Vampyre' and Other Writings

by Polidori, John William; Bishop, Franklin Charles;

  I had already undergone more than falls to the lot of most men in this valley of miseries; but I was not allowed repose; from this moment my heart was torn piece-meal, by fiends each more horrible than the other. Not many days had elapsed since Julia’s death, when Olivieri’s father received an anonymous warning to prepare himself for the worst news. The letter was dated Strasburgh. Next day he read in another letter, that his son, under an assumed name, had been taken with several others of a band of robbers, who had for a long time infested the banks of the Rhine. Doni had now become aged and infirm, he was not capable of undergoing the fatigues of a long journey, yet it was hardly possible to hinder him from setting off, to attempt saving his only son. He blessed me when I insisted upon performing that office. ‘You have twice saved his life in the field of honour, may you be as successful in snatching him from the death of infamy.’ He gave me unlimited power, and rushed into his daughter’s apartment to seek there for the comfort all else seemed to deny him.

  I departed, travelled night and day, I saw Switzerland again, but did not even notice it, my mind was anxious, was alarmed; it seemed as if Heaven wished by repeated inflictions of its bitterest curses, to humble to the dust the family circle of my protector. I was so rash, that for a moment I dared to question Providence. So weak is all mortal knowledge; misery is but the fruit of vice, virtue never feels the world’s infamy; there is a heavenly beam of certainty in the merciful justice of their God that enables the just to look upon all the inflictions of this life, but as the most lenient atonement due to a tender, though offended father, for those weaknesses belonging even to our nature.

  I arrived at Strasburgh; its fretted spire, rising high above the houses, upon the far extended plain, for a long time marked the bourne to which I was tending, while the winding road that forms the approach, seemed to mock my endeavours to reach it. Justice had been summary, there had not even been a regular trial, but a court martial had been summoned, and instantly had condemned the prisoners to death. A respite had however been granted for a few days, in consequence of the hopes entertained of inducing some individual to betray the secret retreats of their comrades. I immediately proceeded to the prison and asked admission. Application being made to the governor, and it being evident that I was not one of the gang, I obtained it. I entered; bolt after bolt slowly sounded as they were forced from their rusty clasps, and I found myself in a low gallery, the damp was slowly falling in measured drops from the arched vault above, and the coldness of the chilly air made me shiver. The jailor bore a torch before me; its red light at last rested upon the strong fastenings to a narrow door. I gave him money, and seizing the torch, entered.

  Upon a little straw, covering a few loose stones in a corner, lay a form, which seemed reckless of all. The light of the torch did not cause it to move, its hands were upon its face, clenched; its whole posture was strained, as if by the convulsive stiffening of its limbs it would harden itself against the inflictions of the mind. I could not speak; thrice I strove to utter the name of Olivieri, and thrice it stuck in my throat. ‘Speak, I can listen to my fate,’ Olivieri at last said in a hurried voice, ‘Death they say silences all voices, if it can silence that which echoes through the chambers of my breast, scaring oblivion and repose, I shall be content to die, though on the wheel, waiting, when all my limbs are crushed, for that repose the iron bar may give.’ He did not move, but seemed to mutter this, addressing himself as much as me. ‘Olivieri,’ at last fell trembling from my lips. He with one exertion stood erect; his eyeballs straining in their sockets, seemed to seek the horrid certainty they knew would blast them. Berchtold appeared before him. He threw himself upon the straw, and with a hand clenching with furious grasp his long black hair, he seemed to force his head upon the ground, fearing his eyes should again turn upon me. I sat upon the stones at his side, laid my hand upon him, bade him be comforted. He shrunk as if my touch froze him. I told him of my hopes of obtaining his release, of the wealth I could employ in bribing his judges. He looked up; ‘You talk to me of mercy; Julia was seduced by me.’ ‘I know it,’ I replied, ‘it is your father, who acts by me, I am but my benefactor’s agent. For him I am to attempt to save his son.’ ‘His son?’ he echoed in a faltering voice, ‘true, I was his son.’ I in vain asked him for information on which to proceed; he would give me none. I left him.

