Vampyre' and Other Writings

by Polidori, John William; Bishop, Franklin Charles;

  I need not describe to you the progress of my other vices; debauched women, men of whom one is ashamed, and wine, are generally the attendants upon gambling. I could not seek the house of Doni, nor of virtue; I threw myself into every haunt of desperate characters like myself, and learnt to boast alike of the smile of the prostitute, or of the tear of the debauched virgin; when losing, I stupified my mind with wine, and was glad to fall from my chair, provided memory failed with my senses. Noted cheats, and men proscribed from society for their low dissoluteness, often seized upon my arm on the Corso, as if I were one of their equals, and I dared not repel their familiarity, for I was in their power. Once Louisa saw me in this situation, she never again rode out on the Corso; I had the maddened impudence to bow to her. I at last became mad, and once, was induced to aid in depriving a young novice of all his wealth, by means of false dice. I could not however stand by and see his horrible despair, he had beggared a wife and two lovely babes. I had just then been lucky, I confessed my participation to him, and gave him the whole amount of his loss; it became known, and I was laughed at; but for once I could withstand ridicule.

  At the Doni palace in the mean time, the same outward appearance was preserved; there were still the same evening assemblies, but they were less frequented, for Olivieri was almost always with me. He was apparently afraid I should escape him; he was constantly stifling all thoughts that arose in my breast, tending towards a return to virtue. He never left me but when I was deeply engaged in play or debauch; then he constantly went I knew not whither. I have since found it out, and that discovery has not been the least of those pangs my guilt has brought upon me. I entered so little into society, that I heard nothing of what was passing there. I was, however, one day standing on the Corso with Olivieri, speaking to some ladies who had drawn up their carriage close to a shop, when the conversation turning upon the number of foreigners, who were moving about in consequence of the peace which had just been concluded, a lady turning, asked me if I had seen the stranger who excited so much the curiosity of all circles. Upon my saying I had not, she began expatiating upon his singular character, rested upon his powers of fascination, and told me that all the ladies were in love with him. I did not pay much attention to this, thinking it but the foolish prattle of a young girl. She however continued; she wondered that I had not seen him, as he was a constant attendant upon Louisa, she having engrossed the whole of his attention, much to the mortification of all Milan.

  Now I was roused. I let go Olivieri’s arm, and wandered about alone. I dared not hope that Louisa could resist one whom all seemed to admire. The whole weight of my guilt fell heavily upon my recollection, and one after another all my vices presented themselves, arrayed against me. I did not return that day to any of my usual haunts. Towards evening, I found myself, fatigued with wandering, at the gate of the Doni palace. I know not what inspired me, it seemed as if I wished to gain the certainty of my fate. My steps, which till now had been slow and measured, suddenly quickened. I found myself at the entrance of the saloon; all was silent; the red purple glare of sunset pierced the windows. I stood for a moment still; a sigh burst upon my ear – I entered – Louisa was sitting looking upon the setting sun. It was her sigh. She did not turn: ‘Is it you, my father?’ I did not speak, she turned her head, her face was pale, but a blush mantled her cheek at the sight of me; her eyes were sunk and dim, but they brightened at my presence. She spoke my name, she rose, and with faltering steps attempted to reach a door leading to her apartments. I murmured audibly, but with a stifled voice: ‘She flies me, she flies, she hates me!’ She turned. ‘Oh no: I do not, Ernestus, do not believe it.’ She fell upon the floor; I approached, knelt by her side, but dared not touch her. I attempted it, my hand retreated; there seemed to be pollution in my touch; I dared not. The cool air played upon her face, and the chill of the marble floor gradually recovered her; she opened her eyes; I was now near her; I could see the marks of a suffering mind upon her face; her cheek now had no colour, save that reflected from the red light of the illumined West. Her tresses were disordered and neglected; her eyes sunk deep in their socket, how changed from the vision of the Wengern Alp! Her subdued voice could hardly articulate, when she again assured me with earnestness that she did not hate me, that she forgave me. Tears flowed down my cheeks, and I did not try to stop them. She looked upon me: ‘It is too late,’ she said, smiling with the smile of a broken heart; ‘it is too late, Berchtold; I wish that I could weep, but my eyes are dried up.’ The sounds of approaching footsteps were heard; she rose with difficulty; trembling, I offered my arm, she took it. I thought she would have spurned it. I could hardly support my own weight. I saw her to her door, and threw myself upon the staircase near it; but I soon heard strange voices in the saloon; the thought of its being his voice, who, I had heard, was my rival, at once made me start. I rose, retired for a moment to my room, and then entered.

