[Footnote 1: During a week of rain at Diodati, in the summer of 1816,
the party having amused themselves with reading German ghost stories,
they agreed at last to write something in imitation of them. "You and
I," said Lord Byron to Mrs. Shelley, "will publish ours together." He
then began his tale of the Vampire; and, having the whole arranged in
his head, repeated to them a sketch of the story one evening;--but,
from the narrative being in prose, made but little progress in
filling up his outline. The most memorable result, indeed, of their
storytelling compact, was Mrs. Shelley's wild and powerful romance of
Frankenstein.--MOORE.
"I began it," says Lord Byron, "in an old account book of Miss
Milbanke's, which I kept because it contains the word 'Household,'
written by her twice on the inside blank page of the covers; being
the only two scraps I have in the world in her writing, except her
name to the Deed of Separation."]
_June_ 17. 1816.
In the year 17--, having for some time determined on a journey
through countries not hitherto much frequented by travellers, I set
out, accompanied by a friend, whom I shall designate by the name of
Augustus Darvell. He was a few years my elder, and a man of
considerable fortune and ancient family; advantages which an
extensive capacity prevented him alike from undervaluing or
overrating. Some peculiar circumstances in his private history had
rendered him to me an object of attention, of interest, and even of
regard, which neither the reserve of his manners, nor occasional
indications of an inquietude at times nearly approaching to
alienation of mind, could extinguish.
I was yet young in life, which I had begun early; but my intimacy
with him was of a recent date: we had been educated at the same
schools and university; but his progress through these had preceded
mine, and he had been deeply initiated, into what is called the
world, while I was yet in my noviciate. While thus engaged, I heard
much both of his past and present life; and, although in these
accounts there were many and irreconcileable contradictions, I could
still gather from the whole that he was a being of no common order,
and one who, whatever pains he might take to avoid remark, would
still be remarkable. I had cultivated his acquaintance subsequently,
and endeavoured to obtain his friendship, but this last appeared to
be unattainable; whatever affections he might have possessed, seemed
now, some to have been extinguished, and others to be concentred:
that his feelings were acute, I had sufficient opportunities of
observing; for, although he could control, he could not altogether
disguise them: still he had a power of giving to one passion the
appearance of another, in such a manner that it was difficult to
define the nature of what was working within him; and the expressions
of his features would vary so rapidly, though slightly, that it was
useless to trace them to their sources. It was evident that he was a
prey to some cureless disquiet; but whether it arose from ambition,
love, remorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from a
morbid temperament akin to disease, I could not discover: there were
circumstances alleged, which might have justified the application to
each of these causes; but, as I have before said, these were so
contradictory and contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with
accuracy. Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there
must also be evil: I know not how this may be, but in him there
certainly was the one, though I could not ascertain the extent of the
other--and felt loth, as far as regarded himself, to believe in its
existence. My advances were received with sufficient coldness; but I
was young, and not easily discouraged, and at length succeeded in
obtaining, to a certain degree, that common-place intercourse and
moderate confidence of common and every-day concerns, created and
cemented by similarity of pursuit and frequency of meeting, which is
called intimacy, or friendship, according to the ideas of him who
uses those words to express them.
Darvell had already travelled extensively; and to him I had applied
for information with regard to the conduct of my intended journey. It
was my secret wish that he might be prevailed on to accompany me; it
was also a probable hope, founded upon the shadowy restlessness which
I observed in him, and to which the animation which he appeared to
feel on such subjects, and his apparent indifference to all by which
he was more immediately surrounded, gave fresh strength. This wish I
first hinted, and then expressed: his answer, though I had partly
expected it, gave me all the pleasure of surprise--he consented; and,
after the requisite arrangement, we commenced our voyages. After
journeying through various countries of the south of Europe, our
attention was turned towards the East, according to our original
destination; and it was in my progress through those regions that the
incident occurred upon which will turn what I may have to relate.
The constitution of Darvell, which must from his appearance have been
in early life more than usually robust, had been for some time
gradually giving way, without the intervention of any apparent
disease: he had neither cough nor hectic, yet he became daily more
enfeebled: his habits were temperate, and he neither declined nor
complained of fatigue; yet he was evidently wasting away: he became
more and more silent and sleepless, and at length so seriously
altered, that my alarm grew proportionate to what I conceived to be
his danger.
We had determined, on our arrival at Smyrna, on an excursion to the
ruins of Ephesus and Sardis, from which I endeavoured to dissuade him
in his present state of indisposition--but in vain: there appeared to
be an oppression on his mind, and a solemnity in his manner, which
ill corresponded with his eagerness to proceed on what I regarded as
a mere party of pleasure, little suited to a valetudinarian; but I
opposed him no longer--and in a few days we set off together,
accompanied only by a serrugee and a single janizary.
