Olathoë
Slumber, Kitty, till the spheres...
He wrote back with this-
Slumber, Dizzie, 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 you scratch upon my door.
I
think this is awesome. It is always a great pleasure to talk with
someone who shares interests with me, and Lovecraft just cannot be more
interesting. Chaos gets every single reference I bring up, no
matter how obscure or barely tangent. This marvelous cat moved on not
too long ago, and while I never knew her I feel I did because of all the
photos posted of her. Dizzie was loved, folks, something so few cats get, and all deserve.
https://hybridfabulousfurryfun.blogspot.com/2021/11/dizzie-rascal.html
It's just a temporary separation anyway.
Polaris
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 coruscations of the daemon-light. After the beams 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 streets
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 half way 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 peers
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 I a stranger
in the streets of Olathoë, 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 held
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 Olathoë, 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 watch-tower 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 of Olathoë
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 Olathoë; I have proven false to Alos, my friend and commander. But still these shadows of my dream 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 strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey.
Howard Phillips Lovecraft, 1918.
Excuse me. I meant 'Dizzie is loved'.
https://www.deviantart.com/chaosfive-55/gallery/26818710/dizzie-rascal
This is PERFECT, thank you so much!! Excellent choice of photo at the end, too---I love that quizzical expression she so often aimed at me.
ReplyDeleteI'm very glad you like it, I wanted to do you guys up proper. I really miss Dizzie Rascal, I felt that I knew her. Kinda an odd juxtaposition, Lovecraft and Dizzie, but it seems to work.
ReplyDelete