The Vampyre

by Tom Holland

  ‘Ahasver laughed derisively. “Vampire? No.”

  ‘“Then what?”

  ‘Ahasver stared at the mists where they curled like distant seas. “There are forces in this world,” he said at last, “full of power and strangeness and sublimity. You yourself, milord, have evidence of this. In you, the twin poles of life and death are confounded - what man falsely separates, you unite. And you are great, milord - terribly great - but there are powers and beings even greater than you. I tell you this, both to warn and help you in your agony.”

  ‘He stroked my cheeks, then kissed me. “Ah, milord,” he said, “your eyes are as deep and beautiful and dangerous as mine. You are extraordinary - extraordinary.” He took me by my arm, led me along the top of the cliff. “I appear to men sometimes, to torture them with thoughts of eternity, but to vampires - who would understand me better, and therefore be more truly appalled - never. You though - you are different. I had heard the rumours, that the Lords of the Dead had a new Emperor. Then your fame began to fill the world. Lord Byron - Lord Byron - your name seemed to hover on every tongue. I was intrigued. I came to you. I tested you.” Ahasver paused and smiled. “Milord, I can promise you this - you will be an emperor such as the vampires have never known.

  ‘“And therefore I warn you. If I have been mocking your hopes, then it is to remind you that you cannot escape your own nature. To imagine otherwise is to torture yourself. Do not trust in mortal science, milord. You are a creature beyond its power to explain. Do you truly expect it to save you from your thirst?” Ahasver laughed, and gestured with his hand. “If the abysm could vomit forth its secrets . . .” He waited. Below us, the chasm was as silent as before. Ahasver laughed again. “Deep truth is imageless, milord. What I know, you cannot. So be content with the immortality you have.”

  ‘“Do you drink blood?”

  ‘Ahasver stared at me. He didn’t reply.

  ‘“Do you drink blood?” I repeated bitterly. “No. How then can you tell me to be content ? I am cursed. How can you understand that?”

  ‘Ahasver smiled faintly. In his eyes, I thought I saw a gleam of mockery. “All immortality, milord, is a curse.” He paused, and took my hands. “Accept it, though - accept it as it is - and it becomes a blessing” - his eyes widened - “a chance, milord, to walk amongst the gods.” He kissed me on my cheek, then whispered in my ear. “A curse must live off its victim’s self-hate. Do not hate yourself, milord, and do not hate your immortality. Welcome the greatness which is ready to be yours.”

  ‘He pulled away from me, then gestured at the mountains and the sky. “You are worthy to rule - more worthy than any of your breed before. Do it, milord. Rule as Emperor. This is how I help you - by telling you to abandon your ridiculous guilt. See! - the world is at your feet! Those who surpass or subdue mankind must always look down on the hate of those below. Do not fear what you are. Exult in it!” Below us, the clouds boiled white and sulphury, like foam from the ocean of Hell. But then, as I stared, I saw them thin and part, and the deep abyss was opened to me. My spirit, like lightning, seemed to dart across the void. I felt the rich pulse of life fill the heavens. The very mountains seemed to stir and breathe, and I imagined the blood in their stony veins, so vividly that I longed to tear the rocks apart, and feed on them, and all the world. I thought this passion would overwhelm me - this passion of immortality - and yet it did not - for my mind had grown colossal, expanded by the beauty of the mountains and my thoughts. I turned to Ahasver. He was changed. He stretched away, high beyond the peaks, into the sky, a dark form of giant shadow, meeting with the dawn as it rose above Mont Blanc. I felt myself rise with him, moving on the wind. I saw the Alps stretched out far below. “What are you?” I asked again. “What nature of thing?” I felt Ahasver’s voice repeat within my thoughts: “You are worthy to rule - exult in it!” “Yes!” I shouted, laughing. “Yes!” Then I felt rock beneath my feet. The wind moaned and cut across my back. The air was cold. I was alone again. Ahasver was gone.

  ‘I returned to the road. I killed the first peasant I met, and emptied him. I felt how dread I was, how fathomless and alone. Later, with Hobhouse, I rode back past my victim’s corpse. A crowd was gathered round it. A man was bent over the dead man’s chest. As we passed, he glanced up and looked into my face. It was Polidori. I met his stare until he looked away. I shook out my reins. I laughed, to think that he was following me. I was a vampire - didn’t the fool understand what that meant? I laughed again.

