The Vampyre

by Tom Holland

  ‘For my friend had been right about Childe Harold. I awoke one morning, and found myself famous. The whole world seemed suddenly stark-mad about the poem - and about me, its author, madder still. I was courted, visited, flattered, and desired - there was no other topic of conversation but myself, no other object of curiosity or praise. But it was not my poetry that had won me such fame - no - I never for a moment presumed to think that. It was the spell of my eyes which had prostrated London - the spell of my nature, which subdued duchesses and viscounts as easily as peasant boys. I had only to enter a ballroom to sense its surrender to me. I would gaze round at the wealth and beauty swirling on the floor, and at once, a thousand eyes would turn to admire my face, a thousand hearts would beat faster at my stare. Yet this fascination people felt was something they barely understood - for what could they know of the vampire, and his secret world? But I understood - and witnessing my empire, I felt anew what it meant to be a lord of the dead.

  ‘Yet, for all this - all these manifold proofs of my power - I was not happy. Amongst the poor, I fed on blood; amongst the aristocracy, on their hapless worship. Both served to calm my restlessness, which tortured me now, as though it were a fire in the very core of my being, which would consume me unless it was constantly fed. Yet as I sought to appease these flames, so also I felt my soul wither all the more - and I began to long again for mortal love, to redeem me, perhaps, and fall like cooling rain on my heart. But where could I find such a love? My eyes, now, could only win me slaves - and those I despised, for they loved me as birds love a rattlesnake. I could scarcely blame them; the stare of a vampire is deadly and sweet. Yet sometimes, when my thirst for blood was satiated, I loathed my own powers, and felt how strongly - how painfully - my mortal longings still survived in me.

  ‘It happened, at the height of my fame, that I went to Lady Westmoreland’s ball. The usual crowds of women came flocking up to me, begging for a word or even a glance - but amongst the throngs was one woman who looked away. I asked for an introduction - it was refused. Naturally enough, I was intrigued. A few days later, I saw the same woman again - and this time, she graciously acknowledged me. Her name, I learned, was Lady Caroline Lamb; she was married to the son of Lady Melbourne, whose house in Whitehall was the most fashionable in town. The next morning, I called on Lady Caroline - I was ushered to her room - and found her waiting for me, dressed as a page.

  ‘“Byron,” she drawled, “lead me to your carriage.” I smiled, but said nothing, and did as she asked. “The docks,” she told my coachman. Her lisp was quite captivating. Physically, she was a little on the bony side, but in her pageboy’s uniform she reminded me of Haidée, and I had decided already I would have her if I could. Lady Caroline, it seemed, had made her mind up too. “Your face,” she told me in a dramatic whisper, “I think it is my fate.” She gripped my hand. “How icy your touch is. How cold.” I smiled faintly, disguising my frown - and Lady Caroline shuddered with delight. “Yes,” she said, kissing me suddenly, “I think your love will be pollution. It will destroy me utterly!” The idea seemed to arouse her even more. She kissed me again violently, then leaned out of the carriage. “Faster,” she yelled at the coachman, “faster! Your master is keen to wreck his evil way on me!”

  ‘I did so, in a foul-smelling tavern by the edge of the docks. I used her once, casually, up against the wall, then had her a second time, in her pageboy’s suit - Caro adored it both ways round. “How awful it is,” she gasped happily, “to be the object of your intemperate lusts. I am shamed, ruined, oh, I shall kill myself.” She paused, then kissed me again with wild abandon. “Oh, Byron, what a fiend you are - what a black-souled monster!”

  ‘I smiled. “Flee me then,” I whispered mockingly. “Do you not know, my touch is deadly?”

  ‘Caro giggled and kissed me - then suddenly, her face grew solemn. “Yes,” she said softly, “I rather think it is.” She slipped from my embrace, and ran from the room - I dressed unhurriedly, then followed her out, and together we rode back to Melbourne House.

  ‘How much had she understood when she had called me a fiend, an angel of death? Had she suspected the truth? I doubted it - but I was sufficiently captivated to want to find out. The following day, I visited her again. I gave her a rose. “Your ladyship, I am told, likes all that is new and rare for a moment.”

