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                                 THE



                               VAMPYRE;



                               A Tale.



                       By John William Polidori







                               LONDON



                 PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES



                           PATERNOSTER ROW





                                1819



              [Entered at Stationers' Hall, March 27, 1819]



           Gillet, Printer, Crown Court, Fleet Street, London.















                         EXTRACT OF A LETTER



                             FROM GENEVA.

                            ______________



"I breathe freely in the neighbourhood of this lake; the ground upon

which I tread has been subdued from the earliest ages; the principal

objects which immediately strike my eye, bring to my recollection

scenes, in which man acted the hero and was the chief object of

interest. Not to look back to earlier times of battles and sieges,

here is the bust of Rousseau--here is a house with an inscription

denoting that the Genevan philosopher first drew breath under its

roof. A little out of the town is Ferney, the residence of Voltaire;

where that wonderful, though certainly in many respects contemptible,

character, received, like the hermits of old, the visits of pilgrims,

not only from his own nation, but from the farthest boundaries of

Europe. Here too is Bonnet's abode, and, a few steps beyond, the house

of that astonishing woman Madame de Stael: perhaps the first of her

sex, who has really proved its often claimed equality with, the nobler

man. We have before had women who have written interesting novels and

poems, in which their tact at observing drawing-room characters has

availed them; but never since the days of Heloise have those faculties

which are peculiar to man, been developed as the possible inheritance

of woman. Though even here, as in the case of Heloise, our sex have

not been backward in alledging the existence of an Abeilard in the

person of M. Schlegel as the inspirer of her works. But to proceed:

upon the same side of the lake, Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, and

others mark, as it were, the stages for our progress; whilst upon the

other side there is one house, built by Diodati, the friend of Milton,

which has contained within its walls, for several months, that poet

whom we have so often read together, and who--if human passions remain

the same, and human feelings, like chords, on being swept by nature's

impulses shall vibrate as before--will be placed by posterity in the

first rank of our English Poets. You must have heard, or the Third

Canto of Childe Harold will have informed you, that Lord Byron resided

many months in this neighbourhood. I went with some friends a few days

ago, after having seen Ferney, to view this mansion. I trod the floors

with the same feelings of awe and respect as we did, together, those

of Shakespeare's dwelling at Stratford. I sat down in a chair of the

saloon, and satisfied myself that I was resting on what he had made

his constant seat. I found a servant there who had lived with him;

she, however, gave me but little information. She pointed out his

bed-chamber upon the same level as the saloon and dining-room, and

informed me that he retired to rest at three, got up at two, and

employed himself a long time over his toilette; that he never went to

sleep without a pair of pistols and a dagger by his side, and that he

never ate animal food. He apparently spent some part of every day upon

the lake in an English boat. There is a balcony from the saloon which

looks upon the lake and the mountain Jura; and I imagine, that it must

have been hence, he contemplated the storm so magnificently described

in the Third Canto; for you have from here a most extensive view of

all the points he has therein depicted. I can fancy him like the

scathed pine, whilst all around was sunk to repose, still waking to

observe, what gave but a weak image of the storms which had desolated

his own breast.



  The sky is changed!--and such a change; Oh, night!

  And storm and darkness, ye are wond'rous strong,

  Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

  Of a dark eye in woman! Far along

  From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,

  Leaps the lire thunder! Not from one lone cloud,

  But every mountain now hath found a tongue,

  And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud,

  Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!



  And this is in the night:--Most glorious night!

  Thou wer't not sent for slumber! let me be

  A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,--

  A portion of the tempest and of me!

  How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,

  And the big rain comet dancing to the earth!

  And now again 'tis black,--and now the glee

  Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,

  As if they did rejoice o'er a young; earthquake's birth,



  Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between

  Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted

  In haste, whose mining depths so intervene,

  That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted;

  Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted,

  Love was the very root of the fond rage

  Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed--

  Itself expired, but leaving; them an age

  Of years all winter--war within themselves to wage.



I went down to the little port, if I may use the expression, wherein

his vessel used to lay, and conversed with the cottager, who had the

care of it. You may smile, but I have my pleasure in thus helping my

personification of the individual I admire, by attaining to the

knowledge of those circumstances which were daily around him. I have

made numerous enquiries in the town concerning him, but can learn

nothing. He only went into society there once, when M. Pictet took him

to the house of a lady to spend the evening. They say he is a very

singular man, and seem to think him very uncivil. Amongst other things

they relate, that having invited M. Pictet and Bonstetten to dinner,

he went on the lake to Chillon, leaving a gentleman who travelled with

him to receive them and make his apologies. Another evening, being

invited to the house of Lady D---- H----, he promised to attend,

but upon approaching the windows of her ladyship's villa, and

perceiving the room to be full of company, he set down his friend,

desiring him to plead his excuse, and immediately returned home. This

will serve as a contradiction to the report which you tell me is

current in England, of his having been avoided by his countrymen on

the continent. The case happens to be directly the reverse, as he has

been generally sought by them, though on most occasions, apparently

without success. It is said, indeed, that upon paying his first visit

at Coppet, following the servant who had announced his name, he was

surprised to meet a lady carried out fainting; but before he had been

seated many minutes, the same lady, who had been so affected at the

sound of his name, returned and conversed with him a considerable

time--such is female curiosity and affectation! He visited Coppet

frequently, and of course associated there with several of his

countrymen, who evinced no reluctance to meet him whom his enemies

alone would represent as an outcast.



Though I have been so unsuccessful in this town, I have been more

fortunate in my enquiries elsewhere. There is a society three or four

miles from Geneva, the centre of which is the Countess of Breuss, a

Russian lady, well acquainted with the agrémens de la Société, and who

has collected them round herself at her mansion. It was chiefly here,

I find, that the gentleman who travelled with Lord Byron, as

physician, sought for society. He used almost every day to cross the

lake by himself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, and return after

passing the evening with his friends, about eleven or twelve at night,

often whilst the storms were raging in the circling summits of the

mountains around. As he became intimate, from long acquaintance, with

several of the families in this neighbourhood, I have gathered from

their accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's character,

which I will relate to you at some future opportunity. I must,

however, free him from one imputation attached to him--of having in

his house two sisters as the partakers of his revels. This is, like

many other charges which have been brought against his lordship,

entirely destitute of truth. His only companion was the physician I

have already mentioned. The report originated from the following

circumstance: Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelly, a gentleman well known for

extravagance of doctrine, and for his daring, in their profession,

even to sign himself with the title of ATHeos in the Album at

Chamouny, having taken a house below, in which he resided with Miss M.

W. Godwin and Miss Clermont, (the daughters of the celebrated Mr.

Godwin) they were frequently visitors at Diodati, and were often seen

upon the lake with his Lordship, which gave rise to the report, the

truth of which is here positively denied.



Among other things which the lady, from whom I procured these

anecdotes, related to me, she mentioned the outline of a ghost story

by Lord Byron. It appears that one evening Lord B., Mr. P. B. Shelly,

the two ladies and the gentleman before alluded to, after having

perused a German work, which was entitled Phantasmagoriana, began

relating ghost stories; when his lordship having recited the beginning

of Christabel, then unpublished, the whole took so strong a hold of

Mr. Shelly's mind, that he suddenly started up and ran out of the

room. The physician and Lord Byron followed, and discovered him

leaning against a mantle-piece, with cold drops of perspiration

trickling down his face. After having given him something to refresh

him, upon enquiring into the cause of his alarm, they found that his

wild imagination having pictured to him the bosom of one of the ladies

with eyes (which was reported of a lady in the neighbourhood where he

lived) he was obliged to leave the room in order to destroy the

impression. It was afterwards proposed, in the course of conversation,

that each of the company present should write a tale depending upon

some supernatural agency, which was undertaken by Lord B., the

physician, and Miss M. W. Godwin.[1] My friend, the lady above

referred to, had in her possession the outline of each of these

stories; I obtained them as a great favour, and herewith forward them

to you, as I was assured you would feel as much curiosity as myself,

to peruse the ebauches of so great a genius, and those immediately

under his influence."







