concerning the lady he had attempted to snatch from Lord Ruthven's
seductive arts. Her parents were in distress, their fortune ruined,
and she had not been heard of since the departure of his lordship.
Aubrey's mind became almost broken under so many repeated horrors; he
was afraid that this lady had fallen a victim to the destroyer of
Ianthe. He became morose and silent; and his only occupation consisted
in urging the speed of the postilions, as if he were going to save the
life of some one he held dear. He arrived at Calais; a breeze, which
seemed obedient to his will, soon wafted him to the English shores;
and he hastened to the mansion of his fathers, and there, for a
moment, appeared to lose, in the embraces and caresses of his sister,
all memory of the past. If she before, by her infantine caresses, had
gained his affection, now that the woman began to appear, she was
still more attaching as a companion.
Miss Aubrey had not that winning grace which gains the gaze and
applause of the drawing-room assemblies. There was none of that light
brilliancy which only exists in the heated atmosphere of a crowded
apartment. Her blue eye was never lit up by the levity of the mind
beneath. There was a melancholy charm about it which did not seem to
arise from misfortune, but from some feeling within, that appeared to
indicate a soul conscious of a brighter realm. Her step was not that
light footing, which strays where'er a butterfly or a colour may
attract--it was sedate and pensive. When alone, her face was never
brightened by the smile of joy; but when her brother breathed to her
his affection, and would in her presence forget those griefs she knew
destroyed his rest, who would have exchanged her smile for that of the
voluptuary? It seemed as if those eyes,--that face were then playing
in the light of their own native sphere. She was yet only eighteen,
and had not been presented to the world, it having been thought by her
guardians more fit that her presentation should be delayed until her
brother's return from the continent, when he might be her protector.
It was now, therefore, resolved that the next drawing-room, which was
fast approaching, should be the epoch of her entry into the "busy
scene." Aubrey would rather have remained in the mansion of his
fathers, and fed upon the melancholy which overpowered him. He could
not feel interest about the frivolities of fashionable strangers, when
his mind had been so torn by the events he had witnessed; but he
determined to sacrifice his own comfort to the protection of his
sister. They soon arrived in town, and prepared for the next day,
which had been announced as a drawing-room.
The crowd was excessive--a drawing-room had not been held for a long
time, and all who were anxious to bask in the smile of royalty,
hastened thither. Aubrey was there with his sister. While he was
standing in a corner by himself, heedless of all around him, engaged
in the remembrance that the first time he had seen Lord Ruthven was in
that very place--he felt himself suddenly seized by the arm, and a
voice he recognized too well, sounded in his ear--"Remember your
oath." He had hardly courage to turn, fearful of seeing a spectre
that would blast him, when he perceived, at a little distance, the
same figure which had attracted his notice on this spot upon his first
entry into society. He gazed till his limbs almost refusing to bear
their weight, he was obliged to take the arm of a friend, and forcing
a passage through the crowd, he threw himself into his carriage, and
was driven home. He paced the room with hurried steps, and fixed his
hands upon his head, as if he were afraid his thoughts were bursting
from his brain. Lord Ruthven again before him--circumstances started
up in dreadful array--the dagger--his oath.--He roused himself, he
could not believe it possible--the dead rise again!--He thought his
imagination had conjured up the image his mind was resting upon. It
was impossible that it could be real--he determined, therefore, to
go again into society; for though he attempted to ask concerning Lord
Ruthven, the name hung upon his lips, and he could not succeed in
gaining information. He went a few nights after with his sister to the
assembly of a near relation. Leaving her under the protection of a
matron, he retired into a recess, and there gave himself up to his own
devouring thoughts. Perceiving, at last, that many were leaving, he
roused himself, and entering another room, found his sister surrounded
by several, apparently in earnest conversation; he attempted to pass
and get near her, when one, whom he requested to move, turned round,
and revealed to him those features he most abhorred. He sprang
forward, seized his sister's arm, and, with hurried step, forced her
towards the street: at the door he found himself impeded by the crowd
of servants who were waiting for their lords; and while he was engaged
in passing them, he again heard that voice whisper close to
him--"Remember your oath!"--He did not dare to turn, but, hurrying his
sister, soon reached home.
Aubrey became almost distracted. If before his mind had been absorbed
by one subject, how much more completely was it engrossed, now that
the certainty of the monster's living again pressed upon his thoughts.