  I applied to the court which had passed his sentence. I saw the members who had composed it in private. They gave me an account of the desperate gang to which he had belonged, and painted in horrid colours the devastations they had committed in the French territory. It appeared that Olivieri had put himself at the head of these outlaws, and had with the most daring rashness and carelessness of life, always eluded the numbers that often seemed to surround him. I made those who appeared favourable to my pleading great presents, under the pretence of enabling them to aid the furtherance of my objects. Amongst the others, the governor seemed to have the most influence. I gave him immense sums, which he promised to expend for the prisoner’s advantage. The next day was appointed for the execution. I had not seen Olivieri again, I was anxious not to encourage too much his hopes of life, while all seemed uncertain. I called early in the morning, upon the governor; I saw him. He raised my expectations very high, he said, that if I could but find the slightest pretence for a respite, that it was determined to grant it. ‘If I were to judge by your riches, he and yourself must be of higher rank than you pretend.’ I had concealed both our names. ‘Now, if you can but show that some one of influence is interested in his fate, we will admit of an appeal.’ Rashly I was induced to utter the names of Olivieri Doni, and Ernestus Berchtold. I was surprised at seeing the man before me turn of a most deadly pale. His limbs seemed to fail him, but he in an instant recovered himself; his voice alone betrayed an emotion I could not understand. He assured me that he would instantly occupy himself about it, and I left him. An hour afterwards I received a note from him saying, that I should prepare a carriage and post horses upon the bridge, and as the clock struck the first hour of the morning, that I should present myself at the prison door, where I should meet my friend. That this had been thought the best means of allowing his escape. Passports were enclosed, which would allow us to pass the bridge, and we should then be in safety. I immediately prepared every thing, anxious for the arrival of the moment when I was again to save the brother of Louisa.

  Towards evening, restless, I issued out. I wandered up and down that part of the main street, which, covered by arcades, brought to my recollection the towns of my native country. Memory was rapidly crowded with the images of infancy, while the evening tints, and the stillness of nature soon enabled me to abstract myself entirely from the surrounding objects. I at last found myself in the cathedral. There was no one there, even devotion seemed for a while to have laid aside its pomp to enjoy the balmy freshness of an April evening. I had at last advanced into the most obscure part of the aisle; when turning round, a light figure dressed in the singular vestment of the neighbouring peasantry, caught my eye. Her step was hurried, and her head moved anxiously as if seeming to shun observation. Thinking that my presence might be painful, I was retiring, when she beckoned to me. I stood still, and she was immediately by my side. She hastily addressed me. ‘You are a friend of Olivieri Doni’s, you perceive from my knowing his name, that I am in his confidence. He once professed love to me, he has probably done so to many more, who are now like me ashamed of their name; but even if I told it you, it would be useless. Hoping to be of service, and anxious to hear of him who still possesses my affection, though he has broken the peace of her, who loves him; but I deserve it, for I am guilty, he cannot love guilt; I am so lowered, that I was not ashamed to gain my object, by seeking one of the prison guard. I have just left him intoxicated. From him I learnt, while he was blabbing all, that he was called upon to perform a service this night in the course of his duty, that he disliked. I gained from him that he was to belong to a party, who were to lurk in one of the streets a
nd seize my lover and yourself, at the moment you thought yourselves secure of freedom, for that the police were anxious to take you, who, they suspected belonged to the same gang, and therefore had resolved to arrest you, while engaged in aiding the escape of your friend, which alone will ensure your condemnation.’ I was astonished, could I then be so shamefully betrayed? I immediately remembered the sudden emotion of him, who had promised so much, when he heard our names, and it flashed upon my mind, that I had a faint recollection of his name as being that of an officer in the French troops opposed to us in the Underwald, who having been placed in a post of importance, had been surprised by Olivieri and myself, and had been, in consequence of his precipitate flight, broken and disgraced. It was now nearly dark, I could not think of deserting Olivieri without still attempting his rescue. The girl’s information might be false. I spoke with her, she appeared sincere; I offered her money, she refused it; my case was desperate, I determined to confide in her, I got her to lead me to the neighbourhood of the prison, and show me all the turnings and secret cuts through the different streets. I soon gained a perfect idea of the plan of this part of the town, and I began to hope in consequence of the intricacy and number of turnings in this neighbourhood that I might elude the ambush, if I could at any point break through the guards. I did not entirely open my plan to my guide, but asked her if she knew of any certain place of refuge, whither I could retreat in case of need. She led me and showed me her apartment, it was miserable, but there was an air of neatness about it that seemed, in contradiction with the poverty, visible in every article. ‘If you can arrive here without being observed, you are safe.’