[1] Since published under the title of "Frankenstein; or, The Modern

Prometheus."









                             THE VAMPYRE.

  ________________________________________________________________



                            INTRODUCTION.

                              __________



THE superstition upon which this tale is founded is very general in

the East. Among the Arabians it appears to be common: it did not,

however, extend itself to the Greeks until after the establishment of

Christianity; and it has only assumed its present form since the

division of the Latin and Greek churches; at which time, the idea

becoming prevalent, that a Latin body could not corrupt if buried in

their territory, it gradually increased, and formed the subject of

many wonderful stories, still extant, of the dead rising from their

graves, and feeding upon the blood of the young and beautiful. In the

West it spread, with some slight variation, all over Hungary, Poland,

Austria, and Lorraine, where the belief existed, that vampyres nightly

imbibed a certain portion of the blood of their victims, who became

emaciated, lost their strength, and speedily died of consumptions;

whilst these human blood-suckers fattened--and their veins became

distended to such a state of repletion, as to cause the blood to flow

from all the passages of their bodies, and even from the very pores of

their skins.



In the London Journal, of March, 1732, is a curious, and, of course,

credible account of a particular case of vampyrism, which is stated to

have occurred at Madreyga, in Hungary. It appears, that upon an

examination of the commander-in-chief and magistrates of the place,

they positively and unanimously affirmed, that, about five years

before, a certain Heyduke, named Arnold Paul, had been heard to say,

that, at Cassovia, on the frontiers of the Turkish Servia, he had been

tormented by a vampyre, but had found a way to rid himself of the

evil, by eating some of the earth out of the vampyre's grave, and

rubbing himself with his blood. This precaution, however, did not

prevent him from becoming a vampyre[2] himself; for, about twenty or

thirty days after his death and burial, many persons complained of

having been tormented by him, and a deposition was made, that four

persons had been deprived of life by his attacks. To prevent further

mischief, the inhabitants having consulted their Hadagni,[3] took up

the body, and found it (as is supposed to be usual in cases of

vampyrism) fresh, and entirely free from corruption, and emitting at

the mouth, nose, and ears, pure and florid blood. Proof having been

thus obtained, they resorted to the accustomed remedy. A stake was

driven entirely through the heart and body of Arnold Paul, at which he

is reported to have cried out as dreadfully as if he had been alive.

This done, they cut off his head, burned his body, and threw the ashes

into his grave. The same measures were adopted with the corses of

those persons who had previously died from vampyrism, lest they

should, in their turn, become agents upon others who survived them.







[2] The universal belief is, that a person sucked by a vampyre becomes a

vampyre himself, and sucks in his turn.



[3] Chief bailiff.







This monstrous rodomontade is here related, because it seems better

adapted to illustrate the subject of the present observations than any

other instance which could be adduced. In many parts of Greece it is

considered as a sort of punishment after death, for some heinous crime

committed whilst in existence, that the deceased is not only doomed to

vampyrise, but compelled to confine his infernal visitations solely to

those beings he loved most while upon earth--those to whom he was bound

by ties of kindred and affection.--A supposition alluded to in the

"Giaour."



  But first on earth, as Vampyre sent,

  Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent;

  Then ghastly haunt the native place,

  And suck the blood of all thy race;

  There from thy daughter, sister, wife,

  At midnight drain the stream of life;

  Yet loathe the banquet which perforce

  Must feed thy livid living corse,

  Thy victims, ere they yet expire,

  Shall know the demon for their sire;

  As cursing thee, thou cursing them,

  Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

  But one that for thy crime must fall,

  The youngest, best beloved of all,

  Shall bless thee with a father's name--

  That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!

  Yet thou must end thy task and mark

  Her cheek's last tinge--her eye's last spark,

  And the last glassy glance must view

  Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;

  Then with unhallowed hand shall tear

  The tresses of her yellow hair,

  Of which, in life a lock when shorn

  Affection's fondest pledge was worn--

  But now is borne away by thee

  Memorial of thine agony!

  Yet with thine own best blood shall drip;

  Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip;

  Then stalking to thy sullen grave,

  Go--and with Gouls and Afrits rave,

  Till these in horror shrink away

  From spectre more accursed than they.



Mr. Southey has also introduced in his wild but beautiful poem of

"Thalaba," the vampyre corse of the Arabian maid Oneiza, who is

represented as having returned from the grave for the purpose of

tormenting him she best loved whilst in existence. But this cannot be

supposed to have resulted from the sinfulness of her life, she being

pourtrayed throughout the whole of the tale as a complete type of

purity and innocence. The veracious Tournefort gives a long account in

his travels of several astonishing cases of vampyrism, to which he

pretends to have been an eyewitness; and Calmet, in his great work

upon this subject, besides a variety of anecdotes, and traditionary

narratives illustrative of its effects, has put forth some learned

dissertations, tending to prove it to be a classical, as well as

barbarian error.



Many curious and interesting notices on this singularly horrible

superstition might be added; though the present may suffice for the

limits of a note, necessarily devoted to explanation, and which may

now be concluded by merely remarking, that though the term Vampyre is

the one in most general acceptation, there are several others

synonymous with it, made use of in various parts of the world: as

Vroucolocha, Vardoulacha, Goul, Broucoloka, &c.





  ________________________________________________________________



                             THE VAMPYRE.

                              __________



IT happened that in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon a

London winter, there appeared at the various parties of the leaders of

the ton a nobleman, more remarkable for his singularities, than his

rank. He gazed upon the mirth around him, as if he could not

participate therein. Apparently, the light laughter of the fair only

attracted his attention, that he might by a look quell it, and throw

fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness reigned. Those who felt

this sensation of awe, could not explain whence it arose: some

attributed it to the dead grey eye, which, fixing upon the object's

face, did not seem to penetrate, and at one glance to pierce through

to the inward workings of the heart; but fell upon the cheek with a

leaden ray that weighed upon the skin it could not pass. His

peculiarities caused him to be invited to every house; all wished to

see him, and those who had been accustomed to violent excitement, and

now felt the weight of ennui, were pleased at having something in

their presence capable of engaging their attention. In spite of the

deadly hue of his face, which never gained a warmer tint, either from

the blush of modesty, or from the strong emotion of passion, though

its form and outline were beautiful, many of the female hunters after

notoriety attempted to win his attentions, and gain, at least, some

marks of what they might term affection: Lady Mercer, who had been the

mockery of every monster shewn in drawing-rooms since her marriage,

threw herself in his way, and did all but put on the dress of a

mountebank, to attract his notice:--though in vain:--when she

stood before him, though his eyes were apparently fixed upon her's,

still it seemed as if they were unperceived;--even her unappalled

impudence was baffled, and she left the field. But though the common

adultress could not influence even the guidance of his eyes, it was

not that the female sex was indifferent to him: yet such was the

apparent caution with which he spoke to the virtuous wife and innocent

daughter, that few knew he ever addressed himself to females. He had,

however, the reputation of a winning tongue; and whether it was that

it even overcame the dread of his singular character, or that they

were moved by his apparent hatred of vice, he was as often among those

females who form the boast of their sex from their domestic virtues,

as among those who sully it by their vices.



