The King in Yellow

By Robert Chambers, Leslie S. Klinger, Eric J. Guignard and Nic Pizzolatto

Who dares to read The King in Yellow?

A man pursued by a church organist who wants his soul. An artist plagued by repeated sightings of a watchman who looks like a coffin worm. Ghosts, wayward cats, and scientific dabblings with dire consequences. Each of these ten tales is chilling in its own right, but taken together, they weave a wickedly eerie spell that is sure to enthrall.

United by vague references to a play with the same name, which never appears in the book—a play that "induces despair or madness in those who read it"—The King in Yellow is undoubtedly Robert W. Chambers' finest work. The book quickly gained an influence over generations of writers of "weird tales," long before there was even a name for them. H. P. Lovecraft greatly admired the book, hailing it as achieving "notable heights of cosmic fear."

Chambers' genius will take readers to the most horrifying place of all—their own imaginations.

This beautiful new reprint includes an introduction by creator and writer of True Detective, Nic Pizzalatto.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sourcebooks
• Release date: Aug 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781464213731

Robert Chambers

Robert W. Chambers was an American novelist and short story writer. His most famous, and perhaps most meritorious, effort is The King in Yellow, a collection of Art Nouveau short stories published in 1895. E. F. Bleiler described The King in Yellow as one of the most important works of American supernatural fiction. It was also strongly admired by H.P. Lovecraft and his circle, and has inspired many modern authors, including Karl Edward Wagner, Joseph S. Pulver, Lin Carter, James Blish, Nic Pizzolatto, Michael Cisco, Ann K. Schwader, Robert M. Price, Galad Elflandsson and Charles Stross.

Book preview

Series Volumes of

Haunted Library of Horror Classics:

The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux (2020)

The Beetle by Richard Marsh (2020)

Vathek by William Beckford (2020)

The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson (2020)

Of One Blood: or, The Hidden Self by Pauline Hopkins (2021)

The Parasite and Other Tales of Terror by Arthur Conan Doyle (2021)

The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers (2021)

Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by M. R. James (2021)

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole (2022)

The Old English Baron by Clara Reeve (2022)

The Mummy! by Jane Webb (2022)

Fantasmagoriana translated into English by Sarah Elizabeth Utterson (2022)

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (2022)

…and more forthcoming

First published in 1895 by F. Tennyson Neely, New York

Introduction © 2021 by Nic Pizzolatto

Additional supplemental material © 2021 by Eric J. Guignard and Leslie S. Klinger

Copyright © 2021 by Horror Writers Association

Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks

Cover design and illustration by Jeffrey Nguyen

Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

[phone]

sourcebooks.com

Originally published as The King in Yellow in 1895 in New York City, New York, United States of America, by F. Tennyson Neely.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Chambers, Robert W. (Robert William), author. |

Pizzolatto, Nic, writer of introduction.

Title: The king in yellow / Robert W Chambers ; with an introduction by Nic

Pizzolatto.

Description: Naperville, Illinois : Poisoned Pen Press, [2021] | Series:

Haunted library of horror classics | "Originally published as The King

in Yellow in 1895 in New York City, New York, United States of America,

by F. Tennyson Neely." | Includes bibliographical references.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020048797 | (trade paperback) | (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Paranormal fiction, American. | GSAFD: Horror fiction. |

Occult fiction.

Classification: LCC PS1284 .K56 2021 | DDC 813/.52--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048797

This edition of The King in Yellow is presented by the Horror Writers Association, a nonprofit organization of writers and publishing professionals around the world, dedicated to promoting dark literature and the interests of those who write it.

For more information on HWA, visit: horror.org.

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

The Repairer of Reputations

The Mask

In the Court of the Dragon

The Yellow Sign

The Demoiselle D’ys

The Prophets’ Paradise

The Street of the Four Winds

The Street of the First Shell

The Street of Our Lady of the Fields

Rue Barrée

About the Author, Robert W. Chambers

Suggested Discussion Questions for Classroom Use

Suggested Further Reading of Fiction

About the Series Editors

Back Cover

Introduction

AS the reader will shortly discern, I am no scholar of The King in Yellow. I read only two or three of its stories when I ran across the book as a teenager and never revisited, though a certain few sentences stayed with me, like a tune that won’t leave your head. Around two decades later I linked the notional King in Yellow to a killer and the savage cult that bred him in a Gothic police procedural I created, at a time when the idea of a story that caused insanity seemed like a proper metaphor both to a detective’s obsessive theory and the everyday world I was seeing all around.

