In the tradition of Poe and Lovecraft, over two dozen finely wrought mind-bending tales of horror, terror, shock and hallucination by Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961). Below are my comments on a trio, including the title story, a cautionary yarn on the nature of memory and a dark fable featuring one of those Dionysian creatures who loves wine, women and physical pleasure and who roams the forests as it plays its panpipes - the Satyr.

THE END OF THE STORY
At one point in this short story our first-person chronicler reflects: “At sight of her, I trembled from head to foot with the violence of a strange emotion. I had heard of the sudden mad loves by which men are seized on beholding for the first time a certain face and form; but never before had I experienced a passion of such intensity, such all-consuming ardor, as the one I conceived immediately for this woman. Indeed, it seemed as if I had loved her for a long time, without knowing that it was she whom I loved, and without being able to identify the nature of my emotion or to orient the feeling in any manner.”

Is our young narrator in this tale beholding a manifestation of the Hindu goddess Rati or perhaps Tara or Avalokitevara or another female Buddhist deity? If so, then all would be well. However, this is France in the 17th century and prior to his ecstatic, sensual experience our young man was a guest of a Benedictine monetary wherein he read a forbidden manuscript propelling him on his quest that lead to this intense, sensual encounter in the first place. Therein lies the basis of his conflict – does his trust his heart or listen to the advice of the monastery’s abbot? His final reflection foreshadows his choice.

A NIGHT IN MALNEANT
A tale of remorse. Having caused his true love, the brokenhearted lady Mariel, to take her own life, our handsome, dashing young narrator flees from his home, wandering from city to city throughout the world in an attempt to banish any memory of Mariel. He comes upon the city of Malnéant, but mystery of mystery - everyone in this city has spent many years mourning the death of a beautiful woman by the name of Mariel and are currently preparing her burial. The young lover reflects, “Now I began to dread the city about me with a manifold fear: for apparently the whole business of the people in Malnéant consisted of preparations for the funeral of this lady Mariel. And it began to be obvious that I must walk the streets of the city all night because of these same preparations.”

I recall Jorge Luis Borges noting how our memory can be a great magician and deceiver - our first memory is of the event or happening itself but our second memory becomes a recollection of the first memory, the third memory a recollection of the second, ad infinitum, an infinite series of memories, each one in turn becoming the very clay, the source material for our next memory - repetition of bad memories as self-created prison. And this Clark Aston Smith tale compounds the mental prison – an entire city of men and women perpetually living through our very own bad memory, the entire city suffering our personal unending torture.

THE SATYR
A dark fable featuring husband Raoul drinking his wine that dulls his senses, while poet Olivier writes his verses and ballads about Raoul’s wife Adele and her golden eyes, feminine charms and her wine-dark tresses. On occasion, Adele will even take strolls with Olivier through the forest surrounding their chateau. But there reaches a point where between his drinking wine and hunting game Raoul observes how his wife appears to have grown younger and fairer, which, he realizes, can only happen if she is touched by the magic of love. Sidebar: through Raoul’s wine drinking, Olivier’s poetry and Adele’s awakened love, the spirit of Dionysius is present and accepted since it is contained within the walls of ‘civilized’ behavior.

One fine April day, with spring and greenery in the air, Olivier persuades Adele to venture further into the forest, a forest where legends abound about the wood being haunted by a primordial spirit even more ancient that Christ or Satan, a spirit filled with “panic, madness, demoniac possession or baleful, unreasoning passions.” Well, not only do Olivier and Adele take their forest stroll but a now suspicious Raoul takes up his rapier and sallies forth on his own not-so-casual forest stroll.

Let’s pause here to note how one ancient interpretation describes the Satyr as possessing the fearless and brutal instincts needed to defend itself in the wild forests without the aid of civilization as it lives its carefree life, playing music on its flute and having a deep connection with nature. Other interpretations, as in this Clark Ashton Smith tale, are not nearly so glowing, depicting the Satyr as a wine-crazed sex-fiend, a dark Dionysian force that should be avoided.

The tale’s events transpire until Raoul comes up Olivier and wife Adele embracing one another, naked and asleep. We read, “He was about to fling himself upon them and impale the two with a single thrust where they lay, when an unlooked-for and scarce conceivable thing occurred. With swiftness veritably supernatural, a brown hairy creature, a being that was not wholly man, not wholly animal, but some hellish mixture of both, sprang from amid the alder branches and snatched Adele from Olivier's embrace. Olivier and Raoul saw it only in one fleeting glimpse, and neither could have described it clearly afterwards. But the face was that which had leered upon the lovers from the foliage; and the shaggy' legs and body were those of a creature of antique legend. It disappeared as incredibly as it had come, bearing the woman in its arms; and her shrieks of terror were surmounted by the pealing of its mad, diabolical laughter.”

I noted the various interpretations of a Satyr’s nature to suggest that Clark Ashton Smith can be read on many levels, including our probing and questioning underlying cultural myths and attitudes contained in his imaginative tales and, indirectly, in our own society.