{See important transcriber’s notes at the end.}
VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE:
OR,
THE FEAST OF BLOOD.
=A Romance.=
“Art thou a spirit of health or goblin damned?”
——————————
LONDON:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY E. LLOYD, 12, SALISBURY SQUARE,
FLEET-STREET.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. MIDNIGHT.—THE HAIL-STORM.—THE DREADFUL VISITOR.—THE
VAMPYRE.
II. THE ALARM.—THE PISTOL SHOT.—THE PURSUIT AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES.
III. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY.—FLORA’S RECOVERY AND
MADNESS.—THE OFFER OF ASSISTANCE FROM SIR FRANCIS
VARNEY.
IV. THE MORNING.—THE CONSULTATION.—THE FEARFUL SUGGESTION.
V. THE NIGHT WATCH.—THE PROPOSAL.—THE MOONLIGHT.—THE
FEARFUL ADVENTURE.
VI. A GLANCE AT THE BANNERWORTH FAMILY.—THE PROBABLE
CONSEQUENCES OF THE MYSTERIOUS APPARITION’S APPEARANCE.
VII. THE VISIT TO THE VAULT OF THE BANNERWORTHS, AND ITS
UNPLEASANT RESULT.—THE MYSTERY.
VIII. THE COFFIN.—THE ABSENCE OF THE DEAD.—THE MYSTERIOUS
CIRCUMSTANCE, AND THE CONSTERNATION OF GEORGE.
IX. THE OCCURRENCES OF THE NIGHT AT THE HALL.—THE SECOND
APPEARANCE OF THE VAMPYRE, AND THE PISTOL-SHOT.
X. THE RETURN FROM THE VAULT.—THE ALARM, AND THE SEARCH
AROUND THE HALL.
XI. THE COMMUNICATIONS TO THE LOVER.—THE HEART’S DESPAIR.
XII. CHARLES HOLLAND’S SAD FEELINGS.—THE PORTRAIT.—THE
OCCURRENCE OF THE NIGHT AT THE HALL.
XIII. THE OFFER FOR THE HALL.—THE VISIT TO SIR FRANCIS
VARNEY.—THE STRANGE RESEMBLANCE.—A DREADFUL
SUGGESTION.
XIV. HENRY’S AGREEMENT WITH SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.—THE SUDDEN
ARRIVAL AT THE HALL.—FLORA’S ALARM.
XV. THE OLD ADMIRAL AND HIS SERVANT.—THE COMMUNICATION
FROM THE LANDLORD OF THE NELSON’S ARMS.
XVI. THE MEETING OF THE LOVERS IN THE GARDEN.—AN AFFECTING
SCENE.—THE SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
XVII. THE EXPLANATION.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADMIRAL AT THE
HOUSE.—A SCENE OF CONFUSION, AND SOME OF ITS RESULTS.
XVIII. THE ADMIRAL’S ADVICE.—THE CHALLENGE TO THE
VAMPYRE.—THE NEW SERVANT AT THE HALL.
XIX. FLORA IN HER CHAMBER.—HER FEARS.—THE MANUSCRIPT.—AN
ADVENTURE.
XX. THE DREADFUL MISTAKE.—THE TERRIFIC INTERVIEW IN THE
CHAMBER.—THE ATTACK OF THE VAMPYRE.
XXI. THE CONFERENCE BETWEEN THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW, AND THE
ALARM.
XXII. THE CONSULTATION.—THE DETERMINATION TO LEAVE THE HALL.
XXIII. THE ADMIRAL’S ADVICE TO CHARLES HOLLAND.—THE CHALLENGE
TO THE VAMPYRE.
XXIV. THE LETTER TO CHARLES.—THE QUARREL.—THE ADMIRAL’S
NARRATIVE.—THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
XXV. THE ADMIRAL’S OPINION.—THE REQUEST OF CHARLES.
XXVI. THE MEETING BY MOONLIGHT IN THE PARK.—THE TURRET
WINDOW IN THE HALL.—THE LETTERS.
XXVII. THE NOBLE CONFIDENCE OF FLORA BANNERWORTH IN HER
LOVER.—HER OPINION OF THE THREE LETTERS.—THE
ADMIRAL’S ADMIRATION.
XXVIII. MR. MARCHDALE’S EXCULPATION OF HIMSELF.—THE SEARCH
THROUGH THE GARDENS.—THE SPOT OF THE DEADLY
STRUGGLE.—THE MYSTERIOUS PAPER.
XXIX. A PEEP THROUGH AN IRON GRATING.—THE LONELY PRISONER IN
HIS DUNGEON.—THE MYSTERY.
XXX. THE VISIT OF FLORA TO THE VAMPYRE.—THE OFFER.—THE
SOLEMN ASSEVERATION.
XXXI. SIR FRANCIS VARNEY AND HIS MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.—THE
STRANGE CONFERENCE.
XXXII. THE THOUSAND POUNDS.—THE STRANGER’S PRECAUTIONS.
XXXIII. THE STRANGE INTERVIEW.—THE CHASE THROUGH THE HALL.
XXXIV. THE THREAT.—ITS CONSEQUENCES.—THE RESCUE, AND SIR
FRANCIS VARNEY’S DANGER.
XXXV. THE EXPLANATION.—MARCHDALE’S ADVICE.—THE PROJECTED
REMOVAL, AND THE ADMIRAL’S ANGER.
XXXVI. THE CONSULTATION.—THE DUEL AND ITS RESULTS.
XXXVII. SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S SEPARATE OPPONENTS.—THE
INTERPOSITION OF FLORA.