  ‘“Well,” said Hobhouse, “you seem damned cheery all of a sudden.”

  ‘We descended into Italy. On the way, I killed and drank remorselessly. One evening, outside Milan, I captured a handsome shepherd boy. His blood was as tender and soft as his lips. As I drank it, I felt a touch on my back.

  ‘“Zounds, Byron, but you always did have a good eye. Where’d you find such a pretty trull?”

  ‘I looked up and smiled. “Lovelace.” I kissed him. He was as golden and cruel as he had been before.

  ‘He laughed as he embraced me. “We have been waiting for you,” he said. “Welcome, Byron. Welcome to Milan.”

  ‘There were other vampires gathered in the city. They had come, Lovelace told me, to pay their respects. I did not find this strange. Their homage, after all, was nothing but my due. There were twelve of them, the vampires of Italy. They were deathly and beautiful, and their powers were great, like Lovelace’s. But I was greater than them all - I could feel it so easily, as I had not done before - and even Lovelace now seemed daunted by me. I told him, in strange hints, of my meeting with Ahasver. He had never heard of such a being before. This pleased me. Where before he had been the teacher, now I commanded instinctively. He, and all the vampires, respected my order to leave Hobhouse alone. Instead, we hunted other prey, and our banquets ran red with living blood.

  ‘It was our habit, before such meals, to attend the opera. I went one night with Lovelace and a third vampire, as beautiful and cruel as either of us, the Contessa Marianna Lucrezia Cenci. As she descended from our carriage, and smoothed down the skirts of her crimson gown, she smelled the air - her green eyes narrowed - she turned to me. “There is someone out there,” she said. “He has been following us.” She stroked her gloves along the length of her arm, much like a cat when she cleans herself. “I will kill him.”

  ‘I frowned. I too could smell our pursuer’s blood.

  ‘“Later,” said Lovelace, taking Marianna’s arm. “Let us hurry, or we will miss the opera’s start.”

  ‘Marianna glanced at me. I nodded. We took our places in our private box. The performance that night was of Mozart’s Don Giovanni - the man who seduced a thousand women, and abandoned them all. As the opera started, our eyes began to gleam - it was a story written, it seemed, to appeal to us. Lovelace turned and smiled at me. “You will see shortly, Byron, how the rogue is confronted by his wife. He had left her, don’t you know, because he had the itch of unrestrainable villainy.” He grinned again.

  ‘“A man after my own heart,” I replied. The wife entered - the Don ran away - the servant was left to handle things. He began to sing to the wife, describing his master’s conquests around the world. “In Germany, two hundred and thirty-one; a hundred in France; in Turkey, ninety-one.” I recognised the song at once. I turned to Lovelace. “This was the same tune you hummed,” I said, “when we hunted in Constantinople and Greece.”

  ‘Lovelace nodded. “Why, yes sir, but my own list of victims is longer by far.”

  ‘Marianna turned to me, stroking back her long black hair. “Deo, but this gives me a killing thirst.”

  ‘At that very moment, there was a disturbance. The door to our box swung open. I looked round. A haggard young man was staring at me. It was Polidori. He raised his arm and pointed at us. “Vampires!” he shouted. “They are vampires, I have seen them, I have proof !”

  ‘As the audience turned in their seats to stare, Marianna rose to her feet. “Mi scusi,” she whispered. Soldiers came into the b
ox. She whispered to them. They nodded, then took Polidori roughly by the arms. They dragged him away.

  ‘“Where have they taken him?” I asked.

  ‘“The cells.”

  ‘“For what offence?”

  ‘“One of the soldiers will claim he was insulted.” Marianna smiled. “That is how it is always done, My Lord.”

  ‘I nodded. The opera continued. I watched as Don Giovanni was dragged to Hell. “Repent!” he was commanded. “No!” the Don screamed back. “Repent!” “No!” I admired his spirit. Marianna and Lovelace both seemed moved as well.

  ‘Out in the dark streets again, their eyes burned bright and eager with thirst. “Are you coming, Byron?” Lovelace asked.