We had passed halfway towards the remains of Ephesus, leaving behind
us the more fertile environs of Smyrna, and were entering upon that
wild and tenantless track through the marshes and defiles which lead
to the few huts yet lingering over the broken columns of Diana--the
roofless walls of expelled Christianity, and the still more recent
but complete desolation of abandoned mosques--when the sudden and
rapid illness of my companion obliged us to halt at a Turkish
cemetery, the turbaned tombstones of which were the sole indication
that human life had ever been a sojourner in this wilderness. The
only caravansera we had seen was left some hours behind us, not a
vestige of a town or even cottage was within sight or hope, and this
"city of the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge for my unfortunate
friend, who seemed on the verge of becoming the last of its
inhabitants.
In this situation, I looked round for a place where he might most
conveniently repose:--contrary to the usual aspect of Mahometan
burial-grounds, the cypresses were in this few in number, and these
thinly scattered over its extent: the tombstones were mostly fallen,
and worn with age:--upon one of the most considerable of these, and
beneath one of the most spreading trees, Darvell supported himself,
in a half-reclining posture, with great difficulty. He asked for
water. I had some doubts of our being able to find any, and prepared
to go in search of it with hesitating despondency: but he desired me
to remain; and turning to Suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us
smoking with great tranquillity, he said, "Suleiman, verbana su,"
(_i.e._ bring some water,) and went on describing the spot where it
was to be found with great minuteness, at a small well for camels, a
few hundred yards to the right: the janizary obeyed. I said to
Darvell, "How did you know this?"--He replied, "From our situation;
you must perceive that this place was once inhabited, and could not
have been so without springs: I have also been here before."
"You have been here before!--How came you never to mention this to
me? and what could you be doing in a place where no one would remain
a moment longer than they could help it?"
To this question I received no answer. In the mean time Suleiman
returned with the water, leaving the serrugee and the horses at the
fountain. The quenching of his thirst had the appearance of reviving
him for a moment; and I conceived hopes of his being able to proceed,
or at least to return, and I urged the attempt. He was silent--and
appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort to speak. He
began.
"This is the end of my journey, and of my life;--I came here to die:
but I have a request to make, a command--for such my last words must
be.--You will observe it?"
"Most certainly; but have better hopes."
"I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this--conceal my death from every
human being."
"I hope there will be no occasion; that you will recover, and----"
"Peace!--it must be so: promise this."
"I do."
"Swear it, by all that"----He here dictated an oath of great
solemnity.
"There is no occasion for this--I will observe your request; and to
doubt me is----"
"It cannot be helped,--you must swear."
I took the oath: it appeared to relieve him. He removed a seal ring
from his finger, on which were some Arabic characters, and presented
it to me. He proceeded--
"On the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely (what month you
please, but this must be the day), you must fling this ring into the
salt springs which run into the Bay of Eleusis: the day after, at the
same hour, you must repair to the ruins of the temple of Ceres, and
wait one hour."
"Why?"
"You will see."
"The ninth day of the month, you say?"
"The ninth."
As I observed that the present was the ninth day of the month; his
countenance changed, and he paused. As he sat, evidently becoming
more feeble, a stork, with a snake in her beak, perched upon a
tombstone near us; and, without devouring her prey, appeared to be
steadfastly regarding us. I know not what impelled me to drive it
away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few circles in the air,
and returned exactly to the same spot. Darvell pointed to it, and
smiled: he spoke--I know not whether to himself or to me--but the
words were only, "'Tis well!"
"What is well? what do you mean?"
"No matter: you must bury me here this evening, and exactly where
that bird is now perched. You know the rest of my injunctions."
He then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner in
which his death might be best concealed. After these were finished,
he exclaimed, "You perceive that bird?"
"Certainly."
"And the serpent writhing in her beak?"
"Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey.
But it is odd that she does not devour it."
He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, faintly, "It is not yet
time!" As he spoke, the stork flew away. My eyes followed it for a
moment--it could hardly be longer than ten might be counted. I felt
Darvell's weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, turning
to look upon his face, perceived that he was dead!
I was shocked with the sudden certainty which could not be
mistaken--his countenance in a few minutes became nearly black. I
should have attributed so rapid a change to poison, had I not been
aware that he had no opportunity of receiving it unperceived. The day
was declining, the body was rapidly altering, and nothing remained
but to fulfil his request. With the aid of Suleiman's ataghan and my
own sabre, we scooped a shallow grave upon the spot which Darvell had
indicated: the earth easily gave way, having already received some
Mahometan tenant. We dug as deeply as the time permitted us, and
throwing the dry earth upon all that remained of the singular being
so lately departed, we cut a few sods of greener turf from the less
withered soil around us, and laid them upon his sepulchre.
Between astonishment and grief, I was tearless.
* * * * *