About the same time, there came to London a young gentleman of the

name of Aubrey: he was an orphan left with an only sister in the

possession of great wealth, by parents who died while he was yet in

childhood. Left also to himself by guardians, who thought it their

duty merely to take care of his fortune, while they relinquished the

more important charge of his mind to the care of mercenary subalterns,

he cultivated more his imagination than his judgment. He had, hence,

that high romantic feeling of honour and candour, which daily ruins so

many milliners' apprentices. He believed all to sympathise with

virtue, and thought that vice was thrown in by Providence merely for

the picturesque effect of the scene, as we see in romances: he thought

that the misery of a cottage merely consisted in the vesting of

clothes, which were as warm, but which were better adapted to the

painter's eye by their irregular folds and various coloured patches.

He thought, in fine, that the dreams of poets were the realities of

life. He was handsome, frank, and rich: for these reasons, upon his

entering into the gay circles, many mothers surrounded him, striving

which should describe with least truth their languishing or romping

favourites: the daughters at the same time, by their brightening

countenances when he approached, and by their sparkling eyes, when he

opened his lips, soon led him into false notions of his talents and

his merit. Attached as he was to the romance of his solitary hours,

he was startled at finding, that, except in the tallow and wax candles

that flickered, not from the presence of a ghost, but from want of

snuffing, there was no foundation in real life for any of that

congeries of pleasing pictures and descriptions contained in those

volumes, from which he had formed his study. Finding, however, some

compensation in his gratified vanity, he was about to relinquish his

dreams, when the extraordinary being we have above described, crossed

him in his career.



He watched him; and the very impossibility of forming an idea of the

character of a man entirely absorbed in himself, who gave few other

signs of his observation of external objects, than the tacit assent to

their existence, implied by the avoidance of their contact: allowing

his imagination to picture every thing that flattered its propensity

to extravagant ideas, he soon formed this object into the hero of a

romance, and determined to observe the offspring of his fancy, rather

than the person before him. He became acquainted with him, paid him

attentions, and so far advanced upon his notice, that his presence was

always recognised. He gradually learnt that Lord Ruthven's affairs

were embarrassed, and soon found, from the notes of preparation in

---- Street, that he was about to travel. Desirous of gaining some

information respecting this singular character, who, till now, had

only whetted his curiosity, he hinted to his guardians, that it was

time for him to perform the tour, which for many generations has been

thought necessary to enable the young to take some rapid steps in the

career of vice towards putting themselves upon an equality with the

aged, and not allowing them to appear as if fallen from the skies,

whenever scandalous intrigues are mentioned as the subjects of

pleasantry or of praise, according to the degree of skill shewn in

carrying them on. They consented: and Aubrey immediately mentioning

his intentions to Lord Ruthven, was surprised to receive from him a

proposal to join him. Flattered by such a mark of esteem from him,

who, apparently, had nothing in common with other men, he gladly

accepted it, and in a few days they had passed the circling waters.



Hitherto, Aubrey had had no opportunity of studying Lord Ruthven's

character, and now he found, that, though many more of his actions

were exposed to his view, the results offered different conclusions

from the apparent motives to his conduct. His companion was profuse

in his liberality;--the idle, the vagabond, and the beggar, received

from his hand more than enough to relieve their immediate wants. But

Aubrey could not avoid remarking, that it was not upon the virtuous,

reduced to indigence by the misfortunes attendant even upon virtue,

that he bestowed his alms;--these were sent from the door with

hardly suppressed sneers; but when the profligate came to ask

something, not to relieve his wants, but to allow him to wallow in his

lust, or to sink him still deeper in his iniquity, he was sent away

with rich charity. This was, however, attributed by him to the greater

importunity of the vicious, which generally prevails over the retiring

bashfulness of the virtuous indigent. There was one circumstance about

the charity of his Lordship, which was still more impressed upon his

mind: all those upon whom it was bestowed, inevitably found that there

was a curse upon it, for they were all either led to the scaffold, or

sunk to the lowest and the most abject misery. At Brussels and other

towns through which they passed, Aubrey was surprized at the apparent

eagerness with which his companion sought for the centres of all

fashionable vice; there he entered into all the spirit of the faro

table: he betted, and always gambled with success, except where the

known sharper was his antagonist, and then he lost even more than he

gained; but it was always with the same unchanging face, with which he

generally watched the society around: it was not, however, so when he

encountered the rash youthful novice, or the luckless father of a

numerous family; then his very wish seemed fortune's law--this

apparent abstractedness of mind was laid aside, and his eyes sparkled

with more fire than that of the cat whilst dallying with the

half-dead mouse. In every town, he left the formerly affluent youth,

torn from the circle he adorned, cursing, in the solitude of a

dungeon, the fate that had drawn him within the reach of this fiend;

whilst many a father sat frantic, amidst the speaking looks of mute

hungry children, without a single farthing of his late immense wealth,

wherewith to buy even sufficient to satisfy their present craving. Yet

he took no money from the gambling table; but immediately lost, to the

ruiner of many, the last gilder he had just snatched from the

convulsive grasp of the innocent: this might but be the result of a

certain degree of knowledge, which was not, however, capable of

combating the cunning of the more experienced. Aubrey often wished to

represent this to his friend, and beg him to resign that charity and

pleasure which proved the ruin of all, and did not tend to his own

profit;--but he delayed it--for each day he hoped his friend would

give him some opportunity of speaking frankly and openly to him;

however, this never occurred. Lord Ruthven in his carriage, and amidst

the various wild and rich scenes of nature, was always the same: his

eye spoke less than his lip; and though Aubrey was near the object of

his curiosity, he obtained no greater gratification from it than the

constant excitement of vainly wishing to break that mystery, which to

his exalted imagination began to assume the appearance of something

supernatural.



They soon arrived at Rome, and Aubrey for a time lost sight of his

companion; he left him in daily attendance upon the morning circle of

an Italian countess, whilst he went in search of the memorials of

another almost deserted city. Whilst he was thus engaged, letters

arrived from England, which he opened with eager impatience; the first

was from his sister, breathing nothing but affection; the others were

from his guardians, the latter astonished him; if it had before

entered into his imagination that there was an evil power resident in

his companion, these seemed to give him sufficient reason for the

belief. His guardians insisted upon his immediately leaving his

friend, and urged, that his character was dreadfully vicious, for that

the possession of irresistible powers of seduction, rendered his

licentious habits more dangerous to society. It had been discovered,

that his contempt for the adultress had not originated in hatred of

her character; but that he had required, to enhance his gratification,

that his victim, the partner of his guilt, should be hurled from the

pinnacle of unsullied virtue, down to the lowest abyss of infamy and

degradation: in fine, that all those females whom he had sought,

apparently on account of their virtue, had, since his departure,

thrown even the mask aside, and had not scrupled to expose the whole

deformity of their vices to the public gaze.