XXXVIII. MARCHDALE’S OFFER.—THE CONSULTATION AT BANNERWORTH
HALL.—THE MORNING OF THE DUEL.
XXXIX. THE STORM AND THE FIGHT.-THE ADMIRAL’S REPUDIATION OF
HIS PRINCIPAL.
XL. THE POPULAR RIOT.—SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S DANGER.—THE
SUGGESTION AND ITS RESULTS.
XLI. {Number skipped}
XLII. {Number skipped}
XLIII. {Number skipped}
XLIV. VARNEY’S DANGER, AND HIS RESCUE.—THE PRISONER AGAIN,
AND THE SUBTERRANEAN VAULT.
XLV. THE OPEN GRAVES.—THE DEAD BODIES.—A SCENE OF TERROR.
XLVI. THE PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BANNERWORTH HALL, AND THE
MYSTERIOUS CONDUCT OF THE ADMIRAL AND MR. CHILLINGWORTH.
XLVII. THE REMOVAL FROM THE HALL.—THE NIGHT WATCH, AND THE
ALARM.
XLVIII. THE STAKE AND THE DEAD BODY.
XLIX. THE MOB’S ARRIVAL AT SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S.—THE ATTEMPT
TO GAIN ADMISSION.
L. THE MOB’S ARRIVAL AT SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S.—THE ATTEMPT
TO GAIN ADMISSION.
LI. THE ATTACK UPON THE VAMPYRE’S HOUSE.—THE STORY OF THE
ATTACK.—THE FORCING OF THE DOORS, AND THE STRUGGLE.
LII. THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE MOB AND SIR FRANCIS
VARNEY.—THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.—THE WINE
CELLARS.
LIII. THE DESTRUCTION OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S HOUSE BY
FIRE.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE MILITARY, AND A SECOND MOB.
LIV. THE BURNING OF VARNEY’S HOUSE.—A NIGHT SCENE.—POPULAR
SUPERSTITION.
LV. THE RETURN OF THE MOB AND MILITARY TO THE TOWN.—THE
MADNESS OF THE MOB.—THE GROCER’S REVENGE.
LVI. THE DEPARTURE OF THE BANNERWORTHS FROM THE HALL.—THE
NEW ABODE.—JACK PRINGLE, PILOT.
LVII. THE LONELY WATCH, AND THE ADVENTURE IN THE DESERTED
HOUSE.
LVIII. THE ARRIVAL OF JACK PRINGLE.—MIDNIGHT AND THE
VAMPYRE.—THE MYSTERIOUS HAT.
LIX. THE WARNING.—THE NEW PLAN OF OPERATION.—THE INSULTING
MESSAGE FROM VARNEY.
LX. THE INTERRUPTED BREAKFAST AT SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S.
LXI. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.—THE PARTICULARS OF THE
SUICIDE AT BANNERWORTH HALL.
LXII. THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING IN THE RUIN AGAIN.—THE
VAMPYRE’S ATTACK UPON THE CONSTABLE.
LXIII. THE GUESTS AT THE INN, AND THE STORY OF THE DEAD UNCLE.
LXIV. THE VAMPIRE IN THE MOONLIGHT.—THE FALSE FRIEND.
LXV. VARNEY’S VISIT TO THE DUNGEON OF THE LONELY PRISONER IN
THE RUINS.
LXVI. FLORA BANNERWORTH’S APPARENT INCONSISTENCY.—THE ADMIRAL’S
CIRCUMSTANCES AND ADVICE.—MR. CHILLINGWORTH’S MYSTERIOUS
ABSENCE.
LXVII. THE ADMIRAL’S STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BELINDA.
LXVIII. MARCHDALE’S ATTEMPTED VILLANY, AND THE RESULT.
LXIX. FLORA BANNERWORTH AND HER MOTHER.—THE EPISODE OF
CHIVALRY.
LXX. THE FUNERAL OF THE STRANGER OF THE INN.—THE POPULAR
COMMOTION, AND MRS. CHILLINGWORTH’S APPEAL TO THE
MOB.—THE NEW RIOT.—THE HALL IN DANGER.
LXXI. THE STRANGE MEETING AT THE HALL BETWEEN MR.
CHILLINGWORTH AND THE MYSTERIOUS FRIEND OF VARNEY.
LXXII. THE STRANGE STORY.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE MOB AT THE HALL,
AND THEIR DISPERSION.
LXXIII. THE VISIT OF THE VAMPIRE.—THE GENERAL MEETING.
LXXIV. THE MEETING OF CHARLES AND FLORA.
LXXV. MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS, AND THE VISIT TO THE RUINS.
LXXVI. THE SECOND NIGHT-WATCH OF MR. CHILLINGWORTH AT THE HALL.
LXXVII. VARNEY IN THE GARDEN.—THE COMMUNICATION OF DR.
CHILLINGWORTH TO THE ADMIRAL AND HENRY.
LXXVIII. THE ALTERCATION BETWEEN VARNEY AND THE EXECUTIONER IN
THE HALL.—THE MUTUAL AGREEMENT.
LXXIX. THE VAMPYRE’S DANGER.—THE LAST REFUGE.—THE RUSE OF
HENRY BANNERWORTH.
LXXX. THE DISCOVERY OF THE BODY OF MARCHDALE IN THE RUINS BY
THE MOB.—THE BURNING OF THE CORPSE.—THE MURDER OF THE
HANGMAN.
LXXXI. THE VAMPYRE’S FLIGHT.—HIS DANGER, AND THE LAST PLACE
OF REFUGE.