  ‘Marianna shook her head. She smiled at me as she took Lovelace by the arm. “My Lord has other business tonight.” I nodded. I called my carriage up.

  ‘Polidori was waiting for me. “I knew you would come,” he said, shivering as I walked into his cell. “Are you here to kill me?”

  ‘I smiled. “I have a policy of trying not to kill my acquaintances.”

  ‘“Vampire!” Polidori spat suddenly. “Vampire, vampire, vampire! Damned, loathsome vampire!”

  ‘I yawned. “Yes, thank you, you have made your point.”

  ‘“Leech!”

  ‘I laughed. Polidori shuddered at this. He pressed himself flat against the prison wall. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked.

  ‘“You are being expelled from the territory of Milan. You will go tomorrow.” I tossed him a bag of coins. “Here - take these, and never try to follow me again.”

  ‘Polidori stared at the coins in disbelief. Then suddenly, he flung them back at me. “You have everything, don’t you?” he screamed. “Wealth, talent, power - and now, even generosity. Oh, wonderful! The demon who was kind. Well, damn you, Byron, damn you to Hell. You’re a damned cheat, that’s all you are, I despise you, I despise you! If I were the vampire, I would be the lord!”

  ‘He slumped, and fell sobbing at my feet. I reached out to him. Polidori shrunk away. “Damn you!” he screamed again. Then he fell forwards, and leaned his head against my knees. Gently, I stroked the locks of his hair.

  ‘“Take the money,” I whispered, “and go.”

  ‘Polidori stared up. “Damn you.”

  ‘“Go.”

  ‘Polidori kneeled in silence. “I would be a creature of terrible power,” he said at last, “if I were a vampire.”

  ‘There was silence. I stared down at him with mingled pity and contempt. Then suddenly, he snivelled. I pushed him back with my foot. Moonlight was spilling in through a window in the cell. I kicked Polidori so he lay in the light. He started to whimper as I stripped off his shirt. My blood was starting to burn me now. I put my foot on Polidori’s chest. He stared at me wordlessly. I bit into his throat, then ripped with a dagger down across his chest. I drank the blood as it pumped up from the wound, while I tore at the bones, until the heart was exposed. It was still beating, but faintly, and growing ever more faint. His nakedness was horrible. I had lain stripped in the same way - deprived of dignity, life, humanity. The heart twitched, like a fish on a river-bank - and then was still. I moved on the corpse. I gave it the Gift.’

  Lord Byron sat in silence. He stared at something in the darkness, which Rebecca couldn’t see. Then he ran his fingers through the curls of his hair.

  ‘The Gift,’ Rebecca said at last. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Something terrible.’

  Rebecca waited. ‘Indescribable?’

  Lord Byron stared at her. ‘Until you have received it - yes.’

  Rebecca ignored the implications of the word ‘until’. ‘And Polidori,’ she asked, ‘he - he was all right . . .?’ She knew how inadequate her phrase was to the question. Her voice trailed away.

  Lord Byron poured another glass of wine. ‘He awoke from death, if that is what you mean.’

  ‘How? - I mean . . .’

  Lord Byron smiled. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘His eyes opened - he breathed hard - a convulsive motion agitated his limbs. He looked up at me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He may have spoken - I didn’t hear - one hand was stretched out to detain me, but I couldn’t bear the sight of him, this corpse, this hideous monster to which I had given existence. I turned, and left the cell. I paid the guards. They escorted Polidori to the frontier at once. They were found several days later, ripped apart and drained white of their blood. It was all kept quiet.’

  ‘And Polidori?’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘Did you see him again?’

  Lord Byron smiled. He stared at Rebecca with burning eyes. ‘Haven’t you guessed?’ he asked.

  ‘Guessed?’

  ‘The identity of the man who sent you here tonight? The man who showed you the papers? The man on the bridge?’ Lord Byron nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I was to see Polidori again.’

  Chapter XII

  Lift not the painted veil which those who live

  Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,

  And it but mimic all we would believe

  With colours idly spread, - behind, lurk Fear

  And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave

  Their shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear.

  I knew one who had lifted it - he sought,

  For his lost heart was tender, things to love,

  But found them not, alas! nor was there aught

  The world contains, the which he could approve.