Aubrey determined upon leaving one, whose character had not yet shown

a single bright point on which to rest the eye. He resolved to invent

some plausible pretext for abandoning him altogether, purposing, in

the mean while, to watch him more closely, and to let no slight

circumstances pass by unnoticed. He entered into the same circle, and

soon perceived, that his Lordship was endeavouring to work upon the

inexperience of the daughter of the lady whose house he chiefly

frequented. In Italy, it is seldom that an unmarried female is met

with in society; he was therefore obliged to carry on his plans in

secret; but Aubrey's eye followed him in all his windings, and soon

discovered that an assignation had been appointed, which would most

likely end in the ruin of an innocent, though thoughtless girl. Losing

no time, he entered the apartment of Lord Ruthven, and abruptly asked

him his intentions with respect to the lady, informing him at the same

time that he was aware of his being about to meet her that very night.

Lord Ruthven answered, that his intentions were such as he supposed

all would have upon such an occasion; and upon being pressed whether

he intended to marry her, merely laughed. Aubrey retired; and,

immediately writing a note, to say, that from that moment he must

decline accompanying his Lordship in the remainder of their proposed

tour, he ordered his servant to seek other apartments, and calling

upon the mother of the lady, informed her of all he knew, not only

with regard to her daughter, but also concerning the character of his

Lordship. The assignation was prevented. Lord Ruthven next day merely

sent his servant to notify his complete assent to a separation; but

did not hint any suspicion of his plans having been foiled by Aubrey's

interposition.



Having left Rome, Aubrey directed his steps towards Greece, and

crossing the Peninsula, soon found himself at Athens. He then fixed

his residence in the house of a Greek; and soon occupied himself in

tracing the faded records of ancient glory upon monuments that

apparently, ashamed of chronicling the deeds of freemen only before

slaves, had hidden themselves beneath the sheltering soil or many

coloured lichen. Under the same roof as himself, existed a being, so

beautiful and delicate, that she might have formed the model for a

painter wishing to pourtray on canvass the promised hope of the

faithful in Mahomet's paradise, save that her eyes spoke too much mind

for any one to think she could belong to those who had no souls. As

she danced upon the plain, or tripped along the mountain's side, one

would have thought the gazelle a poor type of her beauties; for who

would have exchanged her eye, apparently the eye of animated nature,

for that sleepy luxurious look of the animal suited but to the taste

of an epicure. The light step of Ianthe often accompanied Aubrey in

his search after antiquities, and often would the unconscious girl,

engaged in the pursuit of a Kashmere butterfly, show the whole beauty

of her form, floating as it were upon the wind, to the eager gaze of

him, who forgot the letters he had just decyphered upon an almost

effaced tablet, in the contemplation of her sylph-like figure. Often

would her tresses falling, as she flitted around, exhibit in the sun's

ray such delicately brilliant and swiftly fading hues, it might well

excuse the forgetfulness of the antiquary, who let escape from his

mind the very object he had before thought of vital importance to the

proper interpretation of a passage in Pausanias. But why attempt to

describe charms which all feel, but none can appreciate?--It was

innocence, youth, and beauty, unaffected by crowded drawing-rooms and

stifling balls. Whilst he drew those remains of which he wished to

preserve a memorial for his future hours, she would stand by, and

watch the magic effects of his pencil, in tracing the scenes of her

native place; she would then describe to him the circling dance upon

the open plain, would paint, to him in all the glowing colours of

youthful memory, the marriage pomp she remembered viewing in her

infancy; and then, turning to subjects that had evidently made a

greater impression upon her mind, would tell him all the supernatural

tales of her nurse. Her earnestness and apparent belief of what she

narrated, excited the interest even of Aubrey; and often as she told

him the tale of the living vampyre, who had passed years amidst his

friends, and dearest ties, forced every year, by feeding upon the life

of a lovely female to prolong his existence for the ensuing months,

his blood would run cold, whilst he attempted to laugh her out of such

idle and horrible fantasies; but Ianthe cited to him the names of old

men, who had at last detected one living among themselves, after

several of their near relatives and children had been found marked

with the stamp of the fiend's appetite; and when she found him so

incredulous, she begged of him to believe her, for it had been,

remarked, that those who had dared to question their existence, always

had some proof given, which obliged them, with grief and

heartbreaking, to confess it was true. She detailed to him the

traditional appearance of these monsters, and his horror was

increased, by hearing a pretty accurate description of Lord Ruthven;

he, however, still persisted in persuading her, that there could be no

truth in her fears, though at the same time he wondered at the many

coincidences which had all tended to excite a belief in the

supernatural power of Lord Ruthven.



Aubrey began to attach himself more and more to Ianthe; her innocence,

so contrasted with all the affected virtues of the women among whom he

had sought for his vision of romance, won his heart; and while he

ridiculed the idea of a young man of English habits, marrying an

uneducated Greek girl, still he found himself more and more attached

to the almost fairy form before him. He would tear himself at times

from her, and, forming a plan for some antiquarian research, he would

depart, determined not to return until his object was attained; but he

always found it impossible to fix his attention upon the ruins around

him, whilst in his mind he retained an image that seemed alone the

rightful possessor of his thoughts. Ianthe was unconscious of his

love, and was ever the same frank infantile being he had first known.

She always seemed to part from him with reluctance; but it was because

she had no longer any one with whom she could visit her favourite

haunts, whilst her guardian was occupied in sketching or uncovering

some fragment which had yet escaped the destructive hand of time. She

had appealed to her parents on the subject of Vampyres, and they both,

with several present, affirmed their existence, pale with horror at

the very name. Soon after, Aubrey determined to proceed upon one of

his excursions, which was to detain him for a few hours; when they

heard the name of the place, they all at once begged of him not to

return at night, as he must necessarily pass through a wood, where no

Greek would ever remain, after the day had closed, upon any

consideration. They described it as the resort of the vampyres in

their nocturnal orgies, and denounced the most heavy evils as

impending upon him who dared to cross their path. Aubrey made light of

their representations, and tried to laugh them out of the idea; but

when he saw them shudder at his daring thus to mock a superior,

infernal power, the very name of which apparently made their blood

freeze, he was silent.



Next morning Aubrey set off upon his excursion unattended; he was

surprised to observe the melancholy face of his host, and was

concerned to find that his words, mocking the belief of those horrible

fiends, had inspired them with such terror. When he was about to

depart, Ianthe came to the side of his horse, and earnestly begged of

him to return, ere night allowed the power of these beings to be put

in action;--he promised. He was, however, so occupied in his

research, that he did not perceive that day-light would soon end, and

that in the horizon there was one of those specks which, in the warmer

climates, so rapidly gather into a tremendous mass, and pour all their

rage upon the devoted country.--He at last, however, mounted his

horse, determined to make up by speed for his delay: but it was too

late. Twilight, in these southern climates, is almost unknown;

immediately the sun sets, night begins: and ere he had advanced far,

the power of the storm was above--its echoing thunders had scarcely

an interval of rest--its thick heavy rain forced its way through the

canopying foliage, whilst the blue forked lightning seemed to fall and

radiate at his very feet. Suddenly his horse took fright, and he was

carried with dreadful rapidity through the entangled forest. The

animal at last, through fatigue, stopped, and he found, by the glare

of lightning, that he was in the neighbourhood of a hovel that hardly

lifted itself up from the masses of dead leaves and brushwood which

surrounded it. Dismounting, he approached, hoping to find some one to

guide him to the town, or at least trusting to obtain shelter from the

pelting of the storm. As he approached, the thunders, for a moment

silent, allowed him to hear the dreadful shrieks of a woman mingling

with the stifled, exultant mockery of a laugh, continued in one almost

unbroken sound;--he was startled: but, roused by the thunder which

again rolled over his head, he, with a sudden effort, forced open the

door of the hut. He found himself in utter darkness: the sound,

however, guided him. He was apparently unperceived; for, though he

called, still the sounds continued, and no notice was taken of him. He

found himself in contact with some one, whom he immediately seized;