The conceit of Chambers’s fictional play appears still more relevant today, among this landscape of cultural memes, narratives whose spread can be traced like pathogens, language going viral, fiction disguised as facts, and a news-entertainment complex whose defining purpose appears to be waging relentless psychological warfare on its own audience, almost entirely through stories. The America seen in The Repairer of Reputations looks nearly prescient, a society falling to chaos in the story’s background while most of the city is under the power of a grotesque extortionist whose physical appearance distorts the human as fully as his enterprise. Like the elusive play, the dwarf’s tools are words—lists, letters, genealogies, records of transgression.

Stories. Words.

The idea of magic words has always felt misunderstood to me. The magic is not the words themselves, or any particular word, because they are, after all, empty vessels. The magic is only ever using the right words in the exact right way. The secret knowledge lies in arranging, say, the twenty-six symbols of our English alphabet into a configuration which reliably produces an intended effect upon the audience, perhaps and even especially against that audience’s wishes—configurations most commonly categorized as a story, poem, lyric, or play. Then there’s no end to the capabilities of language and its power over human beings, its ability to engender the most overwhelming emotional states. Put words to music and the entire world can move.

As we’re all too aware since the world started living on our phones, stories can without much effort induce apoplectic rage or shattering fear. More difficult to accomplish, the same vehicle can also make us feel emptied and purged by a heartbreaking beauty that perhaps widens the scope of our perceptions, making the experience of consciousness fundamentally different afterward. Language can also absolutely drive a person insane. I intend no euphemism; I’m talking stark raving mad. A configuration of language can demonstrably trigger mental illness for individuals whose psychologies were stable prior, but unknowingly receptive to that sort of stimuli. Books of supposedly secret knowledge and magic have this sort of reputation, and in my experience it is earned.

Readers may be interested to know there are very real currents of the occult practiced by lodges in the Typhonian and Voudon traditions which view Hastur and the King in Yellow as actual entities, as they do Lovecraft’s Old Ones: nightmares that were channeled through artists and sensitives who were unaware their fictions represented the influence of actual para-terrestrial intelligences. Such occultists have spent the better part of the last century using ritual and ceremonial magic to ostensibly communicate with such entities and hold open the gateways for same. Transcriptions of communication from these entities constitute illuminated manuscripts to members of these lodges, many of whom believe that the Sign of Protection will shield them as the chthonic forces from a broken universe exert influence in our dimension. Speaking of mental illness.

Then again, the above has been taking place throughout the most brutally transformative, chaotic, and devastating century of our species. World Wars, mass killings, the advent of serial murderers and active shooters, to say nothing of technology as fantastical and horrifying as the atomic bomb or the internet…

I should get back to the topic at hand, which I think had something to do with stories as viral delivery devices that produce specific symptoms in an audience…

This book’s original effect on me had been entirely centered around the peculiar, haunted quality exuded by its omissions, the idea of the play. The lines Chambers provides from the imaginary work and the vague wisps of events therein resonate with the existential gravity of a particular horror—a very personal, human horror of the mind, where something essential is confirmed, that the world cannot in any way be apprehended, enlightenment is indistinguishable from derangement, and the joke is very much on you.

Reading now, I found these stories also offer a prose style whose techniques seem significantly ahead of their time, in their meta-textual conceits, their vision of the world and the dissonance that vision generates. The legacy of The King in Yellow in the horror genre is well-known, but Chambers’s careful prose, his willingness to disorient, and the strangeness of his imagination have surely had an influence among literary writers outside horror or fantasy. One might hear his echoes in the compelling dream-logic and almost oppressive dread in John Hawkes, Fleur Jaeggy, and others.

I’m aware that I’ve been speaking around the work in question, only grazing it edges, circling, looking to digression.

That feels appropriate, as much in the book suggests it isn’t meant to be viewed directly, rationally, but rather approached sideways, seen from the corner of the eye, because that is where its greatest effects lie, in suggestion and glimpse, in the nuanced madness that rises to its surfaces like a bubble in the blood.