LXXXII. CHARLES HOLLAND’S PURSUIT OF THE VAMPYRE.—THE
DANGEROUS INTERVIEW.
LXXXIII. THE MYSTERIOUS ARRIVAL AT THE INN.—THE HUNGARIAN
NOBLEMAN.—THE LETTER TO VARNEY.
LXXXIV. THE EXCITED POPULACE.—VARNEY HUNTED.—THE PLACE OF
REFUGE.
LXXXV. THE HUNGARIAN NOBLEMAN GETS INTO DANGER.—HE IS FIRED
AT, AND SHOWS SOME OF HIS QUALITY.
LXXXVI. THE DISCOVERY OF THE POCKET BOOK OF MARMADUKE
BANNERWORTH.—ITS MYSTERIOUS CONTENTS.
LXXXVII. THE HUNT FOR VARNEY.—THE HOUSE-TOPS.—THE MIRACULOUS
ESCAPE.—THE LAST PLACE OF REFUGE.—THE COTTAGE.
LXXXVIII. THE RECEPTION OF THE VAMPYRE BY FLORA.—VARNEY SUBDUED.
LXXXIX. TELLS WHAT BECAME OF THE SECOND VAMPYRE WHO SOUGHT
VARNEY.
XC. DR. CHILLINGWORTH AT THE HALL.—THE ENCOUNTER OF
MYSTERY.—THE CONFLICT.—THE RESCUE, AND THE PICTURE.
XCI. THE GRAND CONSULTATION BROKEN UP BY MRS. CHILLINGWORTH,
AND THE DISAPPEARANCE OF VARNEY.
XCII. THE MISADVENTURE OF THE DOCTOR WITH THE PICTURE.
XCIII. THE ALARM AT ANDERBURY.—THE SUSPICIONS OF THE
BANNERWORTH FAMILY, AND THE MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION.
XCIV. THE VISITOR, AND THE DEATH IN THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE.
XCV. THE MARRIAGE IN THE BANNERWORTH FAMILY ARRANGED.
XCVI. THE BARON TAKES ANDERBURY HOUSE, AND DECIDES UPON
GIVING A GRAND ENTERTAINMENT.
XCVII. THE ADMIRAL’S PREPARATIONS, AND THE VISIT TO DEARBROOK.
XCVIII. THE INTERVIEW WITH THE QUAKER AT DEARBROOK.
XCIX. THE BARON BECOMES MASTER OF ANDERBURY-ON-THE-MOUNT, AND
BEGINS TO CONGRATULATE HIMSELF.—THE DREAM.
C. MR. LEEK SPECULATES UPON THE BARON’S MATRIMONIAL
INTENTIONS.
CI. THE GRAND ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY THE BARON AT ANDERBURY
HOUSE, AND HIS ANNOUNCEMENT.
CII. THE WEDDING FEAST.—THE ADMIRAL’S DISAPPOINTMENT.
CIII. DR. CHILLINGWORTH MAKES URGENT INQUIRIES FOR THE VAMPYRE;
AND THE LAWYER GIVES SOME ADVICE CONCERNING THE QUAKER.
CIV. THE BONE-HOUSE OF THE CHURCHYARD OF ANDERBURY.—THE
RESUSCITATION.—THE FIGHT, AND THE ESCAPE OF THE
DEAD.—THE BOAT, AND THE VAIN PURSUIT.
CV. THE BARON PROPOSES FOR HELEN WILLIAMS, AND IS DULY
ACCEPTED, WITH A COMPLIMENT ON HIS BEAUTY.
CVI. THE PREPARATIONS FOR THE BARON’S MARRIAGE.—THE YOUNG
LOVER, AND THE REMONSTRANCE.
CVII. THE YOUNG SAILOR SAVED BY JACK PRINGLE TURNS OUT TO BE AN
IMPORTANT PERSONAGE.
CVIII. THE DECISION AGAINST THE DOCTOR, AND MORE NEWS OF VARNEY,
THE VAMPYRE.
CIX. THE PREPARATIONS FOR THE WEDDING OF THE BARON STOLMUYER
OF SALTZBURGH.
CX. JACK PRINGLE CALLS UPON MRS. WILLIAMS, AND TELLS HER A
PIECE OF HIS MIND UPON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.
CXI. THE WEDDING-DAY FIXED, AND THE GUESTS INVITED.
CXII. THE SINGULAR INVITATION TO THE BARON’S WEDDING.
CXIII. JAMES ANDERSON SEEKS AND OBTAINS AN INTERVIEW WITH MRS.
WILLIAMS.
CXIV. MRS. WILLIAMS’S MANŒUVRE TO GET RID OF ANDERSON.
CXV. THE RETURN OF THE RESUSCITATED MAN, AND THE ROBBERY AT
ANDERBURY HOUSE.
CXVI. JACK PRINGLE FALLS IN LOVE, AND HAS RATHER AN UNHAPPY
ADVENTURE WITH A BOLD DRAGOON.
CXVII. THE PROPOSAL OF JACK PRINGLE TO TAKE ANDERSON TO THE
WEDDING.
CXVIII. THE BARON’S PREPARATIONS FOR THE MARRIAGE, AND THE
WEDDING MORNING.
CXIX. A RATHER STRANGE CIRCUMSTANCE AT THE BARON’S WEDDING.
CXX. THE HUNT FOR THE VAMPYRE IN THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE.
CXXI. THE DEATH OF THE INQUISITIVE GUEST.—THE ESCAPE OF SIR
FRANCIS VARNEY.