when a voice cried, "Again baffled!" to which a loud laugh succeeded;

and he felt himself grappled by one whose strength seemed superhuman:

determined to sell his life as dearly as he could, he struggled; but

it was in vain: he was lifted from his feet and hurled with enormous

force against the ground:--his enemy threw himself upon him, and

kneeling upon his breast, had placed his hands upon his throat--when

the glare of many torches penetrating through the hole that gave

light in the day, disturbed him;--he instantly rose, and, leaving his

prey, rushed through the door, and in a moment the crashing of the

branches, as he broke through the wood, was no longer heard. The storm

was now still; and Aubrey, incapable of moving, was soon heard by

those without. They entered; the light of their torches fell upon the

mud walls, and the thatch loaded on every individual straw with heavy

flakes of soot. At the desire of Aubrey they searched for her who had

attracted him by her cries; he was again left in darkness; but what

was his horror, when the light of the torches once more burst upon

him, to perceive the airy form of his fair conductress brought in a

lifeless corse. He shut his eyes, hoping that it was but a vision

arising from his disturbed imagination; but he again saw the same

form, when he unclosed them, stretched by his side. There was no

colour upon her cheek, not even upon her lip; yet there was a

stillness about her face that seemed almost as attaching as the life

that once dwelt there:--upon her neck and breast was blood, and upon

her throat were the marks of teeth having opened the vein:--to this

the men pointed, crying, simultaneously struck with horror, "A

Vampyre! a Vampyre!" A litter was quickly formed, and Aubrey was laid

by the side of her who had lately been to him the object of so many

bright and fairy visions, now fallen with the flower of life that had

died within her. He knew not what his thoughts were--his mind was

benumbed and seemed to shun reflection, and take refuge in

vacancy--he held almost unconsciously in his hand a naked dagger of a

particular construction, which had been found in the hut. They were

soon met by different parties who had been engaged in the search of

her whom a mother had missed. Their lamentable cries, as they

approached the city, forewarned the parents of some dreadful

catastrophe. --To describe their grief would be impossible; but when

they ascertained the cause of their child's death, they looked at

Aubrey, and pointed to the corse. They were inconsolable; both died

broken-hearted.



Aubrey being put to bed was seized with a most violent fever, and was

often delirious; in these intervals he would call upon Lord Ruthven

and upon Ianthe--by some unaccountable combination he seemed to beg

of his former companion to spare the being he loved. At other times he

would imprecate maledictions upon his head, and curse him as her

destroyer. Lord Ruthven, chanced at this time to arrive at Athens,

and, from whatever motive, upon hearing of the state of Aubrey,

immediately placed himself in the same house, and became his constant

attendant. When the latter recovered from his delirium, he was

horrified and startled at the sight of him whose image he had now

combined with that of a Vampyre; but Lord Ruthven, by his kind words,

implying almost repentance for the fault that had caused their

separation, and still more by the attention, anxiety, and care which

he showed, soon reconciled him to his presence. His lordship seemed

quite changed; he no longer appeared that apathetic being who had so

astonished Aubrey; but as soon as his convalescence began to be rapid,

he again gradually retired into the same state of mind, and Aubrey

perceived no difference from the former man, except that at times he

was surprised to meet his gaze fixed intently upon him, with a smile

of malicious exultation playing upon his lips: he knew not why, but

this smile haunted him. During the last stage of the invalid's

recovery, Lord Ruthven was apparently engaged in watching the tideless

waves raised by the cooling breeze, or in marking the progress of

those orbs, circling, like our world, the moveless sun;--indeed, he

appeared to wish to avoid the eyes of all.



Aubrey's mind, by this shock, was much weakened, and that elasticity

of spirit which had once so distinguished him now seemed to have fled

for ever. He was now as much a lover of solitude and silence as Lord

Ruthven; but much as he wished for solitude, his mind could not find

it in the neighbourhood of Athens; if he sought it amidst the ruins he

had formerly frequented, Ianthe's form stood by his side--if he

sought it in the woods, her light step would appear wandering amidst

the underwood, in quest of the modest violet; then suddenly turning

round, would show, to his wild imagination, her pale face and wounded

throat, with a meek smile upon her lips. He determined to fly scenes,

every feature of which created such bitter associations in his mind.

He proposed to Lord Ruthven, to whom he held himself bound by the

tender care he had taken of him during his illness, that they should

visit those parts of Greece neither had yet seen. They travelled in

every direction, and sought every spot to which a recollection could

be attached: but though they thus hastened from place to place, yet

they seemed not to heed what they gazed upon. They heard much of

robbers, but they gradually began to slight these reports, which they

imagined were only the invention of individuals, whose interest it was

to excite the generosity of those whom they defended from pretended

dangers. In consequence of thus neglecting the advice of the

inhabitants, on one occasion they travelled with only a few guards,

more to serve as guides than as a defence. Upon entering, however, a

narrow defile, at the bottom of which was the bed of a torrent, with

large masses of rock brought down from the neighbouring precipices,

they had reason to repent their negligence; for scarcely were the

whole of the party engaged in the narrow pass, when they were startled

by the whistling of bullets close to their heads, and by the echoed

report of several guns. In an instant their guards had left them, and,

placing themselves behind rocks, had begun to fire in the direction

whence the report came. Lord Ruthven and Aubrey, imitating their

example, retired for a moment behind the sheltering turn of the

defile: but ashamed of being thus detained by a foe, who with

insulting shouts bade them advance, and being exposed to unresisting

slaughter, if any of the robbers should climb above and take them in

the rear, they determined at once to rush forward in search of the

enemy. Hardly had they lost the shelter of the rock, when Lord Ruthven

received a shot in the shoulder, which brought him to the ground.

Aubrey hastened to his assistance; and, no longer heeding the contest

or his own peril, was soon surprised by seeing the robbers' faces

around him--his guards having, upon Lord Ruthven's being wounded,

immediately thrown up their arms and surrendered.



By promises of great reward, Aubrey soon induced them to convey his

wounded friend to a neighbouring cabin; and having agreed upon a

ransom, he was no more disturbed by their presence--they being

content merely to guard the entrance till their comrade should return

with the promised sum, for which he had an order. Lord Ruthven's

strength rapidly decreased; in two days mortification ensued, and

death seemed advancing with hasty steps. His conduct and appearance

had not changed; he seemed as unconscious of pain as he had been of

the objects about him: but towards the close of the last evening, his

mind became apparently uneasy, and his eye often fixed upon Aubrey,

who was induced to offer his assistance with more than usual

earnestness--"Assist me! you may save me--you may do more than

that--I mean not my life, I heed the death of my existence as little

as that of the passing day; but you may save my honour, your friend's

honour."--"How? tell me how? I would do any thing," replied Aubrey.--"I

need but little--my life ebbs apace--I cannot explain the

whole--but if you would conceal all you know of me, my honour were

free from stain in the world's mouth--and if my death were unknown

for some time in England--I--I--but life."--"It shall not be

known."--"Swear!" cried the dying man, raising himself with exultant

violence, "Swear by all your soul reveres, by all your nature fears,

swear that, for a year and a day you will not impart your knowledge of

my crimes or death to any living being in any way, whatever may

happen, or whatever you may see. "--His eyes seemed bursting from

their sockets: "I swear!" said Aubrey; he sunk laughing upon his

pillow, and breathed no more.



