VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE; OR, THE FEAST OF BLOOD. CHAPTER CXCVII. [sic] [Chapter 227] VARNEY OPENS THE VAST STORE-HOUSE OF HIS MEMORY. A more singular conversation than that which took place between Varney, the Vampyre, and this minister of religion, could not be conceived. If there was any one particle of goodness existing in Varney's disposition, we may suspect it would now be developed. Perhaps the whole domestic history of the world never yet exhibited so remarkable an association as that between Mr. Bevan and Varney; and when they sat down together in the little cheerful study of the former, never had four walls enclosed two beings of the same species, and yet of such opposite pursuits. But we can hardly call Varney, the Vampyre, human-- his space of existence had been lengthened out beyond the ordinary routine of human existence, and the kind of vitality that he now enjoyed, if one might be allowed the expression, was something distinct and peculiar. It speaks volumes, however, for the philantrophy and liberality of the minister of any religion who could hold out the hand of fellowship to so revolting and to so horrible an existence. But Mr. Bevan was no common man. His religion was doctrinal, certainly, but it was free from bigotry; and his charity to the feelings, opinions, and prejudices of others was immense. He was accustomed to say "may not my feelings be prejudices," and one of the sublimest precepts of the whole Scriptures was to him that which says, "Judge not, lest ye, too, should be judged." Hence it was that he would not allow himself to revolt at Varney. It had seemed right to the great Creator of all things that there should be such a being, and therefore, he, Mr. Bevan, would neither question nor contemn it. "Look about you," he said to Varney with a disordered gaze; "you seem to look very about you as if there was danger in the atmosphere you breathe, but be assured you are safe here; it shall be my life for your life if any harm should be attempted to be done you." Varney looked at him for a few moments silence, and then in his deep and sepulchral voice he spoke, saying, -- "My race is run." "What mean you by that expression?" "I mean I shall no longer be a terror to the weak, nor a curiosity to the strong. In time past, more than once I have tried to shuffle off the evil of this frightful existence, but some accident, strange, wild, and wonderful, has brought me back to life again." "Perhaps not an accident," said Mr. Bevan. "You may be right, but when I have sought to rid the world of my own bad company, I have been moved to do so by some act of kindness and consideration, most contrary to my deserts; and then again when I have been cast back by the waves of fate upon the shores of existence, my heart is burdened, and I have begun to plan to work mischief and misery and woe to all." "I can understand how your feelings have alternated, but I hope that out association will have better result." "Yes, a better result, for with consumate art, with cool perseverance and extended knowledge, I trust I may think of some means which cannot fail of changing this living frame to that dust from which it sprung, and to which it should long since have returned." "You believe in that, but do you not think there is a pure spirit that will yet live, independent of the grovelling earth?" "There are times when I have hoped that even that fable were true; but you have promised me rest, will you keep your word?" "That will I most certainly; but will you keep yours? You have promised me some details of your extraordinary existence, and as a divine, and I hope in some degree as a philosopher, I look for them with some degree of anxiety." "You shall have them-- leave me pens, ink and paper, and in the solitude of this room, until to-morrow morning, and you shall have what I believe to be the origin of this most horrible career." "Your wishes shall be consulted-- but, will you not take refreshment?" "Nothing-- nothing. My refreshment is one I need not name to you, and when forced by the world's customs and considerations of my own safety, I have partaken of man's usual food, if has but ill accorded with my preternatural existence, I eat not-- drink not-- here. You know me as I am." As he continued speaking, Varney evidently grew weaker, and Mr. Bevan could scarcely persuade himself that it was not through actual want of nourishment, but the Vampyre assured him that it was not so, and that rest would recruit him, to which opinion, as the experience of human nature generally afforded no index to Varney's peculiar habits, he was forced to subscribe. There was a couch in the room, and upon that Varney laid himself, and as he seemed indisposed for further conversation, Mr. Bevan left him, promising to return to him as he himself requested in the morning, with the hope of finding that he had completed some sort of narrative to the effect mentioned. It can scarcely be said that Mr. Bevan had thoroughly made up his mind to leave his guest for so long a period, and as there was a window that looked from the study in his little garden, he thought, that by now and then peeping in, to see that all was right, he could scarcely be considered as breaking faith with his mysterious guest. "He will surely attempt nothing against his own life," thought Mr. Bevan, "for already he seems to be impressed with the futility of such an attempt, and to think that when he has made them he has been made the sport of circumstances that had forced him back to life again, despite all his wishes to the contrary." Mr. Bevan reasoned thus, but he little knew