  The apartment was now lit up. The company were in greater numbers than I had ever seen before. My rival, I said to myself, is then so attractive. No one observed my entry; they all seemed engaged around one man. It was my rival; I never saw so singular a figure. His bust and head were handsome, and bore the signs of strength. His black hair was in ringlets; his face was pale with a blueish tint that diminished even the colour of a naturally pale eye. His hands were joined with their palms turned towards the ground; his eyelids almost covered his eyes, which turned upon the floor, while his head erect, bore in its general expression the marks of contempt. He was speaking with elegance upon the fallen glories of some sunken nation; when he had ended, and the conversation had became more general, he raised his eyes, and affecting surprise, he seemed ashamed of having attracted so much notice, though he did not blush, for the hue of his features seemed invariable. He retreated to a corner of the room, left vacant by the pressure of the company towards the spot he had just occupied. He there bent down his head, as if abstracted in thought; but looking under his eyebrows, he was evidently engaged in remarking the effect he had made upon the company. He again gradually got a circle round him, and again was apparently carried away by the great powers of his mind, and held forth upon some subject, and then once more retreated. I was tired of watching such acting, and looked round for my sister. She was at that moment entering; she immediately addressed Doni, who seemed alarmed, and went out. I approached – Louisa was ill and could not appear. Julia looked upon me as if she knew it had been my presence which had thus affected her friend; I could not bear that look: ‘Do not reproach me, I feel all the shame of my crimes.’ ‘I reproach you!’ she answered, ‘You mock me, I! it is not for one like me to do it.’ She turned away, I did not understand her; I asked her why she rested upon one like her. ‘Oh! do not ask me, my shame must not be spoken.’ The noble stranger approached, and broke off our conversation by asking after Louisa. I could not stand by him, but joined some of my former acquaintances; for though my heart was breaking, I dared not leave the room, determined to watch minutely every action of him I fancied my rival.

  I entered into conversation, and forced myself to inquire about this stranger, who thus engaged the attention of all. There was a certain affectation of mystery about him, which induced all to seek him, in hopes of penetrating the veil he threw round his actions. I met with one who had known him intimately in his own country. From whom I learnt several traits of his character; it appeared that this German was much distinguished amongst his countrymen for his talents, – that he was generally esteemed a hater of all the vanities of the world, but that he passed many hours at his toilette; that he was deemed broken-hearted from having been crossed in love; but that he was incapable of feeling that passion, being wrapt in selfishness, that made him sacrifice every thing around him to the whim of the moment: that he was deemed irresistible, and that no woman upon whom he fixed his eye could withstand the fascination of his tongue, but that he had never dared to tempt any woman, who was not of the most abandoned character; that even they were never addressed
with boldness, but were always made to compromise themselves by some folly with him in public, before he would give them the least marked sign of attention; that in fine he was a confirmed coward with women. In society he was playing off a strange coquetry with the whole world, affecting to be modest and diffident, whilst he protruded himself into notice. He was, however, rich, handsome, and noble by birth, I was an orphan dependent upon charity. He was every where received with great attention, no where with greater than in Doni’s palace.

  Perceiving that Louisa’s father did not return, I became alarmed, and anxious to gain some information, I sought for him. He was walking with hasty steps before her door. Upon seeing me, he was turning away, but moved by my broken voice, he stopped, looked upon me, and addressed me, ‘You saved my son, Berchtold, but my daughter, my beloved daughter dies; it is, however, useless to speak to you, leave me, go to your room, Louisa’s better.’ Every thing seemed confused to me, I could not believe that I was the cause of Louisa’s illness, I could not believe that she could love such an outcast as myself. I was several times in the course of the night by her door, listening for some sound that should assure me of her existence. I fell asleep at last upon the sofa in my room, and I saw her in my dream as when she first appeared before me, glowing in health, buoyant with spirits; suddenly I thought she ran towards me, but ere she reached me, she faded like a flower, and fell to the ground. I awoke, all was still, but my heart beat violently. It seemed as if this were the fulfilment of my former dreams, my vices were the evils, the warning voice of my mother commanded my sister to fly, for they were doomed to be the death of all I loved.

  Morning came, my first inquiries were concerning Louisa; she was very ill, and in a state of great weakness. Doni was not yet risen, and was apparently quite overcome. During the whole day, I was not one moment at rest; I wandered from one room to another, and sent every instant to inquire concerning my protector’s daughter. I stood by the door watching all who came from her room, and begged them to tell me every change they observed. Towards evening a packet was put into my hands; it contained receipts from every one of my creditors. There was no explanatory paper. Imagining it to be the gift of Doni, I determined to thank him; I went to his room; I found him lying upon his couch very much fatigued and exhausted; he was courting repose, but it was in vain; anxiety was painted upon his face, and grief seemed to stamp him with its chilling furrows. My first question was concerning his daughter. I then showed him the packet, and had begun to thank him, when he interrupted me. ‘Young man, thank not one, who wished that you should first have paid the price of your vices before he freed you from your embarrassments. I had resisted my daughter’s entreaties, till last night, she offered to give up her allowance, every thing, to free you; I refused, but I could not long do so, to a child I thought dying.’ I was thunderstruck, the packet fell from my hand; I thought I should have fallen through shame; but he spoke again, ‘Would that your apparent shame were the least security against your follies, but I believe you to be incurable.’ He motioned me away; I fell at his feet, and called Heaven to witness that I would never again partake of vicious pleasures. He raised me from the ground, pressed me to his bosom, and with a blessing told me, that if I kept this promise, he might yet be happy; he bade me leave him to his hopes, again embraced me, and I left him.