His sister's attentions were now unheeded, and it was in vain that she
intreated him to explain to her what had caused his abrupt conduct. He
only uttered a few words, and those terrified her. The more he
thought, the more he was bewildered. His oath startled him;--was he
then to allow this monster to roam, bearing ruin upon his breath,
amidst all he held dear, and not avert its progress? His very sister
might have been touched by him. But even if he were to break his oath,
and disclose his suspicions, who would believe him? He thought of
employing his own hand to free the world from such a wretch; but
death, he remembered, had been already mocked. For days he remained in
this state; shut up in his room, he saw no one, and ate only when his
sister came, who, with eyes streaming with tears, besought him, for
her sake, to support nature. At last, no longer capable of bearing
stillness and solitude, he left his house, roamed from street to
street, anxious to fly that image which haunted him. His dress became
neglected, and he wandered, as often exposed to the noon-day sun as to
the midnight damps. He was no longer to be recognized; at first he
returned with the evening to the house; but at last he laid him down
to rest wherever fatigue overtook him. His sister, anxious for his
safety, employed people to follow him; but they were soon distanced by
him who fled from a pursuer swifter than any--from thought. His
conduct, however, suddenly changed. Struck with the idea that he left
by his absence the whole of his friends, with a fiend amongst them, of
whose presence they were unconscious, he determined to enter again
into society, and watch him closely, anxious to forewarn, in spite of
his oath, all whom Lord Ruthven approached with intimacy. But when he
entered into a room, his haggard and suspicious looks were so
striking, his inward shudderings so visible, that his sister was at
last obliged to beg of him to abstain from seeking, for her sake, a
society which affected him so strongly. When, however, remonstrance
proved unavailing, the guardians thought proper to interpose, and,
fearing that his mind was becoming alienated, they thought it high
time to resume again that trust which had been before imposed upon
them by Aubrey's parents.
Desirous of saving him from the injuries and sufferings he had daily
encountered in his wanderings, and of preventing him from exposing to
the general eye those marks of what they considered folly, they
engaged a physician to reside in the house, and take constant care of
him. He hardly appeared to notice it, so completely was his mind
absorbed by one terrible subject. His incoherence became at last so
great, that he was confined to his chamber. There he would often lie
for days, incapable of being roused. He had become emaciated, his eyes
had attained a glassy lustre;--the only sign of affection and
recollection remaining displayed itself upon the entry of his sister;
then he would sometimes start, and, seizing her hands, with looks that
severely afflicted her, he would desire her not to touch him. "Oh, do
not touch him--if your love for me is aught, do not go near him!"
When, however, she inquired to whom he referred, his only answer was,
"True! true!" and again he sank into a state, whence not even she could
rouse him. This lasted many months: gradually, however, as the year
was passing, his incoherences became less frequent, and his mind threw
off a portion of its gloom, whilst his guardians observed, that
several times in the day he would count upon his fingers a definite
number, and then smile.
The time had nearly elapsed, when, upon the last day of the year, one
of his guardians entering his room, began to converse with his
physician upon the melancholy circumstance of Aubrey's being in so
awful a situation, when his sister was going next day to be married.
Instantly Aubrey's attention was attracted; he asked anxiously to
whom. Glad of this mark of returning intellect, of which they feared
he had been deprived, they mentioned the name of the Earl of Marsden.
Thinking this was a young Earl whom he had met with in society, Aubrey
seemed pleased, and astonished them still more by his expressing his
intention to be present at the nuptials, and desiring to see his
sister. They answered not, but in a few minutes his sister was with
him. He was apparently again capable of being affected by the
influence of her lovely smile; for he pressed her to his breast, and
kissed her cheek, wet with tears, flowing at the thought of her
brother's being once more alive to the feelings of affection. He began
to speak with all his wonted warmth, and to congratulate her upon her
marriage with a person so distinguished for rank and every
accomplishment; when he suddenly perceived a locket upon her breast;
opening it, what was his surprise at beholding the features of the
monster who had so long influenced his life. He seized the portrait in
a paroxysm of rage, and trampled it under foot. Upon her asking him
why he thus destroyed the resemblance of her future husband, he looked
as if he did not understand her--then seizing her hands, and gazing
on her with a frantic expression of countenance, he bade her swear
that she would never wed this monster, for he---- But he could not
advance--it seemed as if that voice again bade him remember his
oath--he turned suddenly round, thinking Lord Ruthven was near him
but saw no one. In the meantime the guardians and physician, who had
heard the whole, and thought this was but a return of his disorder,
entered, and forcing him from Miss Aubrey, desired her to leave him.
He fell upon his knees to them, he implored, he begged of them to
delay but for one day. They, attributing this to the insanity they
imagined had taken possession of his mind, endeavoured to pacify him,
and retired.
