemplating the dragon on the balcony overhangingthe Cour du Dragon, and time slipped away until he remembered vaguely thathe had no business there, and marched off again. It was slow work. Theinclination to sit down and weep had given place to a desire for solitaryand deep reflection. Here his right leg forgot its obedience and attackingthe left, outflanked it and brought him up against a wooden board whichseemed to bar his path. He tried to walk around it, but found the streetclosed. He tried to push it over, and found he couldn't. Then he noticed ared lantern standing on a pile of paving-stones inside the barrier. Thiswas pleasant. How was he to get home if the boulevard was blocked? But hewas not on the boulevard. His treacherous right leg had beguiled him intoa detour, for there, behind him lay the boulevard with its endless line oflamps,--and here, what was this narrow dilapidated street piled up withearth and mortar and heaps of stone? He looked up. Written in staringblack letters on the barrier was

  RUE BARREE.

  He sat down. Two policemen whom he knew came by and advised him to get up,but he argued the question from a standpoint of personal taste, and theypassed on, laughing. For he was at that moment absorbed in a problem. Itwas, how to see Rue Barree. She was somewhere or other in that big housewith the iron balconies, and the door was locked, but what of that? Thesimple idea struck him to shout until she came. This idea was replaced byanother equally lucid,--to hammer on the door until she came; but finallyrejecting both of these as too uncertain, he decided to climb into thebalcony, and opening a window politely inquire for Rue Barree. There wasbut one lighted window in the house that he could see. It was on thesecond floor, and toward this he cast his eyes. Then mounting the woodenbarrier and clambering over the piles of stones, he reached the sidewalkand looked up at the facade for a foothold. It seemed impossible. But asudden fury seized him, a blind, drunken obstinacy, and the blood rushedto his head, leaping
, beating in his ears like the dull thunder of anocean. He set his teeth, and springing at a window-sill, dragged himselfup and hung to the iron bars. Then reason fled; there surged in his brainthe sound of many voices, his heart leaped up beating a mad tattoo, andgripping at cornice and ledge he worked his way along the facade, clung topipes and shutters, and dragged himself up, over and into the balcony bythe lighted window. His hat fell off and rolled against the pane. For amoment he leaned breathless against the railing--then the window wasslowly opened from within.

  They stared at each other for some time. Presently the girl took twounsteady steps back into the room. He saw her face,--all crimsonednow,--he saw her sink into a chair by the lamplit table, and without aword he followed her into the room, closing the big door-like panes behindhim. Then they looked at each other in silence.

  The room was small and white; everything was white about it,--thecurtained bed, the little wash-stand in the corner, the bare walls, thechina lamp,--and his own face,--had he known it, but the face and neck ofRue were surging in the colour that dyed the blossoming rose-tree there onthe hearth beside her. It did not occur to him to speak. She seemed not toexpect it. His mind was struggling with the impressions of the room. Thewhiteness, the extreme purity of everything occupied him--began to troublehim. As his eye became accustomed to the light, other objects grew fromthe surroundings and took their places in the circle of lamplight. Therewas a piano and a coal-scuttle and a little iron trunk and a bath-tub.Then there was a row of wooden pegs against the door, with a white chintzcurtain covering the clothes underneath. On the bed lay an umbrella and abig straw hat, and on the table, a music-roll unfurled, an ink-stand, andsheets of ruled paper. Behind him stood a wardrobe faced with a mirror,but somehow he did not care to see his own face just then. He wassobering.

  The girl sat looking at him without a word. Her face was expressionless,yet the lips at times trembled almost imperceptibly. Her eyes, sowonderfully blue in the daylight, seemed dark and soft as velvet, and thecolour on her neck deepened and whitened with every breath. She seemedsmaller and more slender than when he had seen her in the street, andthere was now something in the curve of her cheek almost infantine. Whenat last he turned and caught his own reflection in the mirror behind him,a shock passed through him as though he had seen a shameful thing, and hisclouded mind and his clouded thoughts grew clearer. For a moment theireyes met then his sought the floor, his lips tightened, and the strugglewithin him bowed his head and strained every nerve to the breaking. Andnow it was over, for the voice within had spoken. He listened, dullyinterested but already knowing the end,--indeed it little mattered;--theend would always be the same for him;--he understood now--always the samefor him, and he listened, dully interested, to a voice which grew withinhim. After a while he stood up, and she rose at once, one small handresting on the table. Presently he opened the window, picked up his hat,and shut it again. Then he went over to the rosebush and touched theblossoms with his face. One was standing in a glass of water on the tableand mechanically the girl drew it out, pressed it with her lips and laidit on the table beside him. He took it without a word and crossing theroom, opened the door. The landing was dark and silent, but the girllifted the lamp and gliding past him slipped down the polished stairs tothe hallway. Then unchaining the bolts, she drew open the iron wicket.

  Through this he passed with his rose.