These letters provide a vast store of information on Howard’s travels and activities during these years, as well as his views on many subjects, and in them we see the development of the persona that would come increasingly to dominate Howard’s fiction and letters in the last part of his life, “The Texican” (a term used for Texans prior to statehood). Lovecraft, and later August Derleth, with whom Howard also began corresponding, strongly encouraged Howard’s growing interests in regional history and lore, as did E. Hoffmann Price, with whom Howard was already corresponding in 1930 and who was the only writer of the Weird Tales group to actually meet him in person. It is unfortunate that this persona did not have a chance to develop fully by the time of Howard’s death. The evidence of his letters suggests that he might have become a great western writer.
Even before Howard bought his own car in 1932, he and his parents had made many trips to various parts of Texas, to visit friends and relatives, and for his mother’s health, which was in serious decline. After he bought his car, he continued to travel with his parents, but made a few trips with his friends, such as Lindsey Tyson and Truett Vinson. His travels ranged from Fort Worth to the Rio Grande Valley, from the East Texas oil fields to New Mexico. His letters to Lovecraft contain a good deal of description and discussion of the geography and history of these places, and are highly entertaining in their own right, apart from being windows into Howard’s life.
In 1934, a new schoolteacher arrived in Cross Plains who was to become a major force in Bob Howard’s life. Bob had met Novalyne Price a little over a year previously, when introduced to her by their mutual friend Clyde Smith. Upon moving to Cross Plains, Novalyne made several attempts to call Bob, only to be told by his mother that he could not come to the phone, or was out of town. At last tiring of these excuses, she talked her cousin into giving her a ride to the Howard home, where she was greeted stand-offishly by his father but warmly by Bob. This was the beginning of a sometimes romantic, sometimes stormy relationship. For the first time, Bob had someone locally who shared his interests–and she was a woman! But his closeness to his mother, particularly his insistence upon attending to her in her illness, which Novalyne thought he should hire a nurse to do, rankled Novalyne, as did his refusal to attend social events. Marriage often entered their minds, and was even occasionally discussed–but the two never entertained the same feelings at the same time. When she would think she was in love, he would insist he needed his freedom. When he thought he was ready for love, she saw only the differences in their attitudes toward socializing. They were two headstrong, passionate, assertive personalities, which made for an interesting relationship, but one that was impossible to sustain. Their relationship became strained when Novalyne started dating others, including Howard’s friend Truett Vinson.
Through 1935 and 1936, Howard’s mother’s health was in rapid decline. More and more frequently Robert had to take her to sanitariums and hospitals, and even though Dr. Howard received a courtesy discount on services, the medical bills began to mount. Bob was faced with a dilemma: his need for money was more pressing than ever, but he had little time in which to write. Weird Tales owed him around $800, and payments were slow. Dr. Howard, his own meager savings exhausted, moved his practice to his home, so that patients came in and out all day and night. Father and son finally tried hiring women to nurse and keep house, further filling the house with people. Bob could find no time to be alone with his writing. This, and the despair he felt as his mother inexorably slid toward death, created enormous stress for the young writer. He resurrected an apparently longstanding plan not to outlive his mother.
This was no impulsive act. For years, he had told associates such as Clyde Smith that he would kill himself were it not that his mother needed him. Much of his poetry, most of it written during the 1920s and early 1930s, clearly and forcefully reflects his suicidal ideation. He was not at all enamored with life for its own sake, seeing it only as weary, gruelling toil at the behest of others, with scant chance of success and precious little freedom. A 1931 letter to Farnsworth Wright contains several statements of common Howard themes: “Like the average man, the tale of my life would merely be a dull narration of drab monotony and toil, a grinding struggle against poverty…. I’ll say one thing about an oil boom; it will teach a kid that life’s a pretty rotten thing about as quick as anything I can think of…. Life’s not worth living if somebody thinks he’s in authority over you…. I’mmerely one of a huge army, all of whom are bucking the line one way or another for meat for their bellies…. Every now and then one of us finds the going too hard and blows his brains out, but it’s all in the game, I reckon.”
