Varney the Vampire | Page 3

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 favours.
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_

VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE;
OR
THE FEAST OF BLOOD
A Romance


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.
[Illustration]
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;