  ‘Caro stared at the rose. “Indeed, My Lord?” she whispered. “I had imagined that to be truer of you.” She laughed hysterically, and began to tear the petals from the flower. Then, her taste for melodrama seemingly satisfied, she took my arm and led me into Lady Melbourne’s hall.

  ‘It was crowded, but the moment I had walked into the room, I knew there was another vampire there. I breathed in deeply, and looked around - and then the feeling was gone. But I was certain that my senses hadn’t lied to me. I remembered Lovelace’s promise, that he would write to a girl of our own kind, to help and advise me while I stayed in London. I glanced around the salon again. Caro was watching me, with her violent, burning eyes - Lady Melbourne herself was watching me - the whole room was watching me. And then, in the corner, I saw someone sitting on her own who was not.

  ‘She was a young girl, radiant and grave. Suddenly, I felt tears prick my eyes. The girl was as much like Haidée as a gem is like a flower - and yet in her face there was the same hint of sublimity, all youth but with an aspect beyond time. She felt my eyes on her, and glanced up. There was a great depth in her stare, and a sadness too - but it was a sadness for another person’s crime - and that person, I realised with a sudden shock, was myself. She sat as though guarding the gateway to Eden, mourning for those who could return no more. She smiled again, then turned away, and however piercingly I continued to stare at her, she did not look up a second time.

  ‘But later in the evening, when I was standing alone, she came up to me.

  ‘“I know you for what you are,” she whispered.

  ‘I stared at her. “Indeed, miss?” I asked.

  ‘She nodded gently. How young she was, I thought, and yet how profound was her look, as though her soul were embracing boundless thoughts. I opened my mouth, to mention Lovelace’s name - and then, suddenly, I realised something strange, and paused. For if she were the creature I had presumed her to be - where was the cruelty in her face? - the ice of death? - the hunger in her eyes?

  ‘“You can feel nobly, My Lord,” the strange girl said. She paused, as though in sudden confusion. “But you discourage your own goodness,” she said quickly. “Please, Lord Byron - never believe that you exist beyond hope.”

  ‘“You have hope yourself, then?”

  ‘“Oh, yes.” The girl smiled. “We all have hope.” She paused, and glanced down at her feet. “Goodbye,” she said, looking up again. “I trust we shall become friends.”

  ‘“Yes,” I said. I watched as she turned to leave, and felt a sudden bitterness curl my lip. “Perhaps we shall be,” I whispered softly to myself, and then I laughed mirthlessly and shook my head.

  ‘“Has my niece been amusing you, My Lord?”

  ‘I glanced round. Lady Melbourne was standing behind me. I bowed politely. “Your niece?” I asked.

  ‘“Yes. Her name is Annabella. The daughter of a frigidly provincial elder sister of mine.” Lady Melbourne glanced at the door through which her niece had disappeared. I followed her stare. “She seems an extraordinary girl,” I said.

  ‘“Indeed?” Lady Melbourne turned to stare at me. Her eyes glinted with a touch of mockery, and her smile was cruel. “I hadn’t thought she was the type of girl to attract you, My Lord.”

  ‘I shrugged. “She is perhaps a little encumbered by virtue.”

  ‘Lady Melbourne smiled again. She really was a most attractive woman, I realised - dark-haired, voluptuous, with eyes that glittered as brightly as my own. It was impossible to believe she was sixty-two. She rested her hand gently on my arm. “Beware of Annabella,” she said softly. “Too much virtue can be a dangerous thing.”

  �
��For a long while, I made no answer - just stared into the death-like paleness of Lady Melbourne’s face. Then I nodded. “I am sure you are right,” I said.

  ‘At that moment, I heard Caro shouting my name. I glanced over my shoulder. “Call your carriage,” she yelled at me, in a voice which carried across the room. “I want to leave, Byron. I want to leave now!” I saw her husband stare darkly at me, then look away. I turned back to Lady Melbourne. “I wouldn’t worry,” I told her. “I doubt I’ll have the time to be distracted by your niece.” I smiled faintly. “I think your daughter-in-law will see to that.”

  ‘Lady Melbourne nodded, but she didn’t answer my smile. “Again, My Lord,” she whispered, “be careful. You are powerful, but young. You do not know your strength. And Caroline is passionate.” She squeezed my hand. “If things turn wrong, dear Byron - it can be good to have a friend.”

