Unfamiliar
place names (Lephara, Susran, Poseidonis), 18th century diction, and
exotic natural resources (orichalchum, byssus, sable stone, samite) are strong
indicators that an author may have been influenced by the early work of Lord
Dunsany, in particular, his The Gods of
Pegāna (1905) and Time and the Gods (1906). This is certainly the case in Clark Ashton
Smith’s The Double Shadow (1933),
though the author handles the style much more effectively than some of his
contemporaries, such as H.P. Lovecraft.
Smith’s use of idiosyncratic names and archaic grammar never hinders the
flow of this nightmarish tale or detract from its impact—unlike the Dunsanian influenced
stories of Lovecraft and others.
Pharpetron
is the “last and most forward pupil” of a wizard named Avyctes, who awaits an
unspecified fate in the high towers of a fabulous mansion by the North Sea. Smith’s description of this edifice recalls
that of H.P Lovecraft’s The Strange High
House in the Mist (1931), although the tone of Smith’s story is much darker
and less ethereal. Avyctes, unlike his evil
and acquisitive mentor, has left the cities of Pseidonis for a more
contemplative life in the solitude of a sea side retreat. Pharpetron shares in his mystical practice,
and reveres his master’s seeming mastery of occult lore. But Avyctes is increasingly drawn to darker
subjects.
In
particular, Avyctes is determined to decipher the “mirror bright tablet of the
lost serpent people.” It is a triangle
shaped metallic volume that washes up on the nearby shore following a
storm. Translation of the weirdly carved
script proves arduous and time consuming for Avyctes and Pharpetron. They cast a spell that sends the ghost of a
dead man back in time to do reconnaissance on the serpent people—he returns
with information that allows the two to translate the text.
The
book contains instructions for the evocation of some unnamed entity, and ominously,
no procedure for dismissing it once conjured.
Avyctes’ hubris drives him to try the evocation despite his Pharpetron’s
misgivings and his futile attempts to caution the master. The two follow the directions, but without any
immediate result. Nothing observable
happens, and the wizard and his apprentice are lulled into a sense of
security. For a time, they return to
their ordinary routine of occult studies.
Later,
Pharpetron is the first to notice a weird, undulating shadow that follows his
and Avyctes’ shadows as they walk the grounds.
It seems to be getting closer to his mentor, and appears even when there
is no light source to produce it. Their magical
attempts to communicate with the snake-like shadow or to resist its presence
fail, and Avyctes becomes increasingly alarmed. For all their expertise in occult matters,
nothing they know will work against it. The strange shadow draws ever closer to
the wizard’s own, and is soon just a hair’s breath away…
Smith’s
story has the powerful coherency of a nightmare, and circles back to its beginning
in one long serpentine movement of dread.
Typical of his stories, a vividly imagined world is created full of
wonders and horrors that obey arcane rules—but
you have to know the rules. The
story is also a pleasure to read simply to enjoy the colorful language of the
text. The Double Shadow contains numerous well wrought and memorable
poetic lines. One of my favorites: “…I write this tale with a hasty hand,
scrawling an ink of wizard virtue on the grey, priceless, antique parchment of
dragons.”
It is interesting that the origin of the
serpent people’s book is the sea. The
ocean can often represent the unconscious with its dark unknown depths, while
serpents frequently symbolize evil or forbidden knowledge. In this sense, The Double Shadow seems a commentary on the psychological consequences
of discovering—or remembering—dangerous, soul-shattering knowledge.
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