Probably for those reasons, I’ve never found even the most imaginative and technically masterful visualizations of the King to possess any of the dread and dark power the figure attains through Chambers’s avoidance and implication (and invocation). Likewise, the few times I’ve sampled the fiction of other writers, which have grown around the present book, none could reproduce the original’s stir of almost vertiginous sensation, the fluttering edge of a transformative perception, always just outside the page’s periphery. That this book has proven so inspirational while resistant to emulation might be the strongest evidence of its enduring power.

A very human yearning exists in these stories, too, a longing that animates its characters and their experience of the world. The desire at work feels almost too nebulous and primal to be contained by definition, something like an instinct toward deliverance, however hazy its conception…

The same longing powers these few, obtuse lines, which may be among the most uncanny and evocative we have in our literature, an almost spiritual mystery in the weight they carry:

…for I cannot forget Carcosa, where black stars hang in the heavens; where the shadows of men’s thoughts lengthen in the afternoon…

And, oh, what thoughts. And still, what shadows?

Nic Pizzolatto

June 3, 2020

Los Angeles, California

Author’s Dedication

THE KING IN YELLOW

DEDICATED

TO

MY BROTHER ¹

"Along the shore the cloud waves break,

The twin suns sink behind the lake,

The shadows lengthen

In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,

And strange moons circle through the skies,

But stranger still is

Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

Where flap the tatters of the King,

Must die unheard in

Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead,

Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

Shall dry and die in

Lost Carcosa."

—Cassilda’s Song in The King in Yellow.

Act 1. Scene 2. ²

1 The successful New York City architect Walter Boughton Chambers (1866–1945).

2 The play is fictional. The name Carcosa came from Ambrose Bierce’s story An Inhabitant of Carcosa (1886).

The Repairer of Reputations

Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la nôtre… Voila toute la différence. ³

I.

TOWARD the end of the year 1920 the Government of the United States had practically completed the programme, adopted during the last months of President Winthrop’s administration. The country was apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff and Labour questions were settled. The war with Germany, incident on that country’s seizure of the Samoan Islands, had left no visible scars upon the republic, and the temporary occupation of Norfolk by the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over repeated naval victories, and the subsequent ridiculous plight of General Von Gartenlaube’s forces in the State of New Jersey. The Cuban and Hawaiian investments had paid one hundred per cent and the territory of Samoa was well worth its cost as a coaling station. The country was in a superb state of defence. Every coast city had been well supplied with land fortifications; the army under the parental eye of the General Staff, organized according to the Prussian system, had been increased to 300,000 men, with a territorial reserve of a million; and six magnificent squadrons of cruisers and battle-ships patrolled the six stations of the navigable seas, leaving a steam reserve amply fitted to control home waters. The gentlemen from the West had at last been constrained to acknowledge that a college for the training of diplomats was as necessary as law schools are for the training of barristers; consequently we were no longer represented abroad by incompetent patriots. The nation was prosperous; Chicago, for a moment paralyzed after a second great fire, had risen from its ruins, white and imperial, and more beautiful than the white city which had been built for its plaything in 1893. ⁴ Everywhere good architecture was replacing bad, and even in New York, a sudden craving for decency had swept away a great portion of the existing horrors. Streets had been widened, properly paved and lighted, trees had been planted, squares laid out, elevated structures demolished and underground roads built to replace them. The new government buildings and barracks were fine bits of architecture, and the long system of stone quays which completely surrounded the island had been turned into parks which proved a god-send to the population. The subsidizing of the state theatre and state opera brought its own reward. The United States National Academy of Design was much like European institutions of the same kind. Nobody envied the Secretary of Fine Arts, either his cabinet position or his portfolio. The Secretary of Forestry and Game Preservation had a much easier time, thanks to the new system of National Mounted Police. We had profited well by the latest treaties with France and England; the exclusion of foreign-born Jews as a measure of self-preservation, the settlement of the new independent negro state of Suanee, the checking of immigration, the new laws concerning naturalization, and the gradual centralization of power in the executive all contributed to national calm and prosperity. When the Government solved the Indian problem and squadrons of Indian cavalry scouts in native costume were substituted for the pitiable organizations tacked on to the tail of skeletonized regiments by a former Secretary of War, the nation drew a long sigh of relief. When, after the colossal Congress of Religions, bigotry and intolerance were laid in their graves and kindness and charity began to draw warring sects together, many thought the millennium had arrived, at least in the new world which after all is a world by itself. ⁵

But self-preservation is the first law, and the United States had to look on in helpless sorrow as Germany, Italy, Spain and Belgium writhed in the throes of Anarchy, while Russia, watching from the Caucasus, stooped and bound them one by one.

