"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 decided9 that I should never open that book, and nothing on earth could have persuaded me to buy it. Fearful lest curiosity might tempt3 me to open it, 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 wicked pages. I had always refused to listen to any description of it, and indeed, nobody ever ventured to discuss the second part aloud, so I had absolutely no knowledge of what those leaves might reveal. I stared at the poisonous mottled binding10 as I would at a snake.
"Don't touch it, Tessie," I said; "come down."
Of course my admonition was enough to arouse her curiosity, and before I could prevent it she took the book and, laughing, danced off into the studio with it. I called to her, but she slipped away with a tormenting11 smile at my helpless hands, and I followed her with some impatience12.
"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 finally returned to the library and began a systematic13 search. She had hidden herself so well that it was half-an-hour later when I discovered her crouching14 white and silent by the latticed window in the store-room above. At the first glance I saw she had been punished for her foolishness. The King in Yellow lay at her feet, but the book was open at the second part. I looked at Tessie and saw it was too late. She had opened The King in Yellow. Then I took her by the hand and led her into the studio. She seemed dazed, and when I told her to lie down on the sofa she obeyed me without a word. After a while she closed her eyes and her breathing became regular and deep, but I could not determine whether or not she slept. For a long while I sat silently beside her, but she neither stirred nor spoke15, and at last I rose, and, entering the unused store-room, took the book in my least injured hand. It seemed heavy as lead, but I carried it into the studio again, and sitting down on the rug beside the sofa, opened it and read it through from beginning to end.
When, faint with excess of my emotions, I dropped the volume and leaned wearily back against the sofa, Tessie opened her eyes and looked at me....
We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous16 strain before I realized that we were discussing The King in Yellow. Oh the sin of writing such words,—words which are clear as crystal, limpid17 and musical as bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medicis! Oh the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with such words,—words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are more precious than jewels, more soothing18 than music, more awful than death!
We talked on, unmindful of the gathering19 shadows, and she was begging me to throw away the clasp of black onyx quaintly20 inlaid with what we now 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 confession21, I should be glad to know what it was that prevented 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 the hours dragged on, but still we murmured to each other of the King and the Pallid22 Mask, and midnight sounded from the misty23 spires24 in the fog-wrapped city. We spoke of Hastur and of Cassilda, while outside the fog rolled against the blank window-panes as the cloud waves roll and break on the shores of Hali.
The house was very silent now, and not a sound came up from the misty streets. Tessie lay among the cushions, her face a grey blot25 in the gloom, but her hands were clasped in mine, and I knew that she knew and read my thoughts as I read hers, for we had understood the mystery of the Hyades and the Phantom26 of Truth was laid. Then as we answered each other, swiftly, silently, thought on thought, the shadows stirred in the gloom about us, and far in the distant streets we heard a sound. Nearer and nearer it came, the dull crunching27 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-plumed hearse. 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 Yellow Sign. And now I heard him moving very softly along the hall. Now he was at the door, and the bolts rotted at his touch. Now he had entered. With eyes starting from my head I peered into the darkness, but when he came into the room I did not see him. It was only when I felt him envelope me in his cold soft grasp that I cried out and struggled with deadly fury, but my hands were useless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat and struck me full in the face. Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie's soft cry and her spirit fled: and even while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered28 mantle29 and there was only God to cry to now.
I could tell more, but I cannot see what help it 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 up his 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—they of the outside world who write books and print millions of newspapers, but I shall write no more, and the father confessor will seal my last words with the seal of sanctity when his holy office is done. They of the outside world may send their creatures into wrecked30 homes 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 dead and 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 shall tell them now; they do not know that the doctor said as he pointed31 to a horrible decomposed32 heap on the floor—the livid corpse33 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—
点击收听单词发音
1 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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2 sprained | |
v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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3 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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4 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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5 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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6 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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7 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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8 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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9 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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10 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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11 tormenting | |
使痛苦的,使苦恼的 | |
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12 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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13 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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14 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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15 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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16 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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17 limpid | |
adj.清澈的,透明的 | |
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18 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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19 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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20 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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21 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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22 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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23 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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24 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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25 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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26 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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27 crunching | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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28 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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29 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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30 wrecked | |
adj.失事的,遇难的 | |
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31 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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32 decomposed | |
已分解的,已腐烂的 | |
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33 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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