CXXII. MRS. WILLIAMS VISITS THE BANNERWORTHS AT THE INN.—THE
MARRIAGE OF JAMES ANDERSON WITH HELEN.
CXXIII. MRS. WILLIAMS TAKES THE INITIATIVE, AND NEARLY CATCHES AN
ADMIRAL.
CXXIV. {Number skipped}
CXXV. {Number skipped}
CXXVI. THE ADMIRAL IN A BREEZE.—A GENERAL COMMOTION, AND JACK
PRINGLE MUCH WANTED, BUT NOT TO BE FOUND.
CXXVII. A CHANGE OF SCENE AND CIRCUMSTANCES.—AN EVENT IN LONDON.
CXXVIII. THE NEW LODGER.—A NIGHT ALARM.—A MYSTERIOUS
CIRCUMSTANCE.
CXXIX. THE UNSUCCESSFUL PURSUIT.—MR. SMITH’S DISAPPOINTMENT,
AND THE TESTIMONY OF MRS. MEREDITH.
CXXX. A BREAKFAST SCENE.—A MATCH-MAKING MOTHER.
CXXXI. MRS. MEREDITH’S FRIEND.—EXCHANGE OF SERVICES, AND
COMPACT.
CXXXII. THE EXPLANATION, AND THE PROPOSAL.—A TETE-A-TETE.
CXXXIII. MRS. MEREDITH’S CONSULTATION WITH MR. TWISSEL, AND HER
RESOLVE.
CXXXIV. THE INTRODUCTION.—THE ATTORNEY’S FIRST FEELER.
CXXXV. MR. TWISSEL’S MISADVENTURES.—THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING
FOUND IN THE BANK WITHOUT GIVING A SATISFACTORY ACCOUNT
OF YOUR BUSINESS THERE.—AN UNPLEASANT DILEMMA.
CXXXVI. AN EVENING WITH COLONEL DEVERILL.—THE STRATAGEM OF MRS.
MEREDITH.
CXXXVII. THE DIFFICULTIES TO BE ENCOUNTERED IN THE CHOICE OF A
BRIDESMAID.
CXXXVIII. MR. TWISSEL’S MISFORTUNES, AND HIS RESOLUTION NEVER TO
GIVE IN.
CXXXIX. MRS. MEREDITH HAS A CONVERSATION WITH MR. TWISSEL.—THE
ANNOUNCEMENT, AND THE INVITATION.
CXL. A PLEASANT EVENING.—THE BRIDESMAIDS.
CXLI. A NEW CHARACTER.—MISS TWISSEL’S VISITOR.—THE INVITATIONS.
CXLII. THE WEDDING MORNING.—DISRUPTION OF HARMONY, AND THE NEW
ACQUAINTANCE.—THE CONCLUSION.
CXLIII. A SCENE IN WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.—THE CATHEDRAL ROBBERS.—A
STORM.—THE VAULTS BENEATH THE AISLE.—THE FLIGHT OF THE
ROBBERS, AND THE RESUSCITATED CORPSE.
CXLIV. THE STAR HOTEL, AND THE STRANGER’S ARRIVAL.—A REMARKABLE
COUNTENANCE.—THE ILLNESS AND DEATH OF THE STRANGER.—A
STRANGE REQUEST COMPLIED WITH.
CXLV. A RURAL SCENE BY MOONLIGHT.—THE STORM.—AN ACCIDENT ON THE
ROAD.—A NEW AND STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE ACQUIRED.—A
DISAPPOINTMENT.
CXLVI. THE ALARM AT THE INN.—BED-CHAMBER TERRORS.—A NIGHT SCENE
A MORNING SUCCEEDING TO A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE.
CXLVII. (No title)
CXLVIII THE ROAD, AND THE TRAVELLERS.—THE PLEASURES OF DOING
GOOD.—THE BEGGAR WOMAN.—SIR FRANCIS VARNEY A
PHILANTHROPIST.
CXLIX. THE ENTRANCE INTO BATH.—A NEW SCENE.—THE HOTEL AND THE
LODGINGS.—THE ATTENTIONS OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
CL. SIR FRANCIS VARNEY IN BATH.—THE OLD WOMAN AND HER
FANCIES.—THE MURDER IN BATH.—THE TREASURE.
CLI. THE SCENE AT THE HOTEL.—THE RELATION OF THE CAUSE OF SIR
FRANCIS VARNEY’S PALENESS.
CLII. THE SCENE OF THE MURDER.—THE VISIT TO THE HOUSE.—THE
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THE TREASURE.
CLIII. THE ASSEMBLY.—SIR FRANCIS’S FIRST OVERTURES TO MARY
STEVENS.—THE BREAKFAST SCENE.—AND THE HONOUR DECLINED.
CLIV. THE TWO SISTERS.—MARY STEVENS’S DISLIKE OF SIR FRANCIS
VARNEY.—A USELESS SUIT.—DISUNION.
CLV. THE EFFECTS OF PERSEVERANCE.—SIR FRANCIS VARNEY AND MARY
STEVENS.—AN EVENING PARTY AND CONVERSATION.
CLVI. THE WEDDING MORNING.—THE PROGRESS OF JUSTICE, AND THE
DISCOVERY OF THE MURDERER.—THE DISSIPATION OF A SCENE.
CLVII. THE MURDER IN THE WOOD DEL NOTTI.—A NEAPOLITAN SCENE.
CLVIII. A MAIDEN’S MIND DISTURBED.—AN EASY WAY OF PROMOTING
COMFORT OF CONSCIENCE.—THE MONK.
