The Maker of Moons E-Book

Robert W. Chambers

• Herausgeber: Robert W. Chambers
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

The Maker of Moons is an 1896 short story collection by Robert W. Chambers which followed the publication of Chambers' most famous work, The King in Yellow (1895).It contained eight new stories, including the title story "The Maker of Moons", one of his weird tales, and several romantic Art Nouveau stories, concluding with two less distinguished weird tales. The latter were subsequently incorporated into the episodic novel In Search of the Unknown.The first three stories are linked by the theme of a dream wife who is named Ysonde, and they form a triptych. The weird nature of the first story has interesting echoes in the other two, which feature picturesque animal figures, such as a Red Ibis and a disagreeable porcupine. The story "In The Name of the Most High" is a war story set in the American Civil War. The next two stories are humorous romantic tales with a fishing theme and setting. Chambers' love of natural scenery illuminates most of the stories. The quality throughout is rather fine.

Leseprobe

The Maker of Moons

by

Robert W. Chambers

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The Maker of Moons

The Bridal Pair

The Case of Mr. Helmer

The Messenger

The Demoiselle D’Ys

Out of the Depths

A Pleasant Evening

The Purple Emperor

The Yellow Sign

The Maker of Moons

I am myself just as much evil as good, and my nation

is — And I say there is in fact no evil;

(Or if there is, I say it is just as important to you, to

the land, or to me, as anything else.)

Each is not for its own sake;

I say the whole earth, and all the stars in the sky are

for Religion’s sake.

I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough;

None has ever adored or worshipped half enough;

None has begun to think how divine he himself is, and

how certain the future is. — WALT WHITMAN

I have heard what the Talkers were talking — the talk

Of the beginning and the end;

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

Chapter I

Concerning Yue–Laou and the Xin I know nothing more than you shall know. I am miserably anxious to clear the matter up. Perhaps what I write may save the United Stares Government money and lives, perhaps it may arouse the scientific world to action; at any rate it will put an end to the terrible suspense of two people. Certainty is better than suspense.

If the Government dares to disregard this warning and refuses to send a thoroughly equipped expedition at once, the people of the State may take swift vengeance on the whole region and leave a blackened devastated waste where to-day forest and flowering meadow land border the lake in the Cardinal Woods.

You already know part of the story; the New York papers have been full of alleged details.

This much is true: Barris caught the “Shiner,” red handed, or rather yellow handed, for his pockets and boots and dirty fists were stuffed with lumps of gold. I say gold, advisedly. You may call it what you please. You also know how Barris was — but unless I begin at the beginning of my own experiences you will be none the wiser after all.

On the third of August of this present year I was standing in Tiffany’s, chatting with George Godfrey of the designing department. On the glass counter between us lay a coiled serpent, an exquisite specimen of chiselled gold.

“No,” replied Godfrey to my question, “it isn’t my work; I wish it was. Why, man, it’s a masterpiece!”

“Whose?” I asked . . . “Now I should be very glad to know also,” said Godfrey. “We bought it from an old jay who says he lives in the country somewhere about the Cardinal Woods. That’s near Starlit Lake, I believe —”

“Lake of the Stars?” I suggested.

“Some call it Starlit Lake — it’s all the same. Well, my rustic Reuben says that he represents the sculptor of this snake for all practical and business purposes. He got his price too. We hope he’ll bring us something more. We have sold this already to the Metropolitan Museum.”

I was leaning idly on the glass case, watching the keen eyes of the artist in precious metals as he stooped over the gold serpent.

“A masterpiece!” he muttered to himself fondling the glittering coil; “look at the texture! whew!” But I was not looking at the serpent. Something was moving — crawling out of Godfrey’s coat pocket — the pocket nearest to me — something soft and yellow with crab-like legs all covered with coarse yellow hair.