  To avoid suspicion, I immediately left her and returned to my hotel, which was close to the river. The hour approached, I armed myself with a sabre and a pair of pistols, and hiding under my large Italian cloak another sword and pair of fire arms, I sauntered negligently out of the inn door, and calling my servant, I told him in a loud voice to take care the horses were ready, as I intended to set off the moment I had fixed on. This I did to blind any one, who might be watching my motions. Then turning down some of the most abrupt windings, I first went whither I had learnt the different parties were to be placed. By means of keeping close to a shaded part of the walls of the streets, which being lit by a single reverberating lamp suspended in the middle between the houses, were rather dark, I could approach very near them without being perceived. I discovered one point which I thought weaker than the rest, for the number of the men seemed smaller, the silence being greater. I then returned, entered the main street leading to the prison, and soon found myself at its gate, without meeting any one. The high narrow windowed walls, were suddenly illuminated by the moon bursting in all its splendour from behind a cloud, and high above my reach I perceived some one watching me, he retreated and I heard the gates open. I could not perceive who was there, for the hollow opening was in the dark shadow thrown over it by a salient buttress. My heart beat violently. It might not be Olivieri, a person was pushed out, I heard the words, ‘I am free,’ spoken in a voice that denoted the despair within. I approached, it was Olivieri. Throwing off my mantle, I stood before him; he did not notice me, though the moon’s ray was full upon us. I roused him, thrust the sword and pistols into his hand, and bade him follow me. ‘We are not safe, we must baffle the traitors yet,’ said I, ‘be firm, we have escaped greater perils than these, follow me.’ His broken voice, merely answered, ‘To death.’

  I hastened towards the point I thought the weakest. A shrill whistle sounded at our back, and we found ourselves surrounded. The first who approached, were dead at our feet. They retreated before us, we had broken their circle and were already free towards the street down which it was necessary to turn. ‘Now to the right,’ I cried to my companion. A shot struck him and he fell; I rushed to the spot hoping that he might rise. I struck on every side determined not to leave him in their hands, their numbers increased, but at the same time I heard a trampling of feet at my back; desperate, I rushed forward; a female shriek struck my ear, and at the same time I found myself joined by about twenty men. Their blows told, we caused the town-guard to retreat, I could not again find Olivieri’s body. I rushed along the streets, and was soon at the young woman’s door. I heard voices; alarmed, I listened, they were evidently from their conversation trying to console some one. I knocked, a female voice immediately exclaimed, ‘’Tis he,’ and the door was opened. I entered, Olivieri was extended upon a couch, attempting to write a few lines; he had just finished. Around him were many men in a strange uncouth garb. They were his former companions, who having received the same intelligence from the girl as myself, had resolved to attempt a rescue, and had stolen singly into the town. Olivieri gave me what he had written, it was to his father; his pale face was turned towards me, his feeble arm could hardly support its own weight. ‘Berchtold, I have not deserved the risking yourself for me; can, can you forgive me dying.’ ‘I do,’ was my answer, and I held his extended hand. He threw himself upon his bed, and in a stifled voice, ‘There is another, whose forgiveness I do not ask, but tell, oh! tell her, it was her shame that has damned me, that made me desperate, damned me.’ ‘She’s dead, she too would have forgiven you; she died speaking of you, but not cursing you.’ His limbs were instantly relaxed, and moved no more.

