The Vampyre_ a Tale John William Polidori 5690 downloads.pdf

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Vampyre; a Tale
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.

Title: The Vampyre; a Tale

Author: John William Polidori

Release date: July 1, 2004 [eBook #6087]
Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6087

Credits: Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VAMPYRE;
A TALE ***

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 THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VAMPYRE; A
TALE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be
renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law
means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the
Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States
without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying
and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the
PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a
registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook,
except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying
royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge
anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is
very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg
eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do
practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by
U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license,
especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any
other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you
agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg License
available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing
Project Gutenberg electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic work,
you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the
terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright)
agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement,
you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg
electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy
of or access to a Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to
be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on
or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be
bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can
do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works even without complying
with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a
lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg electronic works if you
follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to
Project Gutenberg electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation”
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual
work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are

located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works
based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are
removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg
mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing
Project Gutenberg works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for
keeping the Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can
easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you
share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a
constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the
laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before
downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating
derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg work.
The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status
of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied
or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with
this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in
the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country
where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived from
texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice
indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the
work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without
paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a
work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on
the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs
1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted with the
permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply
with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed
by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project
Gutenberg License for all works posted with the permission of the
copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg License
terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any
other work associated with Project Gutenberg.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently
displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or
immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format other than “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the
official Project Gutenberg website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no
additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of
exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work
in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format
must include the full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph
1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing,
copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works unless you comply
with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to
or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the
use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the
owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate
royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days
following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to
prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly
marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about
donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does
not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You
must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works
possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all
access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in
this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project

Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3
below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works
not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and
the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as,
but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription
errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or
damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that
damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except
for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to
you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE
THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT
EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE
THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE
TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL,
PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE
NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you
discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you
can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the
defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund.
If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to

you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work
electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you
may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the
problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING
BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR
FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or
limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable
to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum
disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity
or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that
arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause
to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b)
alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg
work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project
Gutenberg

Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic
works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including
obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the

efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of
life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance
they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals and ensuring
that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely available for
generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for
Project Gutenberg and future generations. To learn more about the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations
can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)
(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of
Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service.
The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541.
Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax
deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s
laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the
number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment

including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are
particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort,
much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these
requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not
received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or
determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit
www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have
not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against
accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us
with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any
statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the
United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods
and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including
checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit:
www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg
electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with
anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg
eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed editions,
all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a

copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in
compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility:
www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including how
to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email
newsletter to hear about new eBooks.