  For the first time during the last many weary months, I felt something like repose in my mind. It seemed as if the vow I had made to Heaven might be relied on, and as if I again might know the consolation of a conscience at rest. That night I slept quietly and soundly, for Louisa was announced to be much better, and my heart felt a little repose. It was but to give me strength to bear worse than I had yet endured.

  Next morning Louisa saw me, she was upon the bed of sickness, but she had partly recovered the shock my abrupt entry had caused her. I shall never forget the moment I entered. I had expected she would have received me with marks of horror; she smiled; oh, no! she did not hate me. I sat by her, she allowed me to take her thin cold hand within my own; it chilled my heart with its touch. There was a clear whiteness that overspread her face, where it was not tinged by the hectic flush, her eye shone with a glassy brilliancy that seemed not mortal, it was the glance of death mocking my senses through a beauteous vizor, for there were the seeds of death sown deep in her broken heart. She spoke but little, what she did utter, however, were words of kindness, and they were all her weakness allowed her to say. She often turned her brilliant eyes upon me, and the soft smile upon her lip, I thought was excited by the gentle whisperings of hope, that I was snatched for ever from vice. The latter part of the morning was passed near her in a silence that was not mute, for there is a language which, though not addressed to the ear, still speaks the thought within. Her physician came and advised me to retire. I bade her farewell; an anxious look accompanied the words, ‘Where are you going?’ but when I intimated my determination of staying at home, I cannot describe to you the joy expressed upon her face as she repeated my farewell.

  I had been so little at home, that I knew nothing of what had lately happened. I was, therefore, much surprised, when, upon desiring a servant, towards night, to see if Doni was in his apartment, he refused, saying he had not courage. Upon making inquiries, I found that their master’s supernatural powers had been much talked of lately amongst the servants; for during the latter days, unusual noises had been heard in his room, and every morning, all his things had been found in a strange confusion while he was apparently so exhausted, that it was evident he had had no rest during the night. Thinking all this very explicable from the state of anxiety in which he had been kept, I tried to convince the servant, but he appeared firm in his belief, and refused to carry my message.

  Louisa seemed rapidly to recover strength. As we were in the very middle of summer it was thought proper by her physicians that she should be removed to a cooler situation than the neighbourhood of a great city. We accordingly retired to the banks of the Lago Maggiore. The palace close to the lake was refreshed by the cooling breeze that passed over the water’s vast expanse, and the playful fountains that sported with their noisy showers in the apartments towards the land, promised to shield the invalid from the noxious effects of an Italian sun; while the magnificent scenery of the varying basin before our view, seemed to promise relaxation to the mind. We arrived late at night, and immediately retired to our beds. I arose betimes, and issuing forth ascended the numerous terraces, which, one above another, seemed like the work of some enchanter. When viewed from the water’s edge, garden seemed to be hanging above garden, as if man had acquired the power of piling nature’s gifts even into the air. I did not heed this, for my native mountains were in sight; I did not gaze upon the rich islands, which seemed like fairy dwellings springing from the lake; I gazed upon Monte Rosa, which, high above the neighbouring hills, asserted the glory of its alpine birth. Though all around seemed burnt by the sun’s ray, it mocked his power and bore its unvarying white vest, in defiance of his frown, upon its aged limbs. While yet engaged looking upon its high summit, with all the crowded images of infancy offered by my memory, my sister passed me. She seemed lately to have lost all her spirits, she did not appear to be attracted by the beautiful scene near us, or the sublimity of the alpine ridge beyond. She was gazing upon the ground, I joined her, she started, and with a trembling voice asked me, ‘Why I was come?’ I answered her; at that moment I saw Olivieri turn the corner of the alley and approach; but immediately he saw me he retired, and I at the same time perceived that my sister was violently agitated. I looked at her, and begged of her to tell me what I was to imagine; she hastily replied, ‘Nothing, nothing;’ and her colour, which had deserted her at the sight of Olivieri, returned with greater rapidity than it had fled the moment before. I insisted upon an explanation; she said she was unwell, weak, and made other excuses of the same nature. I now remembered her agitation a few evenings before, when we were interrupted by the Count Wilhelm. I threatened, if she would not satisfy
me, to seek an explanation from Olivieri. She fell upon her knees before me, begged me not, assured me that it concerned a third person. I was moved, I had the weakness to promise that I would seek no farther.

  I had not seen my friend till this moment, since the payment of my debts; he had never been home, and I had not sought him. He had not accompanied us, and I had not been aware that he was expected. I re-entered the house, hoping to find him; but no one had seen him, and he did not appear at breakfast.