what was passing in the mind of Varney the Vampire. After about two hours more, when the night was profoundly dark, the liberal-minded but anxious clergyman went into his garden, for the purpose of peeping into his study, and he then saw, as he supposed, his visitor lying enveloped in his large brown cloak, lying upon the couch. He was better pleased to see he was sleeping, and recovering from the great fatigue of which he complained, instead of writing, although that writing promised to be of so interesting a character, and he crept softly away for fear of awakening him. The hour had now arrived at which Mr. Bevan usually retired to rest, but he delayed doing so, and let two hours more elapse, after which, he again stole out of his garden, and peeped into the study. There lay the long, gaunt, slumbering figure upon the couch. "I am satisfied," said Mr. Bevan to himself; "fatigue has completely overcome him, and he will sleep till morning now. I long much to become acquainted with his strange eventful history." After this, Mr. Bevan retired to rest, but not until in prayer he had offered up his thanks, and stated his hopes of being able to turn aside from the wicked path he had been pursuing, the wretched man who at that moment was slumbering peacefully beneath his roof. We should have less of opposition to churchmen, if they were all like Mr. Bevan, and not the wily, ravenous, illiberal, grasping crew they really are. There was no priestcraft in him, he was almost enough to make one in love with his doctrines, be they what they might, so that they were his. Although we say that he retired to rest, we should more properly say he retired to try to rest; for, after all, there were feelings of excitement and anxiety about him which he could not repress wholly; and although he had every reason to believe his guest was sleeping, and clamly sleeping too, yet he found he was becoming painfully alive to the slightest sound. He became nervously alive to the least interruption, and kept fancying that he heard the slightest indications of movements in the house, such as at any other time he would have paid no attention to. It always happened too, provokingly, that just as he was dropping into a slight slumber, that he thought he heard one of these noises, and then he would start, awake, and sit up in his bed, and listen attentively, until tired nature forced him to repose again. Those who have passed such a night of watchfulness need not be told how very very exciting it becomes, and hour after hour becomes more intense and acute, and the power of escaping its fell influence less and less. Indeed, it was not until the dawn of morning that Mr. Bevan tasted the sweets of sound repose, then, as is generally usual after nights of fever and disquietude, the cool, pure, life-giving air of early morn, produced quite a different state of feeling, and his repose was calm and serene. -+- Next Time: The Flight of the Vampyre. -- The Mass. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | This Varney the Vampyre e-text was entered by members of the | | Science Fiction Round Table #1 (SFRT1) on the Genie online | | service. | | The Varney Project, a reincarnation of this "penny dreadful" bit | | of fiction, was begun in November of 1993 by James Macdonald and | | should take about four years for re-serialization. | | These chapters are being posted once a week to the Round Table | | Bulletin Board and are also being placed in the Round Table File | | Library. | | For further information concerning Varney e-texts, please send | | email to: | | h.liu@juno.com | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ ============================================================================== The Varney Project Chapter 227 Ver 1.01 05/10/1998 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ General notes on this chapter Source: H.Liu entry from the Arno edition, 1970, text is reprint of 1847 edition Drop capital: No Figures in source: 0 Page numbers in source: 847-848 Sections: 1 Approximate number of characters: Number of paragraphs: Comments: Chapter appears mis-numbered as CXCVII. It was most unusual indeed to have Varney the Vampyre as a houseguest of Mr. Bevan, the clergyman. But Mr. Bevan proved to be almost as extraordinary as his preternatural visitor. Varney tells of previous attempts to end his own existence which inevitably fail and how the kindness shown him motivates him to commit evil on those around him. Mr. Bevan tries to give Varney some hope that his spirit might someday see happier times, to which Varney is noncommittal. Varney then asks to rest, and Mr. Bevan leaves him alone in the room that looks out on to the garden, but not without first getting Varney to promise that he would tell his tale. Varney asks that he be left with pen, ink and paper. The clergyman is obviously excited, and although he does not disturb Varney, he does peek in from time to time though the garden window. He sees that Varney lays soundly sleeping on a couch, covered in his large brown cloak. Mr. Bevan then attempts to retire for the evening himself, but his excitement prevents him from achieving sleep until dawn, when the cool, pure morning air brings him serene slumber. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Modification History Version Date Who What changes made -------- -------- ------------- ---------------------------------- 1.00 05/03/1998 H.Liu Initial gold version, rough proof read. 1.01 05/10/1998 H.Liu [sic] removed from word contemn. It means "to treat or regard with contempt" ==================================End of File=================================