Lord Ruthven had called the morning after the drawing-room, and had
been refused with every one else. When he heard of Aubrey's ill
health, he readily understood himself to be the cause of it; but when
he learned that he was deemed insane, his exultation and pleasure
could hardly be concealed from those among whom he had gained this
information. He hastened to the house of his former companion, and, by
constant attendance, and the pretence of great affection for the
brother and interest in his fate, he gradually won the ear of Miss
Aubrey. Who could resist his power? His tongue had dangers and toils
to recount--could speak of himself as of an individual having no
sympathy with any being on the crowded earth, save with her to whom he
addressed himself;--could tell how, since he knew her, his existence,
had begun to seem worthy of preservation, if it were merely that he
might listen to her soothing accents;--in fine, he knew so well how to
use the serpent's art, or such was the will of fate, that he gained
her affections. The title of the elder branch falling at length to
him, he obtained an important embassy, which served as an excuse for
hastening the marriage, (in spite of her brother's deranged state,)
which was to take place the very day before his departure for the
continent.
Aubrey, when he was left by the physician and his guardians, attempted
to bribe the servants, but in vain. He asked for pen and paper; it was
given him; he wrote a letter to his sister, conjuring her, as she
valued her own happiness, her own honour, and the honour of those now
in the grave, who once held her in their arms as their hope and the
hope of their house, to delay but for a few hours that marriage, on
which he denounced the most heavy curses. The servants promised they
would deliver it; but giving it to the physician, he thought it better
not to harass any more the mind of Miss Aubrey by, what he considered,
the ravings of a maniac. Night passed on without rest to the busy
inmates of the house; and Aubrey heard, with a horror that may more
easily be conceived than described, the notes of busy preparation.
Morning came, and the sound of carriages broke upon his ear. Aubrey
grew almost frantic. The curiosity of the servants at last overcame
their vigilance, they gradually stole away, leaving him in the custody
of an helpless old woman. He seized the opportunity, with one bound
was out of the room, and in a moment found himself in the apartment
where all were nearly assembled. Lord Ruthven was the first to
perceive him: he immediately approached, and, taking his arm by
force, hurried him from the room, speechless with rage. When on the
staircase, Lord Ruthven whispered in his ear--"Remember your oath,
and know, if not my bride to day, your sister is dishonoured. Women
are frail!" So saying, he pushed him towards his attendants, who,
roused by the old woman, had come in search of him. Aubrey could no
longer support himself; his rage not finding vent, had broken a
blood-vessel, and he was conveyed to bed. This was not mentioned to
his sister, who was not present when he entered, as the physician was
afraid of agitating her. The marriage was solemnized, and the bride
and bridegroom left London.
Aubrey's weakness increased; the effusion of blood produced symptoms
of the near approach of death. He desired his sister's guardians might
be called, and when the midnight hour had struck, he related
composedly what the reader has perused--he died immediately after.
The guardians hastened to protect Miss Aubrey; but when they arrived,
it was too late. Lord Ruthven had disappeared, and Aubrey's sister had
glutted the thirst of a VAMPYRE!
________________________________________________________________
EXTRACT OF A LETTER,
CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT
OF
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE
IN THE
ISLAND OF MITYLENE.
________________________________________________________________
ACCOUNT
OF
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE, &c.
______________
"The world was all before him, where to choose his place of rest, and
Providence his guide."
IN Sailing through the Grecian Archipelago, on board one of his
Majesty's vessels, in the year 1812, we put into the harbour of
Mitylene, in the island of that name. The beauty of this place, and
the certain supply of cattle and vegetables always to be had there,
induce many British vessels to visit it--both men of war and
merchantmen; and though it lies rather out of the track for ships
bound to Smyrna, its bounties amply repay for the deviation of a
voyage. We landed; as usual, at the bottom of the bay, and whilst the
men were employed in watering, and the purser bargaining for cattle
with the natives, the clergyman and myself took a ramble to the cave
called Homer's School, and other places, where we had been before. On
the brow of Mount Ida (a small monticule so named) we met with and
engaged a young Greek as our guide, who told us he had come from Scio
with an English lord, who left the island four days previous to our
arrival in his felucca. "He engaged me as a pilot," said the Greek,
"and would have taken me with him; but I did not choose to quit
Mitylene, where I am likely to get married. He was an odd, but a very
good man. The cottage over the hill, facing the river, belongs to him,
and he has left an old man in charge of it: he gave Dominick, the
wine-trader, six hundred zechines for it, (about L250 English
currency,) and has resided there about fourteen months, though not
constantly; for he sails in his felucca very often to the different
islands."