CLIX. THE WATCH BY THE DEAD MAN’S SIDE.—THE DEAD ALIVE.—THE
DEATH-STRUGGLE, AND THE MURDER OF THE MONK.
CLX. THE DEVIL A MONK WOULD BE.—THE DEMAND FOR ADMISSION INTO
THE CONVENT OF ST MARY MAGDALEN.—THE PORTRESS AND THE MONK.
CLXI. FATHER FRANCIS’S INTERVIEW WITH THE ABBESS OF ST MARY
MAGDALEN.—THE OBJECTS AND WISHES OF THE HOLY FATHER.
CLXII. THE CELL OF THE NEOPHYTE.—THE INTERVIEW.—THE UNEXPECTED
TURN GIVEN TO THE AFFAIRS AT THE CONVENT OF ST MARY
MAGDALEN.
CLXIII. THE NUN’S ATTEMPTED ESCAPE FROM THE CONVENT OF ST MARY
MAGDALEN.—THE PURSUIT AND THE DISCLOSURE.—THE ESCAPE OF
THE PRETENDED MONK.
CLXIV. THE STORM.—A SHIPWRECK AT SEA.—THE HAPLESS FATE OF THE
MARINERS.
CLXV. THE FISHERMEN.—THE DESPAIRING CRY OF THE MARINERS.—THE
BREAKERS FROM THE SHORE.
CLXVI. THE ONE BODY WASHED ASHORE.—THE FIRST REQUEST.—THE
SHIPWRECKED STRANGER.
CLXVII. THE FISHERMAN’S COTTAGE.—THE FIRESIDE, AND THE TRAVELLER’S
BED.
CLXVIII. THE NIGHT IN THE FISHERMAN’S BUT THE MIDNIGHT FEAST OF
BLOOD.—THE CHASE, AND THE GUN-SHOT.
CLXIX. THE ASSASSINS ON THE RIALTO.—THE ATTACK AND DEFEAT.—THE
STRANGER.
CLXX. COUNT POLLIDORI’S PALACE.—SIGNORA ISABELLA, THE COUNT’S
DAUGHTER.—THE INTRODUCTION.
CLXXI. THE OPINIONS OF DOCTOR PILLETTO.—THE STRANGER’S ACCOUNT OF
HIMSELF.—THE WELCOME OF THE SIGNORA.
CLXXII. THE COUNT POLLIDORI’S RECOVERY.—THE INTERVIEW WITH THE
SIGNORA ISABELLA.—THE CONSENT.
CLXXIII. THE WEDDING MORNING.—THE NEW ARRIVAL.—THE DISAPPEARANCE
OF THE VAMPYRE BRIDEGROOM.
CLXXIV. THE TWO HIGHWAYMEN.—THE MURDER AT THE GIBBET’S FOOT.—THE
RIDE TO THE GOLDEN PIPPIN.
CLXXV. THE HORRORS IN THE NIGHT.—THE DISCOVERY IN THE
ROAD.—CONTENTION BETWEEN MAN AND HORSE.—COMFORTABLE
QUARTERS IN THE GOLDEN PIPPIN.
CLXXVI. THE GRAZIER’S RELATION, AND HIS FIRST TERRORS.—THE EFFECTS
OF GOOD CHEER, AND THE SUDDEN INTERRUPTION TO A PLEASANT
PARTY.
CLXXVII. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER’S ARRIVAL.—THE CONSTERNATION OF
THE GUESTS.—THE GRAZIER’S TERRORS, AND POWERS OF
IDENTITY.—THE LANDLORD’S DAUGHTER.
CLXXVIII. THE MIDNIGHT CRY OF ALARM.—THE VAMPYRE’S MEAL.—THE CHASE
ACROSS THE FIELDS.—THE DEATH OF THE LANDLORD’S DAUGHTER.
CLXXIX. THE HOTEL.—THE FASHIONABLE ARRIVAL.—THE YOUNGE HEIRESS.
CLXXX. THE SECOND ARRIVAL AT THE LONDON HOTEL.—THE MYSTERIOUS
GUEST.
CLXXXI. THE NIGHT ALARM.—A SCENE OF CONFUSION.—MR. BLUE SUSPECTED.
CLXXXII. THE WAITER TELLS THE STORY OF THE LAKES’ DISTURBANCE TO
GEORGE AND FRANCIS.
CLXXXIII. THE COMMUNICATION OF THE SERVANTS RESPECTING THE LAKE
FAMILY.
CLXXXIV. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.—THE NIGHT WATCH.
CLXXXV. THE VAMPYRE’S FEAST.—THE ALARM AND THE PURSUIT.
CLXXXVI. THE MEETING IN ST JAMES’S PARK.
CLXXXVII. THE CHURCHYARD AT HAMPSTEAD.—THE RESUSCITATION OF A
VAMPYRE.
CLXXXVIII. THE VAMPYRE.—THE FLIGHT.—THE WATCHMAN IN THE VALE OF
HEALTH.
CLXXXIX. MISS LAKE PASSES A FATEFUL NIGHT.—THE IMPOSTOR PUNISHED.
CXC. THE VAMPYRE DISCOVERED.—THE ESCAPE ON THE THAMES.
CXCI. THE PLOT DISCOVERED.—THE LETTER LEFT AT THE HOTEL BY THE
VAMPYRE.
CXCII. THE MEETING IN THE MORNING AT THE HOTEL.—THE PREPARATIONS
OF THE ATTORNEY.
CXCIII THE VAMPYRE’S VISIT TO THE BARRACKS AT KINGSTON.—THE YOUNG
OFFICER.
