VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE; OR, THE FEAST OF BLOOD. CHAPTER CCXV. [sic] [Chapter 232] VARNEY'S NARATIVE CONTINUED. Mr. Bevan paused when he had got thus far, to ask himself if he ought to give credence to what he read, or put it down as the raving of some person, whose wits had become tangled and deranged by misfortune. Had the manuscript come to him without other circumstances to give it the air of truthfulness, he would have read it only as a literary curiosity, but it will be remembered that he had been a spectator of the resuscitation of Clara Crofton, which afforded of itself a very frightful verification of Varney's story -- a story so horrible in all its details, that but for the great interest which it really possessed, he would have deeply regretted the mixing it up in his memory with brighter subjects. There was something yet to read in the papers before him, and thinking that it was better to know all at once than to leave his imagination to work upon matters so likely seriously to affect it, he resumed his perusal of these papers, which might be considered the autobiography of Varney. * * * * I have already said that I was not yet fully alive to the horror of what I was, but I soon found what the words which had been spoken to me by the mysterious being who had exhumed me meant; I was a thing accursed, a something to be shunned by all men, a horror, a blight, and a desolation. I felt myself growing sick and weak, as I traversed the streets of the city, and yet I loathed the sight of food, whenever I saw it. I reached my own house, and saw that it had been burned down; there lay nothing but a heap of charred ruins where it once stood. But I had an interest in those ruins, for from time to time I had buried considerable sums of money beneath the flooring of the lowest apartments, and I had every reason to believe, as such a secret treasure was only known to myself, that it remained untouched. I waited until the moon became obscured by some passing clouds, and then having a most intimate knowledge of the locality, I commenced groping about the ruins, and removing a portion of them, until I made my way to the spot where my money was hidden. The morning came, however, and surprised me at my occupation; so I hid myself among the ruins of what had once been my home for a whole day, and never once stirred from my concealment. Oh, it was a long and weary day. I could hear the prattle of children at play, an inn or change-house was near at hand, and I could hear noisy drinkers bawling forth songs that had been proscribed in the Commonwealth. I saw a poor wretch hunted nearly to death, close to where I lay concealed, because from the fashion of his garments, and the cut of his hair, he was supposed to belong to the deposed party. But the long expected night came at last. It was a dark one, too, so that it answered my purpose well. I had found an old rusty knife among the ruins, and with that I set to work to dig up my hidden treasure; I was successful, and found it all. Not a guinea had been removed, although in the immediate neighbourhood, there were those who would have sacrificed a human life for any piece of gold that I had hoarded. I made no enquiries about any one that had belonged to me. I dreaded to receive some horrible and circumstantial answer, but I did get a slight piece of news, as I left the ruins, although I asked not for it. "There's a poor devil," said one; "did you ever see such a wretch in all your life?" "Why, yes," said another, "he's enough to turn one's canary sour, he seems to have come up from the ruins of Mortimers's house. By-the-by did you ever hear what became of him?" "Yes, to be sure, he was shot by two of Cromwell's dragoons in some fracas or another." "Ah, I recollect now, I heard as much. He murdered his son, didn't he?" I passed on. Those words seemed to send a bolt of fire through the brain, and I dreaded that the speaker might expatiate upon them. A slow misty rain was falling, which caused the streets to be very much deserted, but being extremely well acquainted with the city, I passed on till I came to that quarter which was principally inhabited by Jews, who I knew would take my money without any troublesome questions being asked me, and also I could procure every accomodation required; and they did do so, for before another hour had passed over my head, I emerged richly habited as a chevalier of the period, having really not paid to the conscientious Israelite much more than four times the price of the clothing I walked away with. And thus I was in the middle of London, with some hundreds of pounds in my pocket, and a horrible uncertainty as to what I was. I was growing fainter and fainter still, and I feared that unless I succeeded in housing myself shortly, I should become a prey to some one who, seeing my exhausted condition, would, notwithstanding I had a formidable rapier by my side, rob me of all I possessed. My career has been much too long and too chequered an one even to give the briefest sketch of. All I purpose here to relate is how I became convinced I was a vampyre, and that blood was my congenial nourishment and the only element of my new existence. I passed on until I came to a street where I knew the houses were large but unfashionable, and that they were principally occupied by persons who made a trade by letting out apartments, and there I thought I might locate myself in safety. As I made no difficulty about terms, there was no difficulty at all of any sort, and I found myself conducted into a tolerably handsome suite