Excerpt
Love Instigated.
It was a daisy bit of Ivory.
It was a curious piece of Workmanship.
It was carved and carved again with Conventional Lines, which formed a Female Head of East-Indian Unexceptionableness.
It seemed to Smile and to Beckon, and then to Scowl repellantly—a Living Mockery!
It was Hateful—Oh, so Hateful!—the sight Of so conventional a Thing.
And yet there had been such a Longing to touch It and to Hold It in the Hand!
But See the Sequel.
It was not an Idol of India.
It was the Carved Ivory Handle of a Tanned Gingham Umbrella, of very Plebeian American Manufacture.
It stood in a Hand-painted China Receptacle in The long quiet Hall, in the House of a Friend. It was there when I Dined with him the Night After Christmas.
It Gleamed at me with a Sinister Gleam of its Dexter Eye!
And it seemed to Smile and to Beckon at me out of the Soft, Voluptuous Environment of The "Inner·Sisterhood," of which it was a Fellow.
And when we were seated at the Glittering Table, beautiful with Crystal and Silver—
And Lemonade and Cake—
An Esthetic Banquet—
It Chanced, by Merest Accident, that I was Given a seat opposite The Portiered Archway which led into
The Long Quiet Hall,
With its Wine-Colored Wealth of Turkish-Bath Toweling thrown back.
And as we Sat Beneath the Iridescent Glow Of the Keely-Motor
Electric Lamp, which
Glistened and Shimmered Its Stained-Glass Iridescence on all about it, and gave its hue to The Invigorating Beverage, we heeded not the Elemental war waging upon the Queen Anne Exterior of the Hospitable Mansion of my Friend.
And when we were left to our Coffee and our Pipes, we talked of Daggers, and Epitaphs, and Tombs!
And as he told me in a Mysterious Whisper the Story of the Malay Dagger, "Guiltless of all Guile," the Vitreous Eye of that Quaintly Carved Odalisque—for such my fevered fancy Pictured it—was ever Glaring at me with its Sinister Glare!
And when our Ghostly Talk was Interrupted By the Entrance of other Guests, I Quaffed Another Crystal Goblet of My Friend's Brain-Maddening Concoction, and casting a long, lingering Look at the Persian Rug which hid the Graeco-Romanesque Architecture of the vaulted Ceiling, I passed from the Gothic Portals of this Esthetic Shrine into the outer darkness—beyond the glamour of the Seven Lamps of Architecture.
But,—Oh Fitful Fate!—as I passed though The Long, Quiet Hall and by the wine-colored Plush Corner from whose Voluptuous Shadow The Sinister-Eyed, Carved-Ivory-Handle Odalisque cast an Alluring, Appealing Look toward Me, and all Unconsciously, Unintentionally, and Unresistingly I Took it from its Hand-Painted China Receptacle, and closing the Heavy doors of Rolled, Cathedral Plate Glass After me, I Unfurled its Sun-Tanned Gingham Folds to the aforementioned warring elements. And as I Wended my Desolate Way to the Sainted Shrine of Pendennis, my Seething Brain Peopled the Valley of Unrest with Elfs, And Ravens and Brahman Gods, and the Dagger whose blood-stain belonged to a Venetian Duke....