object:1f.lovecraft - The White Ship
author class:H P Lovecraft
subject class:Fiction
genre class:Horror
class:chapter
I am Basil Elton, keeper of the North Point light that my father and
grandfather kept before me. Far from the shore stands the grey
lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the tide is
low, but unseen when the tide is high. Past that beacon for a century
have swept the majestic barques of the seven seas. In the days of my
grandfather there were many; in the days of my father not so many; and
now there are so few that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I
were the last man on our planet.
From far shores came those white-sailed argosies of old; from far
Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odours linger about
strange gardens and gay temples. The old captains of the sea came often
to my grandfather and told him of these things, which in turn he told
to my father, and my father told to me in the long autumn evenings when
the wind howled eerily from the East. And I have read more of these
things, and of many things besides, in the books men gave me when I was
young and filled with wonder.
But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is
the secret lore of ocean. Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth,
ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. All my days have I
watched it and listened to it, and I know it well. At first it told to
me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but with
the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things
more strange and more distant in space and in time. Sometimes at
twilight the grey vapours of the horizon have parted to grant me
glimpses of the ways beyond; and sometimes at night the deep waters of
the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of
the ways beneath. And these glimpses have been as often of the ways
that were and the ways that might be, as of the ways that are; for
ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the
memories and the dreams of Time.
Out of the South it was that the White Ship used to come when the moon
was full and high in the heavens. Out of the South it would glide very
smoothly and silently over the sea. And whether the sea was rough or
calm, and whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would always
glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange
tiers of oars moving rhythmically. One night I espied upon the deck a
man, bearded and robed, and he seemed to beckon me to embark for fair
unknown shores. Many times afterward I saw him under the full moon, and
ever did he beckon me.
Very brightly did the moon shine on the night I answered the call, and
I walked out over the waters to the White Ship on a bridge of
moonbeams. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in a soft
language I seemed to know well, and the hours were filled with soft
songs of the oarsmen as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden
with the glow of that full, mellow moon.
And when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I beheld the green shore
of far lands, bright and beautiful, and to me unknown. Up from the sea
rose lordly terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and shewing here and
there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. As we
drew nearer the green shore the bearded man told me of that land, the
Land of Zar, where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty that
come to men once and then are forgotten. And when I looked upon the
terraces again I saw that what he said was true, for among the sights
before me were many things I had once seen through the mists beyond the
horizon and in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. There too were forms
and fantasies more splendid than any I had ever known; the visions of
young poets who died in want before the world could learn of what they
had seen and dreamed. But we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows
of Zar, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to
his native shore.
As the White Ship sailed silently away from the templed terraces of
Zar, we beheld on the distant horizon ahead the spires of a mighty
city; and the bearded man said to me: This is Thalarion, the City of a
Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has
striven in vain to fathom. And I looked again, at closer range, and
saw that the city was greater than any city I had known or dreamed of
before. Into the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man
might behold their peaks; and far back beyond the horizon stretched the
grim, grey walls, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and
ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. I
yearned mightily to enter this fascinating yet repellent city, and
besought the bearded man to land me at the stone pier by the huge
carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying: Into
Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none
returned. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are no longer
men, and the streets are white with the unburied bones of those who
have looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the city. So the
White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, and followed for many
days a southward-flying bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out
of which it had appeared.
Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where
as far inland as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbours
beneath a meridian sun. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song
and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so
delicious that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the
scene. And the bearded man spoke no word, but watched me as we
approached the lily-lined shore. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the
flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled.
The wind grew stronger, and the air was filled with the lethal, charnel
odour of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. And as we
sailed madly away from that damnable coast the bearded man spoke at
last, saying: This is Xura, the Land of Pleasures Unattained.
So once more the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over warm
blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. Day after day and
night after night did we sail, and when the moon was full we would
listen to soft songs of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night
when we sailed away from my far native land. And it was by moonlight
that we anchored at last in the harbour of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded
by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the sea and meet in a
resplendent arch. This is the Land of Fancy, and we walked to the
verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams.
In the Land of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither
suffering nor death; and there I dwelt for many aeons. Green are the
groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical
the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and stately and gorgeous the
temples, castles, and cities of Sona-Nyl. Of that land there is no
bound, for beyond each vista of beauty rises another more beautiful.