Aubrey retired to rest, but did not sleep; the many circumstances

attending his acquaintance with this man rose upon his mind, and he

knew not why; when he remembered his oath a cold shivering came over

him, as if from the presentiment of something horrible awaiting him.

Rising early in the morning, he was about to enter the hovel in which

he had left the corpse, when a robber met him, and informed him that

it was no longer there, having been conveyed by himself and comrades,

upon his retiring, to the pinnacle of a neighbouring mount, according

to a promise they had given his lordship, that it should be exposed to

the first cold ray of the moon that rose after his death. Aubrey

astonished, and taking several of the men, determined to go and bury

it upon the spot where it lay. But, when he had mounted to the summit

he found no trace of either the corpse or the clothes, though the

robbers swore they pointed out the identical rock on which they had

laid the body. For a time his mind was bewildered in conjectures, but

he at last returned, convinced that they had buried the corpse for the

sake of the clothes.



Weary of a country in which he had met with such terrible misfortunes,

and in which all apparently conspired to heighten that superstitious

melancholy that had seized upon his mind, he resolved to leave it, and

soon arrived at Smyrna. While waiting for a vessel to convey him to

Otranto, or to Naples, he occupied himself in arranging those effects

he had with him belonging to Lord Ruthven. Amongst other things there

was a case containing several weapons of offence, more or less adapted

to ensure the death of the victim. There were several daggers and

ataghans. Whilst turning them over, and examining their curious forms,

what was his surprise at finding a sheath apparently ornamented in the

same style as the dagger discovered in the fatal hut--he

shuddered--hastening to gain further proof, he found the weapon, and

his horror may be imagined when he discovered that it fitted, though

peculiarly shaped, the sheath he held in his hand. His eyes seemed to

need no further certainty--they seemed gazing to be bound to the

dagger; yet still he wished to disbelieve; but the particular form,

the same varying tints upon the haft and sheath were alike in

splendour on both, and left no room for doubt; there were also drops

of blood on each.



He left Smyrna, and on his way home, at Rome, his first inquiries were

concerning the lady he had attempted to snatch from Lord Ruthven's

seductive arts. Her parents were in distress, their fortune ruined,

and she had not been heard of since the departure of his lordship.

Aubrey's mind became almost broken under so many repeated horrors; he

was afraid that this lady had fallen a victim to the destroyer of

Ianthe. He became morose and silent; and his only occupation consisted

in urging the speed of the postilions, as if he were going to save the

life of some one he held dear. He arrived at Calais; a breeze, which

seemed obedient to his will, soon wafted him to the English shores;

and he hastened to the mansion of his fathers, and there, for a

moment, appeared to lose, in the embraces and caresses of his sister,

all memory of the past. If she before, by her infantine caresses, had

gained his affection, now that the woman began to appear, she was

still more attaching as a companion.



Miss Aubrey had not that winning grace which gains the gaze and

applause of the drawing-room assemblies. There was none of that light

brilliancy which only exists in the heated atmosphere of a crowded

apartment. Her blue eye was never lit up by the levity of the mind

beneath. There was a melancholy charm about it which did not seem to

arise from misfortune, but from some feeling within, that appeared to

indicate a soul conscious of a brighter realm. Her step was not that

light footing, which strays where'er a butterfly or a colour may

attract--it was sedate and pensive. When alone, her face was never

brightened by the smile of joy; but when her brother breathed to her

his affection, and would in her presence forget those griefs she knew

destroyed his rest, who would have exchanged her smile for that of the

voluptuary? It seemed as if those eyes,--that face were then playing

in the light of their own native sphere. She was yet only eighteen,

and had not been presented to the world, it having been thought by her

guardians more fit that her presentation should be delayed until her

brother's return from the continent, when he might be her protector.

It was now, therefore, resolved that the next drawing-room, which was

fast approaching, should be the epoch of her entry into the "busy

scene." Aubrey would rather have remained in the mansion of his

fathers, and fed upon the melancholy which overpowered him. He could

not feel interest about the frivolities of fashionable strangers, when

his mind had been so torn by the events he had witnessed; but he

determined to sacrifice his own comfort to the protection of his

sister. They soon arrived in town, and prepared for the next day,

which had been announced as a drawing-room.



The crowd was excessive--a drawing-room had not been held for a long

time, and all who were anxious to bask in the smile of royalty,

hastened thither. Aubrey was there with his sister. While he was

standing in a corner by himself, heedless of all around him, engaged

in the remembrance that the first time he had seen Lord Ruthven was in

that very place--he felt himself suddenly seized by the arm, and a

voice he recognized too well, sounded in his ear--"Remember your

oath." He had hardly courage to turn, fearful of seeing a spectre

that would blast him, when he perceived, at a little distance, the

same figure which had attracted his notice on this spot upon his first

entry into society. He gazed till his limbs almost refusing to bear

their weight, he was obliged to take the arm of a friend, and forcing

a passage through the crowd, he threw himself into his carriage, and

was driven home. He paced the room with hurried steps, and fixed his

hands upon his head, as if he were afraid his thoughts were bursting

from his brain. Lord Ruthven again before him--circumstances started

up in dreadful array--the dagger--his oath.--He roused himself, he

could not believe it possible--the dead rise again!--He thought his

imagination had conjured up the image his mind was resting upon. It

was impossible that it could be real--he determined, therefore, to

go again into society; for though he attempted to ask concerning Lord

Ruthven, the name hung upon his lips, and he could not succeed in

gaining information. He went a few nights after with his sister to the

assembly of a near relation. Leaving her under the protection of a

matron, he retired into a recess, and there gave himself up to his own

devouring thoughts. Perceiving, at last, that many were leaving, he

roused himself, and entering another room, found his sister surrounded

by several, apparently in earnest conversation; he attempted to pass

and get near her, when one, whom he requested to move, turned round,

and revealed to him those features he most abhorred. He sprang

forward, seized his sister's arm, and, with hurried step, forced her

towards the street: at the door he found himself impeded by the crowd

of servants who were waiting for their lords; and while he was engaged

in passing them, he again heard that voice whisper close to

him--"Remember your oath!"--He did not dare to turn, but, hurrying his

sister, soon reached home.



Aubrey became almost distracted. If before his mind had been absorbed

by one subject, how much more completely was it engrossed, now that

the certainty of the monster's living again pressed upon his thoughts.

His sister's attentions were now unheeded, and it was in vain that she

intreated him to explain to her what had caused his abrupt conduct. He

only uttered a few words, and those terrified her. The more he

thought, the more he was bewildered. His oath startled him;--was he

then to allow this monster to roam, bearing ruin upon his breath,

amidst all he held dear, and not avert its progress? His very sister

might have been touched by him. But even if he were to break his oath,

and disclose his suspicions, who would believe him? He thought of

employing his own hand to free the world from such a wretch; but

death, he remembered, had been already mocked. For days he remained in

this state; shut up in his room, he saw no one, and ate only when his

sister came, who, with eyes streaming with tears, besought him, for

her sake, to support nature. At last, no longer capable of bearing

stillness and solitude, he left his house, roamed from street to

street, anxious to fly that image which haunted him. His dress became

neglected, and he wandered, as often exposed to the noon-day sun as to

the midnight damps. He was no longer to be recognized; at first he

returned with the evening to the house; but at last he laid him down

to rest wherever fatigue overtook him. His sister, anxious for his

safety, employed people to follow him; but they were soon distanced by

him who fled from a pursuer swifter than any--from thought. His

conduct, however, suddenly changed. Struck with the idea that he left

by his absence the whole of his friends, with a fiend amongst them, of

whose presence they were unconscious, he determined to enter again

into society, and watch him closely, anxious to forewarn, in spite of

his oath, all whom Lord Ruthven approached with intimacy. But when he

entered into a room, his haggard and suspicious looks were so

striking, his inward shudderings so visible, that his sister was at

last obliged to beg of him to abstain from seeking, for her sake, a

society which affected him so strongly. When, however, remonstrance

proved unavailing, the guardians thought proper to interpose, and,

fearing that his mind was becoming alienated, they thought it high

time to resume again that trust which had been before imposed upon

them by Aubrey's parents.