CXCIV. AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT.—THE INNOCENT TRIUMPHANT.
CXCV. THE VAMPYRE HAS SERIOUS THOUGHTS.—THE DREAM.—THE
RESOLUTION.
CXCVI. THE SCOTCH PACKET SHIP.—THE SUICIDE.
CXCVII. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.—THE RESCUE.—VARNEY’S DESPAIR.
CXCVIII. A FAMILY SCENE.—THE SISTERS.—THE HORRIBLE ALARM.
CXCIX. THE SEXTON’S AVARICE.—THE DEAD AND THE LIVING.—THE RING.
CC. THE RECOVERY.—THE SEXTON’S FRIGHT.—THE COMPACT.
CCI. THE NIGHT ALARM.—THE VAMPYRE’S ATTACK ON THE BRIDE.
CCII. THE DEFILE IN THE ROCKS.—THE HORSEMAN AND THE ACCIDENT.
CCIII. THE DISAPPOINTMENT AT THE GRANGE.—THE NEWS OF DESPAIR.—THE
FINDING THE BODY.
CCIV. THE SICK CHAMBER AT THE GRANGE.—THE NIGHT.
CCV. A MIDNIGHT ALARM.—THE CHASE.—THE MYSTERY.
CCVI. THE SIGHT OF TERROR.—THE DOCTOR’S SUSPICIONS.—THE NIGHT
WATCH.
CCVII. FAMILY TROUBLES.—THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.
CCVIII. THE NIGHT WATCH.—THE SURPRISE.—THE CHASE.
CCIX. THE FUNERAL.—A STRANGE INCIDENT.
CCX. THE STRANGE VISITOR TO THE OLD CHURCH AT NIGHT.
CCXI. WILL STEPHENS’S VISIT TO THE FAMILY VAULT WITH THE
SAW-DUST, AND WHAT HE SAW THERE.
CCXII. THE APPARITION IN THE CHURCH.—WILL STEPHENS’S SWOON.—THE
MORNING.
CCXIII. THE ALARM FROM THE BELFRY.—THE BEADLE IN A QUANDARY.
CCXIV. THE CLERGYMAN’S VISIT TO THE VAULT.—RESCUE OF THE SEXTON.
CCXV. THE YOUNG LOVER’S MIDNIGHT WATCH.
CCXVI. THE HORRORS OF THE GRAVE.—A FRIGHTFUL ADVENTURE.
CCXVII. THE MIDNIGHT HOUR.—THE STONE SLAB.—THE VAMPYRE.
CCXVIII. THE YOUNG GIRL IN THE VILLAGE, AND THE AWFUL VISIT.
CCXIX. THE AWFUL SUPPOSITION.—A RESOLUTION.
CCXX. THE GRAND CONSULTATION AT THE ALE-HOUSE.—THE AWFUL
SUGGESTION.
CCXXI. THE NIGHT WATCH.—THE VAULT.
CCXXII. THE MADMAN.—THE VAMPYRE.
CCXXIII. THE HUNT OF THE VAMPYRE.
CCXXIII. THE FATE OF SIR GEORGE.—THE CROSS-ROAD.
CCXXV. THE SOLITARY MAN.—VARNEY’S DESPAIR.
CCXXVI. THE STRANGE GUEST.—THE LITTLE CHAPEL.—VARNEY’S NARRATIVE.
CCXXVII. VARNEY OPENS THE VAST STORE-HOUSE OF HIS MEMORY.
CCXXVIII. THE FLIGHT OF THE VAMPYRE.—THE MASS.
CCXXIX. THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
CCXXX. VARNEY GIVES SOME PERSONAL ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.
CCXXXI. A SINGULAR INTERVIEW, AND THE CONSEQUENCES OF PASSION.
CCXXXII. VARNEY’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.
CCXXXIII. THE NIGHT ATTACK.—THE HORRIBLE CONCLUSION.
CCXXXIV. VARNEY DETAILS HIS SECOND DEATH.
CCXXXV. THE PALACE GARDEN IN ST JAMES’S.
CCXXXVI. AN ADVENTURE.—THE CARBINE SHOT.—THE DEATH.
CCXXXVII. THE TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF VARNEY THE VAMPYRE, AND
CONCLUSION.
PREFACE
The unprecedented success of the romance of “Varney the Vampyre,” leave
the Author but little to say further, than that he accepts that success
and its results as gratefully as it is possible for any one to do
popular favors.
A belief in the existence of Vampyres first took its rise in Norway
and Sweden, from whence it rapidly spread to more southern regions,
taking a firm hold of the imaginations of the more credulous portion of
mankind.
The following romance is collected from seemingly the most authentic
sources, and the Author must leave the question of credibility entirely
to his readers, not even thinking that he his peculiarly called upon to
express his own opinion upon the subject.
Nothing has been omitted in the life of the unhappy Varney, which could
tend to throw a light upon his most extraordinary career, and the fact
of his death just as it is here related, made a great noise at the time
through Europe, and is to be found in the public prints for the year
1713.
With these few observations, the Author and Publisher, are well content
to leave the work in the hands of a public, which has stamped it with
an approbation far exceeding their most sanguine expectations, and
which is calculated to act as the strongest possible incentive to
the production of other works, which in a like, or perchance a still
further degree may be deserving of public patronage and support.
To the whole of the Metropolitan Press for their laudatory notices, the
Author is peculiarly obliged.
_London Sep. 1847_
[Illustration: “The girl has swooned, and the vampyre is at his
hideous repast!”]
CHAPTER I.
——“How graves give up their dead.
And how the night air hideous grows
With shrieks!”