His letters frequently express the feeling that he was a misfit in a cold and hostile world: “The older I grow the more I sense the senseless unfriendly attitude of the world at large.” In nearly all his fiction, the characters are misfits, outcasts, aliens in a world that is hostile to them. One wonders if the early childhood experience of being uprooted on a regular basis, as Dr. Howard gambled on one boom town after another–the Howards had at least eight different residences, scattered all over Texas, before Robert was nine years old–may have contributed to this feeling of being an outsider in an inhospitable land.
In some of his letters to Lovecraft he expressed another variation on this theme: the feeling that he was somehow born out of his proper time. He frequently bemoaned the fate that had him born too late to have participated in the taming of the frontier. “I only wish I had been born earlier–thirty years earlier, anyway. As it was I only caught the tag end of a robust era, when I was too young to realize its meaning. When I look down the vista of the years, with all the ‘improvements,’ ‘inventions’ and ‘progress’ that they hold, I am infinitely thankful that I am no younger. I could wish to be older, much older. Every man wants to live out his life’s span. But I hardly think life in this age is worth the effort of living. I’d like to round out my youth; and perhaps the natural vitality and animal exuberance of youth will carry me to middle age. But good God, to think of living the full three score years and ten!”
Howard also seems to have had an abhorrence of the idea of growing old and infirm. A month before his death he’d written to August Derleth: “Death to the old is inevitable, and yet somehow I often feel that it is a greater tragedy than death to the young. When a man dies young he misses much suffering, but the old have only life as a possession and somehow to me the tearing of a pitiful remnant from weak fingers is more tragic than the looting of a life in its full rich prime. I don’t want to live to be old. I want to die when my time comes, quickly and suddenly, in the full tide of my strength and health.”
For a young man, Howard seems to have had an exaggerated sense of growing old. When he was only twenty-four he wrote to Harold Preece, “I am haunted by the realization that my best days, mental and physical, lie behind me.” Novalyne Price recalls that during the time they were dating, in 1934–35, Bob often said that he was in his “sere and yellow leaf,” echoing a phrase from Macbeth: “I have lived long enough, my way of life / Is fal’n into the sere, the yellow leaf…”
Also in his May 1936 letter to Derleth, Howard mentioned that “I haven’t written a weird story for nearly a year, though I’ve been contemplating one dealing with Coronado’s expedition on the Staked Plains in 1541.” This suggests that Nekht Semerkeht may well have been the last story Howard started, and if so, it is of interest here, in that it dwells upon the idea of suicide. “The game is not worth the candle,” thinks the hero, de Guzman:
[Man] fondles his favorite delusion that he is guided wholly by reason, even when reason tells him it is better to die than to live. It is not the intellect he boasts that bids him live, but the blind, black, unreasoning beast-instinct.
This de Guzman knew and admitted. He did not try to deceive himself into believing that there was any intellectual reason why he should not give up the agonizing struggle, place the muzzle of a pistol to his head and quit an existence whose sav
or had long ago become less than its pain.
And in the end, it may be that stress played an important role in his decision to take his own life. His mother’s worsening illness had necessitated frequent absences from home, to take her to medical facilities in other parts of the state, and even when the Howards were home, Bob had little uninterrupted time, or peace, in which to write. He worried constantly about his mother. It may be that a complex array of forces coalesced to convince him of the futility of existence, and to impel him to take a long-contemplated course of action.
Howard planned for his death very carefully. He made arrangements with his agent, Otis Kline, for the handling of his stories in the event of his death. He carefully put together the manuscripts he had not yet submitted to Weird Tales or the Kline agency, with instructions on where they were to be sent. He borrowed a gun, a .380 Colt automatic, from a friend who was unaware of his plans. Dr. Howard may have hidden Bob’s own guns, aware of what he might be contemplating. He said that he had seen his son make preparations on earlier occasions when it appeared Mrs. Howard might die. He said that he was trying to keep an eye on his son, but that he did not expect him to act before his mother died.
Hester Howard sank into her final coma about the 8th of June, 1936. Bob asked Dr. J. W. Dill, who had come to be with Dr. Howard during his wife’s final illness, whether anyone had been known to live after being shot through the brain. Unaware of Bob’s plan, the doctor told him that such an injury meant certain death.