  ‘She stared deep into my eyes. How unearthly her beauty was, I thought, how strange and fierce - how very like Lovelace’s. And yet she was too old to be the girl he had known. I glanced across at Caro, then back at Lady Melbourne as she walked away from me. I called after her.

  ‘She raised a single eyebrow as she turned round. “My Lord?” she asked.

  ‘“Lady Melbourne . . .” I laughed, then shook my head. “Forgive me - but I must ask . . .”

  ‘“Please,” she said. She waited. “Ask.”

  ‘“Are you what you seem to be?”

  ‘She smiled softly. “That you ask me the question surely answers you.”

  ‘I bowed my head.

  ‘“We are so few,” she whispered suddenly. She took my hand again. “We who have chosen to kiss the lips of death.”

  ‘“Chosen, Lady Melbourne?” I stared at her. “I never chose.”

  ‘A sad half-smile played on Lady Melbourne’s lips. “Of course,” she said. “I was forgetting.” She turned, and when I reached after her, she brushed my hand away. “Please,” she said, staring back at me, “I beg you - forget what I have just said.” Her eyes glittered with sudden warning. “Do not press me on it, dear Byron. Anything else - ask - and I will help you. But not the causes that led me to . . . to become what you see. I am sorry. The fault was mine. I never intended to refer to it.” A shadow of bitterness passed across her face - and as though reminded by something, she glanced across at her daughter-in-law. “Be kind to her,” she whispered. “Do not unbalance her mind. She is mortal - you are not.” Then, with a sudden smile, she was once again the urbane hostess. “Now,” she said, dismissing me, “I mustn’t keep you to myself.” She kissed me farewell. “Off you go and seduce my son’s wife.”

  ‘I did so, that night. I paid little attention to Lady Melbourne’s requests. Naturally - for it was my immortal nature which I most longed to forget; I had no other motive for falling in love. I had been craving a woman such as Caro - a tameless spirit, a lover without restraints, whose desire would be equal to the greed of my own. For a few weeks, our passion burned madly, with a desperate fever which infected us both, torching every thought which was not of our love, so that for a while, even my restless lust for blood seemed dimmed. But the fever passed - and I realised that I had only another slave - like all my slaves - save that Caro’s wildness made her bondage to me even more complete. I had not drained her, as the vampire normally does, but - far crueller - I had infected her with a scorching, remorseless desire, so that her mind grew ever more frantic and unhinged. I realised for the first time how deadly a vampire’s love can be - that the drinking of blood is not the only way to destroy. For I had enveloped Caro in the full glare of my passion - and like the sun, it was too bright for a mortal’s mind to bear. My own love was soon spent, very soon spent - but it was Caro’s doom never to be cured of me.

  ‘Soon, her indiscretions became insufferable - and it was I, the vampire, who was haunted by her. She sent me presents, letters, came at midnight to my rooms, followed my carriage in her pageboy disguise. I sent her brutal dismissals - I took a second mistress - in desperation, I even contemplated killing her. But Lady Melbourne, when I suggested such a plan, laughed and shook her head. “The scandal is already quite damaging enough.” She stroked my hair. “Dearest Byron, I did warn you - you must be more restrained. Draw less attention to yourself. Be discreet - as I am - as all our breed are.”

  ‘I looked up at her. I thought about the girl that Lovelace had known, and who had not yet come to me. “There are others, then,” I asked, “like us, here in London?”

  ‘Lady Melbourne tilted her head. “Doubtless,” she said.

  ‘“But surely you know?”

  ‘She smiled. “As I said - we are mostly discreet.” She paused. “We also, Byron, it is true to say, lack your power - it makes you extraordinary - but dangerous as well. You have genius and fire - and so - for those very reasons - you must be careful.” She held my arms, stared into my face. “Do you doubt that the law, if it finds us, would seek to destroy us? Your fame is something terrible - your exposure could serve to annihilate us all.”