MIDNIGHT.—THE HAIL-STORM.—THE DREADFUL VISITOR.—THE VAMPYRE.
The solemn tones of an old cathedral clock have announced midnight—the
air is thick and heavy—a strange, death-like stillness pervades all
nature. Like the ominous calm which precedes some more than usually
terrific outbreak of the elements, they seem to have paused even in
their ordinary fluctuations, to gather a terrific strength for the
great effort. A faint peal of thunder now comes from far off. Like a
signal gun for the battle of the winds to begin, it appeared to awaken
them from their lethargy, and one awful, warring hurricane swept over a
whole city, producing more devastation in the four or five minutes it
lasted, than would a half century of ordinary phenomena.
It was as if some giant had blown upon some toy town, and scattered
many of the buildings before the hot blast of his terrific breath; for
as suddenly as that blast of wind had come did it cease, and all was as
still and calm as before.
Sleepers awakened, and thought that what they had heard must be the
confused chimera of a dream. They trembled and turned to sleep again.
All is still—still as the very grave. Not a sound breaks the magic
of repose. What is that—a strange, pattering noise, as of a million
of fairy feet? It is hail—yes, a hail-storm has burst over the city.
Leaves are dashed from the trees, mingled with small boughs; windows
that lie most opposed to the direct fury of the pelting particles of
ice are broken, and the rapt repose that before was so remarkable in
its intensity, is exchanged for a noise which, in its accumulation,
drowns every cry of surprise or consternation which here and there
arose from persons who found their houses invaded by the storm.
Now and then, too, there would come a sudden gust of wind that in its
strength, as it blew laterally, would, for a moment, hold millions of
the hailstones suspended in mid air, but it was only to dash them with
redoubled force in some new direction, where more mischief was to be
done.
Oh, how the storm raged! Hail—rain—wind. It was, in very truth, an
awful night.
• • • • •
There is an antique chamber in an ancient house. Curious and quaint
carvings adorn the walls, and the large chimney-piece is a curiosity of
itself. The ceiling is low, and a large bay window, from roof to floor,
looks to the west. The window is latticed, and filled with curiously
painted glass and rich stained pieces, which send in a strange, yet
beautiful light, when sun or moon shines into the apartment. There is
but one portrait in that room, although the walls seem panelled for the
express purpose of containing a series of pictures. That portrait is of
a young man, with a pale face, a stately brow, and a strange expression
about the eyes, which no one cared to look on twice.
There is a stately bed in that chamber, of carved walnut-wood is it
made, rich in design and elaborate in execution; one of those works
of art which owe their existence to the Elizabethan era. It is hung
with heavy silken and damask furnishing; nodding feathers are at its
corners—covered with dust are they, and they lend a funereal aspect to
the room. The floor is of polished oak.
God! how the hail dashes on the old bay window! Like an occasional
discharge of mimic musketry, it comes clashing, beating, and cracking
upon the small panes; but they resist it—their small size saves them;
the wind, the hail, the rain, expend their fury in vain.
The bed in that old chamber is occupied. A creature formed in all
fashions of loveliness lies in a half sleep upon that ancient couch—a
girl young and beautiful as a spring morning. Her long hair has escaped
from its confinement and streams over the blackened coverings of the
bedstead; she has been restless in her sleep, for the clothing of the
bed is in much confusion. One arm is over her head, the other hangs
nearly off the side of the bed near to which she lies. A neck and
bosom that would have formed a study for the rarest sculptor that ever
Providence gave genius to, were half disclosed. She moaned slightly in
her sleep, and once or twice the lips moved as if in prayer—at least
one might judge so, for the name of Him who suffered for all came once
faintly from them.
She has endured much fatigue, and the storm does not awaken her; but
it can disturb the slumbers it does not possess the power to destroy
entirely. The turmoil of the elements wakes the senses, although it
cannot entirely break the repose they have lapsed into.
Oh, what a world of witchery was in that mouth, slightly parted, and
exhibiting within the pearly teeth that glistened even in the faint
light that came from that bay window. How sweetly the long silken
eyelashes lay upon the cheek. Now she moves, and one shoulder is
entirely visible—whiter, fairer than the spotless clothing of the bed
on which she lies, is the smooth skin of that fair creature, just
budding into womanhood, and in that transition state which presents
to us all the charms of the girl—almost of the child, with the more
matured beauty and gentleness of advancing years.
Was that lightning? Yes—an awful, vivid, terrifying flash—then a
roaring peal of thunder, as if a thousand mountains were rolling one
over the other in the blue vault of Heaven! Who sleeps now in that
ancient city? Not one living soul. The dread trumpet of eternity could
not more effectually have awakened any one.
The hail continues. The wind continues. The uproar of the elements
seems at its height. Now she awakens—that beautiful girl on the antique
bed; she opens those eyes of celestial blue, and a faint cry of alarm
bursts from her lips. At least it is a cry which, amid the noise and
turmoil without, sounds but faint and weak. She sits upon the bed and
presses her hands upon her eyes. Heavens! what a wild torrent of wind,
and rain, and hail! The thunder likewise seems intent upon awakening
sufficient echoes to last until the next flash of forked lightning
should again produce the wild concussion of the air. She murmurs a
prayer—a prayer for those she loves best; the names of those dear to
her gentle heart come from her lips; she weeps and prays; she thinks
then of what devastation the storm must surely produce, and to the
great God of Heaven she prays for all living things. Another flash—a
wild, blue, bewildering flash of lightning streams across that bay
window, for an instant bringing out every colour in it with terrible
distinctness. A shriek bursts from the lips of the young girl, and
then, with eyes fixed upon that window, which, in another moment, is
all darkness, and with such an expression of terror upon her face as it
had never before known, she trembled, and the perspiration of intense
fear stood upon her brow.