of rooms in the house of a decent-looking widow woman, who had two daughters, young and blooming girls, both of whom regarded me as the new lodger, with looks of anything but favour, considering my awful and cadaverous appearance most probably as promising nothing at all in the shape of pleasant companionship. This I was quite prepared for-- I had seen myself in a mirror-- that was enough; and I could honestly have averred that a more ghastly and horrible looking skeleton, attired in silks and broad-cloth, never yet walked the streets of the city. When I retired to my chamber, I was so faint and ill, that I could scarcely drag one foot after the other; and was ruminating what I should do, until a strange feeling crept over me that I should like---- what? Blood! -- raw blood, reeking and hot, bubbling and juicy, from the veins of some gasping victim. A clock upon the stairs struck one. I arose and listened attentively; all was still in the house-- still as the very grave. It was a large old rambling building, and had belonged at one time, no doubt, to a man of some mark and likelihood in the world. My chamber was one of six that opened from a corridor of a considerable length, and which traversed the whole length of the house. I crept out into this corridor, and listened again for full ten minutes, but not the slightest sound, save my own faint breathing, disturbed the stillness of the house; and that emboldened me so that, with my appetite for blood growing each moment stronger, I began to ask myself from whose veins I could seek strength and nourishment. But how was I to proceed? How was I to know in that large house which of the sleepers I could attack with safety, for it had now come to that, that I was to attack somebody. I stood like an evil spirit, pondering over the best means of securing a victim. And there came over me the horrible faintness again, that faintness which each moment grew worse, and which threatened completely to engulf me. I feared that some flush of it would overtake me, and then I should fall to rise no more; and strange as it may appear, I felt a disposition to cling to the new life that had been given to me. I seemed to be acquainted already with all its horrors, but not all its joys. Suddenly the darkness of the corridor was cleared away, and soft and mellow light crept into it, and I said to myself, -- "The moon has risen." Yes, the bright and beautiful moon, which I had felt the soft influence of when I lay among the graves, had emerged from the bank of clouds along the eastern sky, its beams descending through a little window. They streamed right through the corridor, faintly but effectually illuminating it, and letting me see clearly all the different doors leading to the different chambers. And thus it was that I had light for anything I wished to do, but not information. The moonbeams playing upon my face seemed to give me a spurious sort of strength. I did not know until after experience what a marked and sensible effect they would always have upon me, but I felt it even then, although I did not attribute it wholly to the influence of the queenly planet. I walked on through the corridor, and some sudden influence seemed to guide me to a particular door. I know not how it was, but I laid my hand upon the lock, and said to myself, -- "I shall find my victim here." -+- Next Time: The Night Attack. -- The Horrible Conclusion. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | 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 232 Ver 1.00 06/07/1998 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 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: 858-860 Sections: 2 Approximate number of characters: Number of paragraphs: Comments: Chapter appears mis-numbered as CCXV. At this point, we briefly revisit the character of Mr. Bevan, the clergyman reading Varney's manuscript. Mr. Bevan pauses a moment to consider the truthfulness of what he has read, and concludes, after considering what he had recently experienced with the Crofton family, that these pages could not be easily dismissed. Then he decides it is better to finish reading the papers, and he continues. Varney's story picks up with him wandering the streets of London. He makes his way back to where his house was, but finds it a burned-down ruin. But he remembers that he has hidden a large sum of money buried there. He has to hide during the day, but at night he emerges and is able to reclaim his hidden fortune. As he leaves he hears two people speak of him, the former Mortimer, and how he had killed his son, and was presumably executed by Cromwell for this crime. He goes to the Jewish quarter and using his gold, is able to procure fine clothes, although at an inflated price. He then begins to feel faint, and makes his way to an area where he knows he can rent a room. He finds lodging in the home of a widow with two young daughters. He emerges from his room at 1 o'clock in the morning, feeling faint and in fear of failing completely. He knows that he must get a meal of blood to nourish this body of his new life. But now the moon arises and its light refreshes him and somehow he becomes certain which door he should enter to seek his hideous meal. He approaches the door knowing he will find a victim. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Modification History Version Date Who What changes made -------- -------- ------------- ---------------------------------- 1.00 06/07/1998 H.Liu Initial gold version, rough proof read. ==================================End of File=================================