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object:1f.lovecraft - Polaris
author class:H P Lovecraft
subject class:Fiction
genre class:Horror
class:chapter


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 Olatho, 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 Olatho, 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
warriors 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 Olatho that lies
betwixt the peaks of Noton and Kadiphonek.
But as I stood in the towers 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 revolvd, 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 oer
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 Olatho; 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.
Return to Polaris


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1f.lovecraft - Polaris
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