“What—what was it?” she gasped; “real, or a delusion? Oh, God, what was
it? A figure tall and gaunt, endeavouring from the outside to unclasp
the window. I saw it. That flash of lightning revealed it to me. It
stood the whole length of the window.”
There was a lull of the wind. The hail was not falling so
thickly—moreover, it now fell, what there was of it, straight, and yet
a strange clattering sound came upon the glass of that long window.
It could not be a delusion—she is awake, and she hears it. What can
produce it? Another flash of lightning—another shriek—there could be
now no delusion.
A tall figure is standing on the ledge immediately outside the long
window. It is its finger-nails upon the glass that produces the sound
so like the hail, now that the hail has ceased. Intense fear paralysed
the limbs of that beautiful girl. That one shriek is all she can
utter—with hands clasped, a face of marble, a heart beating so wildly
in her bosom, that each moment it seems as if it would break its
confines, eyes distended and fixed upon the window, she waits, frozen
with horror. The pattering and clattering of the nails continue. No
word is spoken, and now she fancies she can trace the darker form of
that figure against the window, and she can see the long arms moving to
and fro, feeling for some mode of entrance. What strange light is that
which now gradually creeps up into the air? red and terrible—brighter
and brighter it grows. The lightning has set fire to a mill, and the
reflection of the rapidly consuming building falls upon that long
window. There can be no mistake. The figure is there, still feeling for
an entrance, and clattering against the glass with its long nails, that
appear as if the growth of many years had been untouched. She tries to
scream again but a choking sensation comes over her, and she cannot. It
is too dreadful—she tries to move—each limb seems weighed down by tons
of lead—she can but in a hoarse faint whisper cry,—
“Help—help—help—help!”
And that one word she repeats like a person in a dream. The red glare
of the fire continues. It throws up the tall gaunt figure in hideous
relief against the long window. It shows, too, upon the one portrait
that is in the chamber, and that portrait appears to fix its eyes upon
the attempting intruder, while the flickering light from the fire makes
it look fearfully life-like. A small pane of glass is broken, and the
form from without introduces a long gaunt hand, which seems utterly
destitute of flesh. The fastening is removed, and one-half of the
window, which opens like folding doors, is swung wide open upon its
hinges.
And yet now she could not scream—she could not move.
“Help!—help!—help!” was all she could say. But, oh, that look of terror
that sat upon her face, it was dreadful—a look to haunt the memory for
a life-time—a look to obtrude itself upon the happiest moments, and
turn them to bitterness.
The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon the face. It
is perfectly white—perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished
tin; the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to those
dreadful eyes is the teeth—the fearful looking teeth—projecting like
those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like.
It approaches the bed with a strange, gliding movement. It clashes
together the long nails that literally appear to hang from the finger
ends. No sound comes from its lips. Is she going mad—that young and
beautiful girl exposed to so much terror? she has drawn up all her
limbs; she cannot even now say help. The power of articulation is gone,
but the power of movement has returned to her; she can draw herself
slowly along to the other side of the bed from that towards which the
hideous appearance is coming.
But her eyes are fascinated. The glance of a serpent could not have
produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of those
awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent on her face. Crouching down
so that the gigantic height was lost, and the horrible, protruding,
white face was the most prominent object, came on the figure. What was
it?—what did it want there?—what made it look so hideous—so unlike an
inhabitant of the earth, and yet to be on it?
Now she has got to the verge of the bed, and the figure pauses. It
seemed as if when it paused she lost the power to proceed. The clothing
of the bed was now clutched in her hands with unconscious power. She
drew her breath short and thick. Her bosom heaves, and her limbs
tremble, yet she cannot withdraw her eyes from that marble-looking
face. He holds her with his glittering eye.
The storm has ceased—all is still. The winds are hushed; the church
clock proclaims the hour of one; a hissing sound comes from the throat
of the hideous being, and he raises his long, gaunt arms—the lips move.
He advances. The girl places one small foot from the bed on to the
floor. She is unconsciously dragging the clothing with her. The door
of the room is in that direction—can she reach it? Has she power to
walk?—can she withdraw her eyes from the face of the intruder, and so
break the hideous charm? God of Heaven! is it real, or some dream so
like reality as to nearly overturn the judgment for ever?
The figure has paused again, and half on the bed and half out of it
that young girl lies trembling. Her long hair streams across the
entire width of the bed. As she has slowly moved along she has left it
streaming across the pillows. The pause lasted about a minute—oh, what
an age of agony. That minute was, indeed, enough for madness to do its
full work in.
With a sudden rush that could not be foreseen—with a strange howling
cry that was enough to awaken terror in every breast, the figure seized
the long tresses of her hair, and twining them round his bony hands he
held her to the bed. Then she screamed—Heaven granted her then power
to scream. Shriek followed shriek in rapid succession. The bed-clothes
fell in a heap by the side of the bed—she was dragged by her long
silken hair completely on to it again. Her beautifully rounded limbs
quivered with the agony of her soul. The glassy, horrible eyes of the
figure ran over that angelic form with a hideous satisfaction—horrible
profanation. He drags her head to the bed’s edge. He forces it back
by the long hair still entwined in his grasp. With a plunge he seizes
her neck in his fang-like teeth—a gush of blood, and a hideous sucking
noise follows. _The girl has swooned, and the vampyre is at his hideous
repast!_
• • • • •