In the city of New York the summer of 1899 was signalized by the dismantling of the Elevated Railroads. The summer of 1900 will live in the memories of New York people for many a cycle; the Dodge Statue was removed in that year. ⁶ In the following winter began that agitation for the repeal of the laws prohibiting suicide which bore its final fruit in the month of April, 1920, when the first Government Lethal Chamber was opened on Washington Square.

I had walked down that day from Dr. Archer’s house on Madison Avenue, where I had been as a mere formality. Ever since that fall from my horse, four years before, I had been troubled at times with pains in the back of my head and neck, but now for months they had been absent, and the doctor sent me away that day saying there was nothing more to be cured in me. It was hardly worth his fee to be told that; I knew it myself. Still I did not grudge him the money. What I minded was the mistake which he made at first. When they picked me up from the pavement where I lay unconscious, and somebody had mercifully sent a bullet through my horse’s head, I was carried to Dr. Archer, and he, pronouncing my brain affected, placed me in his private asylum where I was obliged to endure treatment for insanity. At last he decided that I was well, and I, knowing that my mind had always been as sound as his, if not sounder, paid my tuition as he jokingly called it, and left. I told him, smiling, that I would get even with him for his mistake, and he laughed heartily, and asked me to call once in a while. I did so, hoping for a chance to even up accounts, but he gave me none, and I told him I would wait.

The fall from my horse had fortunately left no evil results; on the contrary it had changed my whole character for the better. From a lazy young man about town, I had become active, energetic, temperate, and above all—oh, above all else—ambitious. There was only one thing which troubled me, I laughed at my own uneasiness, and yet it troubled me.

During my convalescence I had bought and read for the first time, The King in Yellow. I remember after finishing the first act that it occurred to me that I had better stop. 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; ⁷ 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 ⁸ 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

Reviews for The King in Yellow

[Debra Monteith · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was led to this book because it was an inspiration for H.P. Lovecraft. I'm glad I read it. The stories cover more than one genre but are all interesting in their own way.

[meznir-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Chambers has a nice narrator's voice, but he is so busy explaining everything around the main characters that the scary stuff that happens sort of evaporates in the waterfall of words that he uses. That diminishes the horror effect of the King in Yellow and the Yellow Sign when used in the stories. Funny that the stories in which the King is merely referenced, worked better for me than the ones in which the actual presence of King, Play or Sign featured.

[trile1000 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first four stories (The Repairer of Reputations, The Mask, In the Court of the Dragon, The Yellow Sign) of this book are great horror pieces. I can see where Lovecraft gets inspiration from Chambers. The rest are not quite of the same nature and thusly, I did not enjoy them as much.

[kalessinastarno · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I don't know what to think. I liked most of the stories but there is no real 'whole' about this book. Some of the stories touch each other, but throwing all of these together seems rather random.

[pondlife_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I only read the first four stories, as I didn't find the other poems and stories particularly interesting.The first four stories: The Repairer Of Reputations, The Mask, In The Court Of The Dragon and The Yellow Sign all focus on the play "The King in Yellow". Anyone who reads the second act either goes insane or meets a grisly end.This book obviously inspired H.P Lovecraft, as it contains many of Lovecraft's themes such as cosmic horror, dangerous books, and insanity.

[cmbohn · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

A couple of good stories. I especially liked the creepy first book, but the rest were just s-so. I understand this is a classic of the horror genre, but I didn't enjoy it.

[stahl2ricco · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An uneven collection, starting out with tales of occult, then diving into stories of romance. The 4 stories revolving around Carcosa and the madness inducing play "The King in Yellow" are pretty creepy, a la Edgar Allen Poe. The romances? Not my cup of tea.