Desirous of saving him from the injuries and sufferings he had daily

encountered in his wanderings, and of preventing him from exposing to

the general eye those marks of what they considered folly, they

engaged a physician to reside in the house, and take constant care of

him. He hardly appeared to notice it, so completely was his mind

absorbed by one terrible subject. His incoherence became at last so

great, that he was confined to his chamber. There he would often lie

for days, incapable of being roused. He had become emaciated, his eyes

had attained a glassy lustre;--the only sign of affection and

recollection remaining displayed itself upon the entry of his sister;

then he would sometimes start, and, seizing her hands, with looks that

severely afflicted her, he would desire her not to touch him. "Oh, do

not touch him--if your love for me is aught, do not go near him!"

When, however, she inquired to whom he referred, his only answer was,

"True! true!" and again he sank into a state, whence not even she could

rouse him. This lasted many months: gradually, however, as the year

was passing, his incoherences became less frequent, and his mind threw

off a portion of its gloom, whilst his guardians observed, that

several times in the day he would count upon his fingers a definite

number, and then smile.



The time had nearly elapsed, when, upon the last day of the year, one

of his guardians entering his room, began to converse with his

physician upon the melancholy circumstance of Aubrey's being in so

awful a situation, when his sister was going next day to be married.

Instantly Aubrey's attention was attracted; he asked anxiously to

whom. Glad of this mark of returning intellect, of which they feared

he had been deprived, they mentioned the name of the Earl of Marsden.

Thinking this was a young Earl whom he had met with in society, Aubrey

seemed pleased, and astonished them still more by his expressing his

intention to be present at the nuptials, and desiring to see his

sister. They answered not, but in a few minutes his sister was with

him. He was apparently again capable of being affected by the

influence of her lovely smile; for he pressed her to his breast, and

kissed her cheek, wet with tears, flowing at the thought of her

brother's being once more alive to the feelings of affection. He began

to speak with all his wonted warmth, and to congratulate her upon her

marriage with a person so distinguished for rank and every

accomplishment; when he suddenly perceived a locket upon her breast;

opening it, what was his surprise at beholding the features of the

monster who had so long influenced his life. He seized the portrait in

a paroxysm of rage, and trampled it under foot. Upon her asking him

why he thus destroyed the resemblance of her future husband, he looked

as if he did not understand her--then seizing her hands, and gazing

on her with a frantic expression of countenance, he bade her swear

that she would never wed this monster, for he----  But he could not

advance--it seemed as if that voice again bade him remember his

oath--he turned suddenly round, thinking Lord Ruthven was near him

but saw no one. In the meantime the guardians and physician, who had

heard the whole, and thought this was but a return of his disorder,

entered, and forcing him from Miss Aubrey, desired her to leave him.

He fell upon his knees to them, he implored, he begged of them to

delay but for one day. They, attributing this to the insanity they

imagined had taken possession of his mind, endeavoured to pacify him,

and retired.



Lord Ruthven had called the morning after the drawing-room, and had

been refused with every one else. When he heard of Aubrey's ill

health, he readily understood himself to be the cause of it; but when

he learned that he was deemed insane, his exultation and pleasure

could hardly be concealed from those among whom he had gained this

information. He hastened to the house of his former companion, and, by

constant attendance, and the pretence of great affection for the

brother and interest in his fate, he gradually won the ear of Miss

Aubrey. Who could resist his power? His tongue had dangers and toils

to recount--could speak of himself as of an individual having no

sympathy with any being on the crowded earth, save with her to whom he

addressed himself;--could tell how, since he knew her, his existence,

had begun to seem worthy of preservation, if it were merely that he

might listen to her soothing accents;--in fine, he knew so well how to

use the serpent's art, or such was the will of fate, that he gained

her affections. The title of the elder branch falling at length to

him, he obtained an important embassy, which served as an excuse for

hastening the marriage, (in spite of her brother's deranged state,)

which was to take place the very day before his departure for the

continent.



Aubrey, when he was left by the physician and his guardians, attempted

to bribe the servants, but in vain. He asked for pen and paper; it was

given him; he wrote a letter to his sister, conjuring her, as she

valued her own happiness, her own honour, and the honour of those now

in the grave, who once held her in their arms as their hope and the

hope of their house, to delay but for a few hours that marriage, on

which he denounced the most heavy curses. The servants promised they

would deliver it; but giving it to the physician, he thought it better

not to harass any more the mind of Miss Aubrey by, what he considered,

the ravings of a maniac. Night passed on without rest to the busy

inmates of the house; and Aubrey heard, with a horror that may more

easily be conceived than described, the notes of busy preparation.

Morning came, and the sound of carriages broke upon his ear. Aubrey

grew almost frantic. The curiosity of the servants at last overcame

their vigilance, they gradually stole away, leaving him in the custody

of an helpless old woman. He seized the opportunity, with one bound

was out of the room, and in a moment found himself in the apartment

where all were nearly assembled. Lord Ruthven was the first to

perceive him: he immediately approached, and, taking his arm by

force, hurried him from the room, speechless with rage. When on the

staircase, Lord Ruthven whispered in his ear--"Remember your oath,

and know, if not my bride to day, your sister is dishonoured. Women

are frail!" So saying, he pushed him towards his attendants, who,

roused by the old woman, had come in search of him. Aubrey could no

longer support himself; his rage not finding vent, had broken a

blood-vessel, and he was conveyed to bed. This was not mentioned to

his sister, who was not present when he entered, as the physician was

afraid of agitating her. The marriage was solemnized, and the bride

and bridegroom left London.



Aubrey's weakness increased; the effusion of blood produced symptoms

of the near approach of death. He desired his sister's guardians might

be called, and when the midnight hour had struck, he related

composedly what the reader has perused--he died immediately after.



The guardians hastened to protect Miss Aubrey; but when they arrived,

it was too late. Lord Ruthven had disappeared, and Aubrey's sister had

glutted the thirst of a VAMPYRE!





  ________________________________________________________________



                         EXTRACT OF A LETTER,



                        CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT



                                  OF



                        LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE



                                IN THE



                         ISLAND OF MITYLENE.

  ________________________________________________________________



                               ACCOUNT



                                  OF



                     LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE, &c.

                            ______________



"The world was all before him, where to choose his place of rest, and

                        Providence his guide."