This account excited our curiosity very much, and we lost no time in
hastening to the house where our countryman had resided. We were
kindly received by an old man, who conducted us over the mansion. It
consisted of four apartments on the ground-floor--an entrance hall, a
drawing-room, a sitting parlour, and a bed-room, with a spacious
closet annexed. They were all simply decorated: plain green-stained
walls, marble tables on either side, a large myrtle in the centre, and
a small fountain beneath, which could be made to play through the
branches by moving a spring fixed in the side of a small bronze Venus
in a leaning posture; a large couch or sofa completed the furniture.
In the hall stood half a dozen English cane chairs, and an empty
book-case: there were no mirrors, nor a single painting. The
bedchamber had merely a large mattress spread on the floor, with two
stuffed cotton quilts and a pillow--the common bed throughout Greece.
In the sitting-room we observed a marble recess, formerly, the old man
told us, filled with books and papers, which were then in a large
seaman's chest in the closet: it was open, but we did not think
ourselves justified in examining the contents. On the tablet of the
recess lay Voltaire's, Shakspeare's, Boileau's, and Rousseau's works
complete; Volney's Ruins of Empires; Zimmerman, in the German
language; Klopstock's Messiah; Kotzebue's novels; Schiller's play of
the Robbers; Milton's Paradise Lost, an Italian edition, printed at
Parma in 1810; several small pamphlets from the Greek press at
Constantinople, much torn, but no English book of any description.
Most of these books were filled with marginal notes, written with a
pencil, in Italian and Latin. The Messiah was literally scribbled all
over, and marked with slips of paper, on which also were remarks.
The old man said: "The lord had been reading these books the evening
before he sailed, and forgot to place them with the others; but,"
said he, "there they must lie until his return; for he is so
particular, that were I to move one thing without orders, he would
frown upon me for a week together; he is otherways very good. I once
did him a service; and I have the produce of this farm for the trouble
of taking care of it, except twenty zechines which I pay to an aged
Armenian who resides in a small cottage in the wood, and whom the lord
brought here from Adrianople; I don't know for what reason."
The appearance of the house externally was pleasing. The portico in
front was fifty paces long and fourteen broad, and the fluted marble
pillars with black plinths and fret-work cornices, (as it is now
customary in Grecian architecture,) were considerably higher than the
roof. The roof, surrounded by a light stone balustrade, was covered by
a fine Turkey carpet, beneath an awning of strong coarse linen. Most
of the house-tops are thus furnished, as upon them the Greeks pass
their evenings in smoking, drinking light wines, such as "lachryma
christi," eating fruit, and enjoying the evening breeze.
On the left hand as we entered the house, a small streamlet glided
away, grapes, oranges and limes were clustering together on its
borders, and under the shade of two large myrtle bushes, a marble seat
with an ornamental wooden back was placed, on which we were told, the
lord passed many of his evenings and nights till twelve o'clock,
reading, writing, and talking to himself. "I suppose," said the old
man, "praying" for he was very devout, "and always attended our church
twice a week, besides Sundays."
The view from this seat was what may be termed "a bird's-eye view."
A line of rich vineyards led the eye to Mount Calcla, covered with
olive and myrtle trees in bloom, and on the summit of which an ancient
Greek temple appeared in majestic decay. A small stream issuing from
the ruins descended in broken cascades, until it was lost in the woods
near the mountain's base. The sea smooth as glass, and an horizon
unshadowed by a single cloud, terminates the view in front; and a
little on the left, through a vista of lofty chesnut and palm-trees,
several small islands were distinctly observed, studding the light
blue wave with spots of emerald green. I seldom enjoyed a view more
than I did this; but our enquiries were fruitless as to the name of
the person who had resided in this romantic solitude: none knew his
name but Dominick, his banker, who had gone to Candia. "The Armenian,"
said our conductor, "could tell, but I am sure he will not,"--"And
cannot you tell, old friend?" said I--"If I can," said he, "I dare
not." We had not time to visit the Armenian, but on our return to the
town we learnt several particulars of the isolated lord. He had
portioned eight young girls when he was last upon the island, and even
danced with them at the nuptial feast. He gave a cow to one man,
horses to others, and cotton and silk to the girls who live by weaving
these articles. He also bought a new boat for a fisherman who had lost
his own in a gale, and he often gave Greek Testaments to the poor
children. In short, he appeared to us, from all we collected, to have
been a very eccentric and benevolent character. One circumstance we
learnt, which our old friend at the cottage thought proper not to
disclose. He had a most beautiful daughter, with whom the lord was
often seen walking on the sea-shore, and he had bought her a
piano-forte, and taught her himself the use of it.