  Through the unheeding many he did move,

  A splendour among shadows, a bright blot

  Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove

  For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, SONNET

  Polidori? That . . . man?’ Rebecca sat numbed in her chair.

  Lord Byron smiled at her. ‘Why are you so shocked? I was sure you had guessed.’

  ‘How could I have done?’

  ‘Who else had an interest in sending you here?’

  Rebecca stroked back her hair and patted at it, as though hoping that way to calm her racing heart. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

  Lord Byron stared at her, his smile slowly curling and growing more cruel. Then he laughed and raised an eyebrow. ‘Very well,’ he said mockingly, ‘you don’t understand.’

  Rebecca listened to the sound of her heart in her ears, beating blood - Ruthven blood - Byron blood. She licked her lips. ‘Polidori still hated you, then?’ she asked slowly. ‘Even once you’d given him what he had asked you for? He felt no gratitude?’

  ‘Oh, he loved me.’ Lord Byron folded his hands. ‘Yes, he always loved me. But in Polidori, the love and the hate were so dangerously mixed, that it was very difficult to tell them apart. Polidori couldn’t, certainly, so how the devil was I to? And once he was a vampire - well . . .’

  ‘You were afraid of him?’

  ‘Afraid?’ Lord Byron stared at her in surprise. He shook his head, and then suddenly all was silence, and Rebecca put her hands up to her eyes. She saw herself sliced with a thousand cuts, hanging from a hook, her blood dripping like the finest rain. She was dead, drained white. Rebecca opened her eyes. ‘Have you not understood, the power I have?’ Lord Byron smiled. ‘I, afraid? No.’

  Rebecca shuddered, and tried to stagger to her feet.

  ‘Sit down.’

  Again her mind was invaded by fear. She struggled against its hold. The terror grew worse. She could feel it melting her courage away. Her legs collapsed. She sat down. At once the terror drained from her. As she stared, despite herself, into Lord Byron’s eyes, she felt an unnatural calm returning to her mind.

  ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Fear? - no. Guilt, though. Yes, there was guilt. I had made of Polidori what the Pasha had made of me. I had done what I had sworn I would never do. I had added to the ranks of the living dead. For a while, I was quite wretched
about it, and like all complaining persons, I couldn’t help telling my companions so. I had no wish to see Polidori again - not after what I had seen in the cell - but the Contessa Marianna, who loved me, tracked the Doctor down. She found him in the hall of a tourist’s hotel. He was laughing hysterically, as though quite insane, but he knew Marianna as a vampire at once, and with her beside him, he seemed to calm down. He had been hired, he explained, by an Austrian count. The Count had caught a chill. “He asked me” - and here Polidori had begun to splutter again - “he asked me - ha, ha, ha! - he asked me to bleed him! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Well - I did as he asked. He’s upstairs now. And I have to say - his chill has got worse!” Here, Polidori had collapsed into mirth - then he began to cry - and then his face froze totally. “Tell Byron,” he whispered, “I want the money after all. He’ll understand.” His eyes were bulging by now. His tongue was like a mad dog’s, hanging foamy and flaccid. His whole body shook. He turned his back on Marianna, and ran into the streets. She didn’t bother to follow him.

  ‘Her advice to me later was simple. “Kill him. It will be for the best. There are those, milord, who cannot take the Gift. Especially not from you. Your blood is too strong. It has unbalanced his mind. There is nothing for it. You must put him down.” But I couldn’t bear to. That would merely have compounded my fault. I sent him the money he had asked me for. I made only one condition - that he return to England. I had decided by now I would live in Venice. I didn’t want Polidori bothering me.’

  ‘And he went?’

  ‘When he received the money - yes. We heard reports of him. He had been hired by a succession of Englishmen. They all died. No one suspected Polidori though. It was merely said of him he was overfond of applying the leech.’ Lord Byron smiled. ‘He got back to England at last. I knew, because he started pestering my publisher with unreadable plays. The news of that caused me some amusement. I warned my publisher to keep his windows locked at night. Otherwise, I gave Polidori very little thought.’

  ‘He really kept away from you, then?’

  Lord Byron paused. ‘He would not have dared come near me. Not while I was in Venice.’