Dr. Howard related that Robert had disarmed him of his intentions the night before, assuming “an almost cheerful attitude”: “He came to me in the night, put his arm around me and said, buck up, you are equal to it, you will go through it all right.” He did not know, he said, that on the morning of the 11th, Robert asked the nurse attending Mrs. Howard if she thought his mother would ever regain consciousness, and that the nurse had told him she would not.
He then left the room, and was next seen leaving the house and getting into his car. The cook he and his father had hired said later that, looking through the kitchen window, she saw him raise his hands in prayer, though what looked to her like prayer may have been holding up the gun. She heard a shot, and saw Robert slump over the steering wheel. She screamed. Dr. Howard and Dr. Dill ran out to the car and carried Bob back into the house. Both were country doctors, and they knew that no one could live with the kind of injury Bob had sustained. He had shot himself above the right ear, the bullet emerging on the left side.
Robert Howard’s robust health allowed him to survive this terrible wound for almost eight hours. He died at about 4:00 in the afternoon, Thursday, June 11, 1936, without ever regaining consciousness. His mother died the following day, also without regaining consciousness. A double funeral was held on June 14, and the mother and son were transported to Brownwood for burial.
A four-line stanza was found and said to be the last thing Robert E. Howard wrote on his old Underwood:
All fled, all done
So lift me on the pyre.
The feast is over
And the lamps expire.
NOTES ON THE ORIGINAL HOWARD TEXTS
The texts for this edition were prepared by Rusty Burke, with the assistance of Lee Breakiron, Frank Coffman, David Gentzel, Paul Herman, Glenn Lord, Patrice Louinet, Saturnino Lucio, and the Cross Plains Public Library. The stories have been checked either against Howard’s original manuscripts and typescripts or the first published appearance if a manuscript or typescript was unavailable. Every effort has been made to present the work of Robert E. Howard as faithfully as possible.
Deviations from the original sources are detailed in these textual notes. In the following notes, page, line, and word numbers are given as follows: 11.20.2, indicating page 1, twentieth line, second word. Story titles, chapter numbers and titles, and breaks before and after chapter headings, titles, and illustrations are not counted; in poems, only text lines are counted. The page/line number will be followed by the reading in the original source, or a statement indicating the type of change made.
We have standardized chapter numbering, titling, and headings: Howard’s own practices varied, as did those of the publications in which these stories appeared. We have not noted those changes here.
The Shadow Kingdom
Text taken from Weird Tales, August 1929. 10.19.4: hall; 25.8.1: wounded.
The Ghost Kings
Text taken from Weird Tales, December 1938. No changes have been made for this edition.
The Curse of the Golden Skull
Text taken from Howard’s untitled carbon, provided by Glenn Lord. The title comes from a listing of Howard’s stories made by his agent after his death. The carbon runs four pages, while the agent’s list indicates the original was five pages. Some questionable readings were checked against a transcript prepared by Lord. 29.7.12: which; 29.13.1: Accolyte; 30.28.11: invokation; 30.32.8: trandscending; 31.5.11: highst; 32.13.7: “to” repeated.
Red Shadows
Text taken from Weird Tales, August 1928. 37.17.2: mephistophelean; 39.8.7: comma after “idly” 43.17.11: “hog-like” hyphenated at line break, similar constructions elsewhere in the story (e.g., “catlike”) not hyphenated; 45.8.14: rôle; 45.9.8: omits closing quotation marks; 45.12.14: omits closing quotation marks; 47.33.10: “is” not capitalized; 48.21.1: swaying; 57.12.1: “man-like” hyphenated at line break, similar constructions elsewhere in the story (e.g., “catlike”) not hyphenated.
The One Black Stain
Text taken from The Howard Collector, Spring 1962. 59.14.5: sombre; 59.30.3: sombrely; 60.34.3: sombre. The typescript from which The Howard Collector version was taken was not available; three other drafts of the poem exist and all three conform to the American spelling of “somber.” We have accordingly used this spelling. Otherwise the text is identical with that in The Howard Collector.