  We were now aroused by the entry of another robber, the soldiers were approaching, I begged of them not to leave the body of my Louisa’s brother to their insults; they lifted it from the couch, and placed it in a recess so artfully contrived, that it bid defiance to the most accurate search, and they promised me they would return and bury it. We took the young woman with us, and separating, we singly hastened to a spot by the river’s side, where we hoped to find boats. Ten only reached it, we entered a small wherry. The town was in such confusion that the necessary orders had not been sent to the different boundaries. We let the boat float down the stream, and soon found ourselves beyond the fortifications. We landed on the German side, and presently reached one of the dwellings of the free-booters. I now learnt that it was this same girl, who had written the anonymous letter to her lover’s father. I offered her a considerable sum of money, again offered to secure her an independence, she refused it all, and insisted upon remaining with those men amongst whom she had first known Olivieri. I remained with them a considerable time, anxious to see the body of my former friend secure against any insult, and before I left them, aided by the daring of these men, who managed to enter the town and take the body from its secret hiding place, I had the satisfaction of consigning him to the earth. I gave them all the loose money remaining with me, secure upon my letters of credit of having more than enough to convey me whither I liked.

  I reached Inspruck, not deeming myself safe in any part of the French territory, I determined to remain here, and I wrote to Doni merely mentioning that I had been unsuccessful, and telling him where I had stopped. I thought it best not to tell him more for fear of my letter being intercepted, and hoping that when I saw him I should be able to break the fatal news to him. My last hope was vain, for all the papers and public prints contained a full account of the daring attempt I had made to save a robber from the ignominious sentence of the law. Our real names were also mentioned, and at the same time that many rested upon the courage, they pretended had been shown in this attempt, many took advantage of the connection of our names with a gang of robbers to throw discredit upon our former conduct in the cause of Switzerland. It was soon known through my banker, at Inspruck, that I was the notorious Ernestus Berchtold, and I was surrounded by people, who were glad to seek some refuge from their ennui, in gazing upon one, whose name seemed to have something like romance attached to it.

  Count Doni arrived, Louisa too, though weak and feeble, still in better health than when I had last seen her, accompanied him. She had been forced to exert herself to support her father under his anxiety for his son, and then under the severe blow of seeing his own name in all the prints, known to all as the father of
Olivieri, ‘a captain of banditti’. The spring had given her the requisite strength, and I was glad, after so long an absence, to see her once more sitting by my side with renovated life. I could not take my eyes from her, and I rested upon her face so long, that I gradually forced myself to hope that her hectic flush was but her natural colour. We were constantly together, and tried in each other’s presence to forget the griefs that weighed upon us both. I had given the last lines of my former friend to his father. He had read them in his own room, and though when we next met I remarked that his eye turned upon me wet with tears, as he evidently did not intimate the least inclination to expose to me what his son had written, I did not seek to learn the substance of Olivieri’s note; though I was anxious to learn whether he had disclosed his conduct towards Julia. We never after mentioned his name, and we tried to keep the thoughts of his melancholy fate out of our minds, by resting upon our hopes of Louisa’s welfare.

  Count Wilhelm, whom I have before mentioned, found us on his way to his native country; hearing of our being at the same hotel, he sent in his name to my friend. Day after day he remained at Inspruck. The whole of the evening was spent with us in our apartment, and he seemed to seek more and more the means of showing attentions to Louisa. At first I was not disturbed by them, but at last I became fretful and irritable, for it appeared as if Louisa took a pleasure in his conversation. I had heard so much of his power of attaching women, that it seemed impossible for her to resist him. Every thing he did, though the most simple action, was perverted in my mind, to a covert sneer at my poverty and insignificance. I often answered him abruptly, and even insulted him. Louisa’s meek eye turned upon me, but it seemed to have lost its influence. I one night found him by her side, he seemed to be earnestly pleading, he had hold of her hand, and she smiled. Stung to the quick by so slight a circumstance, I turned furiously away and retreated to my chamber. Had Berchtold taught me to command my passions, had he but shown me as models for my conduct, men, in the privacy of life, I might have escaped much. It is vain to rest upon it. I had thought that Louisa’s influence over my mind, would have hindered me ever again losing myself, hurried away by any passion. But here Louisa’s form arose in all the hideousness of jealousy’s distorting mirror! I was mad. My clenched fist struck the table, I could not command myself. I remained some time in this state, when turning my eyes towards my bureau, I perceived an almanack; I seized it in mockery; I counted up the days since she had told me she loved me. I was suddenly struck, it was the 28th day of the month, it was a combination of seven. It seemed as if by one exertion I might free myself from doubt, and be at once lost in the horrible certainty, or be for ever blest in the knowledge of Louisa’s heart.