IN Sailing through the Grecian Archipelago, on board one of his

Majesty's vessels, in the year 1812, we put into the harbour of

Mitylene, in the island of that name. The beauty of this place, and

the certain supply of cattle and vegetables always to be had there,

induce many British vessels to visit it--both men of war and

merchantmen; and though it lies rather out of the track for ships

bound to Smyrna, its bounties amply repay for the deviation of a

voyage. We landed; as usual, at the bottom of the bay, and whilst the

men were employed in watering, and the purser bargaining for cattle

with the natives, the clergyman and myself took a ramble to the cave

called Homer's School, and other places, where we had been before. On

the brow of Mount Ida (a small monticule so named) we met with and

engaged a young Greek as our guide, who told us he had come from Scio

with an English lord, who left the island four days previous to our

arrival in his felucca. "He engaged me as a pilot," said the Greek,

"and would have taken me with him; but I did not choose to quit

Mitylene, where I am likely to get married. He was an odd, but a very

good man. The cottage over the hill, facing the river, belongs to him,

and he has left an old man in charge of it: he gave Dominick, the

wine-trader, six hundred zechines for it, (about L250 English

currency,) and has resided there about fourteen months, though not

constantly; for he sails in his felucca very often to the different

islands."



This account excited our curiosity very much, and we lost no time in

hastening to the house where our countryman had resided. We were

kindly received by an old man, who conducted us over the mansion. It

consisted of four apartments on the ground-floor--an entrance hall, a

drawing-room, a sitting parlour, and a bed-room, with a spacious

closet annexed. They were all simply decorated: plain green-stained

walls, marble tables on either side, a large myrtle in the centre, and

a small fountain beneath, which could be made to play through the

branches by moving a spring fixed in the side of a small bronze Venus

in a leaning posture; a large couch or sofa completed the furniture.

In the hall stood half a dozen English cane chairs, and an empty

book-case: there were no mirrors, nor a single painting. The

bedchamber had merely a large mattress spread on the floor, with two

stuffed cotton quilts and a pillow--the common bed throughout Greece.

In the sitting-room we observed a marble recess, formerly, the old man

told us, filled with books and papers, which were then in a large

seaman's chest in the closet: it was open, but we did not think

ourselves justified in examining the contents. On the tablet of the

recess lay Voltaire's, Shakspeare's, Boileau's, and Rousseau's works

complete; Volney's Ruins of Empires; Zimmerman, in the German

language; Klopstock's Messiah; Kotzebue's novels; Schiller's play of

the Robbers; Milton's Paradise Lost, an Italian edition, printed at

Parma in 1810; several small pamphlets from the Greek press at

Constantinople, much torn, but no English book of any description.

Most of these books were filled with marginal notes, written with a

pencil, in Italian and Latin. The Messiah was literally scribbled all

over, and marked with slips of paper, on which also were remarks.



The old man said: "The lord had been reading these books the evening

before he sailed, and forgot to place them with the others; but,"

said he, "there they must lie until his return; for he is so

particular, that were I to move one thing without orders, he would

frown upon me for a week together; he is otherways very good. I once

did him a service; and I have the produce of this farm for the trouble

of taking care of it, except twenty zechines which I pay to an aged

Armenian who resides in a small cottage in the wood, and whom the lord

brought here from Adrianople; I don't know for what reason."



The appearance of the house externally was pleasing. The portico in

front was fifty paces long and fourteen broad, and the fluted marble

pillars with black plinths and fret-work cornices, (as it is now

customary in Grecian architecture,) were considerably higher than the

roof. The roof, surrounded by a light stone balustrade, was covered by

a fine Turkey carpet, beneath an awning of strong coarse linen. Most

of the house-tops are thus furnished, as upon them the Greeks pass

their evenings in smoking, drinking light wines, such as "lachryma

christi," eating fruit, and enjoying the evening breeze.



On the left hand as we entered the house, a small streamlet glided

away, grapes, oranges and limes were clustering together on its

borders, and under the shade of two large myrtle bushes, a marble seat

with an ornamental wooden back was placed, on which we were told, the

lord passed many of his evenings and nights till twelve o'clock,

reading, writing, and talking to himself. "I suppose," said the old

man, "praying" for he was very devout, "and always attended our church

twice a week, besides Sundays."



The view from this seat was what may be termed "a bird's-eye view."

A line of rich vineyards led the eye to Mount Calcla, covered with

olive and myrtle trees in bloom, and on the summit of which an ancient

Greek temple appeared in majestic decay. A small stream issuing from

the ruins descended in broken cascades, until it was lost in the woods

near the mountain's base. The sea smooth as glass, and an horizon

unshadowed by a single cloud, terminates the view in front; and a

little on the left, through a vista of lofty chesnut and palm-trees,

several small islands were distinctly observed, studding the light

blue wave with spots of emerald green. I seldom enjoyed a view more

than I did this; but our enquiries were fruitless as to the name of

the person who had resided in this romantic solitude: none knew his

name but Dominick, his banker, who had gone to Candia. "The Armenian,"

said our conductor, "could tell, but I am sure he will not,"--"And

cannot you tell, old friend?" said I--"If I can," said he, "I dare

not." We had not time to visit the Armenian, but on our return to the

town we learnt several particulars of the isolated lord. He had

portioned eight young girls when he was last upon the island, and even

danced with them at the nuptial feast. He gave a cow to one man,

horses to others, and cotton and silk to the girls who live by weaving

these articles. He also bought a new boat for a fisherman who had lost

his own in a gale, and he often gave Greek Testaments to the poor

children. In short, he appeared to us, from all we collected, to have

been a very eccentric and benevolent character. One circumstance we

learnt, which our old friend at the cottage thought proper not to

disclose. He had a most beautiful daughter, with whom the lord was

often seen walking on the sea-shore, and he had bought her a

piano-forte, and taught her himself the use of it.



Such was the information with which we departed from the peaceful isle

of Mitylene; our imaginations all on the rack, guessing who this

rambler in Greece could be. He had money it was evident: he had

philanthropy of disposition, and all those eccentricities which mark

peculiar genius. Arrived at Palermo, all our doubts were dispelled.

Falling in company with Mr. FOSTER, the architect, a pupil of WYATT'S,

who had been travelling in Egypt and Greece, "The individual," said

he, "about whom you are so anxious, is Lord Byron; I met him in my

travels on the island of Tenedos, and I also visited him at Mitylene."

We had never then heard of his lordship's fame, as we had been some

years from home; but "Childe Harolde" being put into our hands we

recognized the recluse of Calcla in every page. Deeply did we regret

not having been more curious in our researches at the cottage, but we

consoled ourselves with the idea of returning to Mitylene on some

future day; but to me that day will never return. I make this

statement, believing it not quite uninteresting, and in justice to his

lordship's good name, which has been grossly slandered. He has been

described as of an unfeeling disposition, averse to associating with

human nature, or contributing in any way to sooth its sorrows, or add

to its pleasures. The fact is directly the reverse, as may be plainly

gathered from these little anecdotes. All the finer feelings of the

heart, so elegantly depicted in his lordship's poems, seem to have

their seat in his bosom. Tenderness, sympathy, and charity appear to

guide all his actions: and his courting the repose of solitude is an

additional reason for marking him as a being on whose heart Religion

hath set her seal, and over whose head Benevolence hath thrown her

mantle. No man can read the preceding pleasing "traits" without

feeling proud of him as a countryman. With respect to his loves or

pleasures, I do not assume a right to give an opinion. Reports are

ever to be received with caution, particularly when directed against

man's moral integrity; and he who dares justify himself before that

awful tribunal where all must appear, alone may censure the errors of

a fellow-mortal. Lord Byron's character is worthy of his genius. To do

good in secret, and shun the world's applause, is the surest testimony

of a virtuous heart and self-approving conscience.





                               THE END

                        ____________________



             Gillet, Printer, Crown-court, Fleet-street.

















End of Project Gutenberg's The Vampyre; A Tale, by John William Polidori