  ‘“I do not care to skulk,” I said lazily; but her urgency had impressed me, and I was careful, this time, to heed her words. I did not kill Lady Caroline - merely redoubled my efforts to keep her at bay. I did nothing that would draw attention to myself - in other words, I seduced, drank, gambled, talked politics - like any other London gentleman - and, above all, I spent time with Hobhouse - that single fixed point my life still possessed. Hobby had never asked me about my year alone in Greece, and I never told him. Instead, like the true friend he was, he fought hard to keep me out of scrapes, and I trusted him in a way I found hard to trust myself. Only late at night, when we had returned from a party or a gaming club, did I shrug him off. Then I would slip into the dark, and resume an existence that Hobhouse couldn’t check, and for a few brief hours, I would be true to myself. But even amongst the docks and the foulest slums, I remembered Lady Melbourne’s plea - and I was discreet. My victims, once selected, never escaped.

  ‘One night, though, my thirst grew more than usually sharp. Caro had created a scene - arriving at my house, very late, in her pageboy’s disguise - demanding an elopement. Hobhouse, as ever, had been a pillar of strength, and Caro had been bundled out at last - but I was left feeling feverish with cruelty, and a loathing of the need to disguise what I was. I waited till Hobhouse was gone - then I left for the darkness of the Whitechapel slums. I walked through the loneliest, dimmest streets. My need for blood was desperate. Suddenly, I could smell it, both ahead of me and behind. But I was in no mood now for carefulness. I walked on, into a foul, mud-filled lane, and my footsteps were the only noise to be heard. The smell of blood was very rich now. Then I sensed someone stepping out from behind me. I turned round, and saw an arm coming down - I caught it - I twisted it - I forced the footpad to the ground. He looked into my face, and he screamed, and then I slashed across his throat, and there was silence, save for the sweet, sweet washing of his blood against my face. I drank long and deep, holding the dead man’s throat to my lips. At last I was full - I dropped the withered corpse into the mud - and then - I paused. I could smell the perfume of another person’s blood. I looked up. Caro was watching me.

  ‘Slowly, I wiped the blood from my mouth. Caro said nothing, just stared with her wild, desperate eyes, as I rose and walked across to her. I ran my fingers through her hair; she shuddered; I thought she was about to break away. But then she began to shake, her thin body racked by tearless sobs, and she reached for my lips, kissing me, smearing the blood across her mouth and face. I held her. “Caro,” I whispered, deep within her thoughts, “you have seen nothing tonight.” Wordlessly, she nodded. “We must leave,” I said, glancing at the corpse where it lay in the mud. I took Caro’s arm. “Come on,” I said. “It isn’t safe for either of us here.”

  ‘Caro was dumb in the carriage. On the way back to Whitehall, I made love to her, tenderly, and still she didn’t speak a word. At Melbourne House, I escorted her in, and we parted with a kiss. As I le
ft, I caught sight of myself in a mirror. The soul of passion seemed stamped on every feature. My face was pale with haughtiness and bitter contempt; yet there was an air as well of dejection and woe, which softened and shaded the fierceness of my looks. It was a terrible face, beautiful and wretched - it was my own face. I shuddered, as Caro had done, and saw distress struggling with malignity, till everything was cold and solemn as before. Impassive once again, I swept my cloak about me, and returned into the night.

  ‘The next day, Caro came to my rooms, forcing her way past my servants and shouting at my friends to leave us alone. “I love you,” she said, when we were alone. “I love you, Byron, with all my heart, my everything - my life. Yes, take my life, if you won’t have me.” Suddenly, she ripped open her dress. “Kill me!” she screamed. “Feed on me!”

  ‘I stared at her, long and hard. Then I shook my head. “Leave me in peace,” I said.

  ‘But Caro seized my arm, and flung herself at me. “Let me be a creature like you! Let me share in your existence! I will surrender everything!”

  ‘I laughed. “You don’t know what you say.”

  ‘“I do!” Caro screamed. “I do, I do! I want the kiss of death on my lips! I want to share this darkness you have risen from! I want to taste the magic of your blood!” She began to sob. She fell on her knees. “Please, Byron! Please, I cannot live without you. Give me your blood. Please!”

  ‘I stared at her, and felt a terrible pity, and a temptation as well. To let her share my existence with me - yes - to ease the burden of my loneliness . . . But then I remembered my vow, never to create another creature like myself, and I turned my back on her. “Your vanity is ridiculous,” I told her, as I rang the servants’ bell. “Exert your absurd caprices upon others.”