The Dark Man
Text taken from Weird Tales, December 1931. 64 footnote: period after “AUTHOR” 65.38.2: “wrist-strap” hyphenated at line break; 67.12.13: “wolf-skin” hyphenated at line break; 69.1.7: comma after “muttered” 69.24.5: “beast-like” hyphenated at line break; 79.14.7: drunken.
The Marching Song of Connacht
Text taken from Glenn Lord’s transcription of Howard’s typescript. No changes have been made for this edition.
Kings of the Night
Text taken from Weird Tales, November 1930. 91.9.12: Cæsar; 91.27.3: Cæsar; 91.31.5: Cæsar; 92.16.13: Cæsar; 93.10.11: stedfast; 97.38.13: “will-power” hyphenated at line break; 98.1.12: “lion-like” hypenated at line break; 107.26.15: “half-way” hyphenated at line break; 110.10.9-10: way possible; 111.21.3: “side-long” hyphenated at line break.
Recompense
Text taken from Weird Tales, November 1938. No changes have been made for this edition.
The Black Stone
Text taken from Weird Tales, November 1931. 122.26.3: “Midsummer’s Night” not capitalized here, though it is capitalized elsewhere in the story; 123.13.6: gleam (“glean” in Howard’s earlier draft of the story); 124.5.11: no comma after “and” 124.15.8: black-eddy (“back-eddy” in Howard’s earlier draft); 125.6.7: Goeffrey; 125.9.2: “mine” not capitalized; 126.24.7: aboriginies; 130.24.5: rythmically; 131.19.5: ecstacy.
The Song of a Mad Minstrel
Text taken from Weird Tales, February-March 1931. No changes have been made for this edition.
The Fightin’est Pair
Text taken from Action Stories, November 1931 (as Breed of Battle). 139.21.1: “low-down” hyphenated at line break; 140.11.1: “wharf-side” hyphenated at line break; 140.12.2: no closing quotation marks after “this” 140.28.13: “steel-trap” hyphenated at line break; 141.3.4: repeatedly; 141.6.3: no comma after “him” 142.2.8: water front; 143.19.9: yards; 143.28.14: period after “shape” 144.18.2: “lamp-post” hyphenated at line break; 146.18.6: comma after “said” 146.19.6: no closing quotation marks; 149.2.6: “green-tinted” hyphenated at line break
; 149.24.1: “shop-keepers” hyphenated at line break; 150.20.1: no comma after “low” 150.38.1: “death-grip” hyphenated at line break; 151.41.1: “square-shooter” hyphenated at line break; 152.15.7: open quotation marks before “But.”
The Grey God Passes
Text taken from Dark Mind, Dark Heart (Arkham House, 1962). 160.38.5: “and” not capitalized; 162.25.1: grisley; 162.37.14: ma; 164.30.8: Skalli; 173.10.2: gallaghlachs.
The Song of the Last Briton
Text taken from Howard’s typescript, provided by Glenn Lord. No changes have been made for this edition.
Worms of the Earth
Text taken from Weird Tales, November 1932. In a letter to H. P. Lovecraft, circa December 1932, Howard noted several errors in the magazine appearance of the story: “Concerning ‘Worms of the Earth’–I must have been unusually careless when I wrote that, considering the errors–such as ‘her’ for ‘his’, ‘him’ for ‘himself ’, ‘loathsome’ for ‘loathing’, etc. I’m at a loss to say why I spelled Eboracum as Ebbracum. I must investigate the matter. I know I saw it spelled that way, somewhere; it’s not likely I would make such a mistake entirely of my own volition, though I do frequently make errors. Somehow, in my mind, I have a vague idea that it’s connected in some way with the Gaelic ‘Ebroch’–York.” 185.8.3: Ebbracum; 188.15.6: him; 189.1.6: Ebbracum; 193.27.1: Ebbracum; 193.29.11: Ebbracum; 194.33.9: Ebbracum; 196.18.2: Ebbracum; 196.24.14: Ebbracum; 198.10.3: laugh; 198.19.7: her; 198.20.1: loathsome; 199.6.6: there is a dash rather than a hyphen in “night-things” 203.22.3: comma after ‘cast’ 205.40.1: Ebbracum; 210.10.1: Ebbracum’s; 210.13.6: Cæsar.