The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio Hearn

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СКАЧАТЬ compelled, though shuddering, the last drop that warms their hearts! Still driven by the inevitable fate, thou shalt wander forth—appalling, shunned by all—still seeking new victims—enacting new horrors—till, thy stay on earth expired, thou shalt descend to the abyss, and see the very fiends shrink from thee, as one more foul and accursed than they! Ha! Thou tremblest! Thy frame stiffens with affright! ’Tis mine own history I have told! Go—break thy oath—and be—like me!”

      As Ruthven strode from the apartment, the appalled youth sank lifeless upon the floor.

      * * * *

      It was late in the evening: all the servants in the castle were busied in preparations for the approaching nuptials. A magnificent banquet was set out in the great hall; and the castle chapel was sumptuously decorated and brilliantly illuminated.

      With unspeakable anguish Edgar heard of the hasty bridal that was to take place, and marked the stir of preparation. Unable, at length, to bear the anguish of his fearful secret, he summoned one of the attendants of his cousin, and demanded an instant interview. The servant went to her apartment, and presently returned with the message that the Lady Malvine was in the hands of her tire-woman, and prayed her cousin to excuse her not seeing him.

      “To her father—then!” muttered Edgar; and following the servant who bore his request for a word in private with the Baron, found him in the great hall. Sir Aubrey’s brow darkened as he looked on his pale kinsman, and heard his petition that he should desist from the preparations for his daughter’s wedding with a man destitute of honor or feeling—who had lured to destruction many innocent maidens, and committed many crimes—

      “I never thought thee, Edgar,” said Sir Aubrey, with severity—“so weak—so enslaved to thy mad passion—as to stoop to calumny against a brave man—which, in sooth, degrades only thyself! Deemed I not that grief had crazed thee—held I not sacred the honor of thy race and the peace of my household—kept I not my hospitality inviolable—truly I would acquaint Ruthven with thy false accusations.”

      “Alas!” cried the youth, “the truth will appear—too late! Yet”—and a blessed thought flashed on him—“the truth may be proven—if—under any pretense—the bridal may be delayed till the first hour after midnight—which is the beginning of the new month!”

      “I shall not be delayed!” cried the father. “Aubrey Davenat has pledged his word—and it shall never be broken!”

      “Then I will dare the worst to save her!” exclaimed the heart-stricken young man. “Know—that Ruthven is—”

      “Thine oath!” hissed the voice once more in his ear. Edgar turned quickly, and saw the deathly visage of Ruthven close behind him. He strove to speak; the words died on his lips in incoherent murmurs—and he fell upon the ground in frightful convulsions.

      “Poor boy!” said Ruthven, sympathizingly, “what ails him?”

      “He raves!” answered the Baron, in displeasure; and calling some of his attendants, he bade them carry the young man to his own apartment, and keep him there for the night.

      Ruthven apologized for his late arrival—for it was already midnight—by saying that he had found at home letters of importance, which he was forced to answer immediately.

      “I pray now,” he concluded, “to give notice to my fair bride that I await her; and pardon my haste, for I would have her mine own before the next hour strikes.”

      The arrival of the bridegroom, and his impatience, was notified to the Lady Malvine; but there was some delay before she appeared. Sir Aubrey received and embraced her—bestowing his paternal benediction upon her fair young head. In her spotless bridal robes—the veil floating like a cloud over her slight form—pearls adorning the brow that rivalled their whiteness, she looked like an angel rather than a mortal maiden. Her cheek was pale, and there was something of pensiveness, if not of sadness, in her deep blue eyes; but it only imparted a new charm to her matchless beauty.

      Her maidens stood around her; and at her right hand, Lord Ruthven, wearing a rich robe of purple velvet embroidered with gold; his belt and sword handle flashing with jewels. His countenance wore an unusual expression of exultation, mingled with impatient glances at the delay of those who composed the bridal procession.

      At length, taking the hand of his bride, he led the way to the chapel.

      Slowly and solemnly passed the procession, from the hall across the lighted gallery, to the sacred place. Clouds of incense floated above the altar—the organ’s music swelled—and the choir sang a sacred melody as they entered. All was silent as they stood before the altar; and the priest in his snowy robes began the service.

      What form is that, rushing forward with wildly torn hair, and bloodshot rolling eyes? What shriek of mortal anguish pierces the ears of all present? Edgar had escaped from his guards. With a loud cry of “Hold—hold!” he threw himself between the bride and the bridegroom, clasping Malvine’s robe convulsively, as he sank at her feet.

      The Baron, furious at the interruption, ordered the young man to be carried out forcibly. Ruthven dragged him from the altar’s foot, whispering—“Thine oath!”—into his ear.

      “Fiend! Accursed!” cried the youth, releasing himself from his hold by a desperate effort; “The innocent shall not be thy prey! Heaven will approve the breaking of such an oath! Know—know all of ye”—glancing wildly round the room—this being is”—

      “Take the madman away!” thundered Sir Aubrey, in a rage.

      Several of the attendants lay hold of Edgar. Struggling as if for his life, his eyes flashing, his hands stretched towards Ruthven, he repeated—“He is”—

      The clock on the tower struck one.

      “A Vampyre!” shouted the young man.

      There was a gleam of lightning filling the chapel with a glare that eclipsed the torchlight, and a burst of thunder that shook the whole castle from its massive foundations. Many averred afterwards that the face of Lord Ruthven, livid and ghastly in that intense light—wore such a look of fierce despair as never was seen on mortal countenance before. When the thunder ceased, he had disappeared, and the bride lay in a swoon on the steps of the altar.

      When the first stunning moment of consternation and horror had passed, the proud baron turned to embrace his young kinsman, whose warning had saved his daughter. But Edgar heard not his thanks. The agony, the terror he had suffered, had driven reason from her throne!

      A year elapsed before the young man was restored to consciousness, but peace returned no more to his breast! He went to Rome, where he entered a convent of the strictest order, and in a few years was released by death from the melancholy that had made life a burden.

      Malvine mourned sincerely for her friend and cousins’ suffering, and wished also to become the inmate of a cloister; but the entreaties of her father prevailed with her to relinquish the thought of thus retiring from the world. After some time she was induced to listen to the suit of the real Lord of Marsden, who had arrived at his castle shortly after the tragic occurrences related. She had never cause to regret her marriage with him.

      THE SLEEPLESS WOMAN, by William Jerdan

      (1831)

      Chapter I

      “Blessed be he that invented sleep, for it covers СКАЧАТЬ