Ex Oblivione by H.P. Lovecraft
Ex Oblivione by H.P. Lovecraft 1920
When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to
drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall
ceaselessly upon one spot of their victims body, I loved the irradiate refuge of
sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life,
and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.
Once when the wind was soft and scented I heard the south calling, and sailed
endlessly and languorously under strange stars.
Once when the gentle rain fell I glided in a barge down a sunless stream under
the earth till I reached another world of purple twilight, iridescent arbours,
and undying roses.
And once I walked through a golden valley that led to shadowy groves and ruins,
and ended in a mighty wall green with antique vines, and pierced by a little
gate of bronze.
Many times I walked through that valley, and longer and longer would I pause in
the spectral half-light where the giant trees squirmed and twisted grotesquely,
and the grey ground stretched damply from trunk to trunk, some times disclosing
the mould-stained stones of buried temples. And alway the goal of my fancies was
the mighty vine-grown wall with the little gate of bronze therein.
After a while, as the days of waking became less and less bearable from their
greyness and sameness, I would often drift in opiate peace through the valley
and the shadowy groves, and wonder how I might seize them for my eternal
dwelling-place, so that I need no more crawl back to a dull world stript of
interest and new colours. And as I looked upon the little gate in the mighty
wall, I felt that beyond it lay a dream-country from which, once it was entered,
there would be no return.
So each night in sleep I strove to find the hidden latch of the gate in the
ivied antique wall, though it was exceedingly well hidden. And I would tell
myself that the realm beyond the wall was not more lasting merely, but more
lovely and radiant as well.
Then one night in the dream-city of Zakarion I found a yellowed papyrus filled
with the thoughts of dream-sages who dwelt of old in that city, and who were too
wise ever to be born in the waking world. Therein were written many things
concerning the world of dream, and among them was lore of a golden valley and a
sacred grove with temples, and a high wall pierced by a little bronze gate. When
I saw this lore, I knew that it touched on the scenes I had haunted, and I
therefore read long in the yellowed papyrus.
Some of the dream-sages wrote gorgeously of the wonders beyond the irrepassable
gate, but others told of horror and disappointment. I knew not which to believe,
yet longed more and more to cross for ever into the unknown land; for doubt and
secrecy are the lure of lures, and no new horror can be more terrible than the
daily torture of the commonplace. So when I learned of the drug which would
unlock the gate and drive me through, I resolved to take it when next I awaked.
Last night I swallowed the drug and floated dreamily into the golden valley and
the shadowy groves; and when I came this time to the antique wall, I saw that
the small gate of bronze was ajar. From beyond came a glow that weirdly lit the
giant twisted trees and the tops of the buried temples, and I drifted on
songfully, expectant of the glories of the land from whence I should never
return.
But as the gate swung wider and the sorcery of the drug and the dream pushed me
through, I knew that all sights and glories were at an end; for in that new
realm was neither land nor sea, but only the white void of unpeopled and
illimitable space. So, happier than I had ever dared hope to be, I dissolved
again into that native infinity of crystal oblivion from which the daemon Life
had called me for one brief and desolate hour.