Over the countryside and amidst the splendour of cities rove at will
the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and
unalloyed happiness. For the aeons that I dwelt there I wandered
blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing
clumps of bushes, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate
blossoms. I climbed gentle hills from whose summits I could see
entrancing panoramas of loveliness, with steepled towns nestling in
verdant valleys, and with the golden domes of gigantic cities
glittering on the infinitely distant horizon. And I viewed by moonlight
the sparkling sea, the crystal headlands, and the placid harbour
wherein lay anchored the White Ship.
It was against the full moon one night in the immemorial year of Tharp
that I saw outlined the beckoning form of the celestial bird, and felt
the first stirrings of unrest. Then I spoke with the bearded man, and
told him of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which no
man hath seen, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt pillars
of the West. It is the Land of Hope, and in it shine the perfect ideals
of all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. But the
bearded man said to me: Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say
Cathuria lies. In Sona-Nyl there is no pain nor death, but who can tell
what lies beyond the basalt pillars of the West? Natheless at the next
full moon I boarded the White Ship, and with the reluctant bearded man
left the happy harbour for untravelled seas.
And the bird of heaven flew before, and led us toward the basalt
pillars of the West, but this time the oarsmen sang no soft songs under
the full moon. In my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of
Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and would wonder what
new delights there awaited me. Cathuria, I would say to myself, is
the abode of gods and the land of unnumbered cities of gold. Its
forests are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of
Camorin, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. On the
green and flowery mountains of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble,
rich with carven and painted glories, and having in their courtyards
cool fountains of silver, where purl with ravishing music the scented
waters that come from the grotto-born river Narg. And the cities of
Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, and their pavements also are
of gold. In the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and
perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber. At night the streets
and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the
three-coloured shell of the tortoise, and here resound the soft notes
of the singer and the lutanist. And the houses of the cities of
Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the
waters of the sacred Narg. Of marble and porphyry are the houses, and
roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the sun and
enhances the splendour of the cities as blissful gods view them from
the distant peaks. Fairest of all is the palace of the great monarch
Dorieb, whom some say to be a demigod and others a god. High is the
palace of Dorieb, and many are the turrets of marble upon its walls. In
its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and here hang the trophies of
the ages. And the roof is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of ruby
and azure, and having such carven figures of gods and heroes that he
who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the living Olympus.
And the floor of the palace is of glass, under which flow the cunningly
lighted waters of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the
bounds of lovely Cathuria.
Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria, but ever would the bearded
man warn me to turn back to the happy shores of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl
is known of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria.
And on the thirty-first day that we followed the bird, we beheld the
basalt pillars of the West. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man
might peer beyond them or see their summitswhich indeed some say reach
even to the heavens. And the bearded man again implored me to turn
back, but I heeded him not; for from the mists beyond the basalt
pillars I fancied there came the notes of singer and lutanist; sweeter
than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl, and sounding mine own praises; the
praises of me, who had voyaged far under the full moon and dwelt in the
Land of Fancy.
So to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt
the basalt pillars of the West. And when the music ceased and the mist
lifted, we beheld not the Land of Cathuria, but a swift-rushing
resistless sea, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some
unknown goal. Soon to our ears came the distant thunder of falling
waters, and to our eyes appeared on the far horizon ahead the titanic
spray of a monstrous cataract, wherein the oceans of the world drop
down to abysmal nothingness. Then did the bearded man say to me with
tears on his cheek: We have rejected the beautiful Land of Sona-Nyl,
which we may never behold again. The gods are greater than men, and
they have conquered. And I closed my eyes before the crash that I knew
would come, shutting out the sight of the celestial bird which flapped
its mocking blue wings over the brink of the torrent.
Out of that crash came darkness, and I heard the shrieking of men and
of things which were not men. From the East tempestuous winds arose,
and chilled me as I crouched on the slab of damp stone which had risen
beneath my feet. Then as I heard another crash I opened my eyes and
beheld myself upon the platform of that lighthouse from whence I had
sailed so many aeons ago. In the darkness below there loomed the vast
blurred outlines of a vessel breaking up on the cruel rocks, and as I
glanced out over the waste I saw that the light had failed for the
first time since my grandfather had assumed its care.
And in the later watches of the night, when I went within the tower, I
saw on the wall a calendar which still remained as when I had left it
at the hour I sailed away. With the dawn I descended the tower and
looked for wreckage upon the rocks, but what I found was only this: a
strange dead bird whose hue was as of the azure sky, and a single
shattered spar, of a whiteness greater than that of the wave-tips or of
the mountain snow.
And thereafter the ocean told me its secrets no more; and though many
times since has the moon shone full and high in the heavens, the White
Ship from the South came never again.
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