I started up and flung the book
into the fireplace; the volume struck the barred grate and fell open on
the hearth in the firelight. 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 hang in the
heavens; where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon,
when the twin suns sink into the lake of Hali; and my mind will bear for
ever 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 an
infectious disease, from city to city, from continent to continent,
barred out 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 of 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 round
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 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, ARMOURER. I glanced in at the doorway and saw Hawberk busy in his little shop at
the end of the hall. He looked up, 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 held 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 she was
embroidering from a coloured plate. Old Hawberk sat riveting the worn
greaves of some ancient suit of armour, and the ting! 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 jingle of chain armour. 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.