The Vampyre (37 page)

‘I began to feel loneliness again. Marianna and Lovelace were about me - and other vampires - but I was their Emperor, and I did not choose to reveal to them my melancholy. They would not have understood - they were too deep in blood, their callousness was too exquisite and sharp. I began to long again for a companion, a partner of the soul with whom I might share the burden of eternity. It could not be anyone. If needs be, I would have to wait. But if I found a person who was suitable - I would persuade him - and then I would have him - I would make him a vampire as mighty as myself.

‘Two years after my arrival in Venice, I learned that Shelley was travelling to Italy. Claire was with him, and with her a baby - the infant daughter I had fathered on her. I had been told already of the birth of this child. I had ordered her to be christened Allegra, after a whore of whom I had been fleetingly fond - and now Allegra was being brought to me, bearing inside her, like a casket of perfume, her fatal load of blood.

‘Shelley arrived in Italy - I wrote to him, asking him to visit me in Venice. He refused. This disturbed me. I remembered Switzerland, and his suspicions of me there, his fear. Then he wrote, inviting me to stay with him. I was sorely tempted. Allegra - and Shelley - to see them both - yes, I was tempted. But I was reluctant as well - because I was afraid to smell the golden blood again - and because I wanted Shelley to come, to be drawn like a fly to me. I waited where I was. I did not leave Venice.

‘Then, in early April, I received a shock. I learned that Lady Melbourne was dead. The same afternoon, she arrived at my
palazzo
. My look of surprise amused her greatly. “You had escaped England already,” she said. “Do you really think I was going to stay there alone? And besides - people were starting to talk - they were wondering how I managed to stay so wellpreser ved.”

‘“And now?” I asked. “What will you do?”

‘“Anything.” Lady Melbourne smiled. “I can do anything. I have become a true creature of the dead. You should try it, Byron.”

‘“I couldn't - not yet - I enjoy my fame too much.”

‘“Yes.” Lady Melbourne stared out across the Grand Canal. “We have all heard, in London, of your debaucheries.” She glanced round at me. “I have grown quite jealous.”

‘“Stay here, then. You will enjoy Venice.”

‘“I'm sure.”

‘“Will you stay?”

‘Lady Melbourne stared into my eyes. Then she sighed and looked away. “Lovelace is here.”

‘“Yes. What of it?”

‘Lady Melbourne stroked the furrows on her face. “I was twenty,” she said in a distant voice, “when he saw me last.”

‘“You are still beautiful,” I said.

‘“No.” Lady Melbourne shook her head. “No, I couldn't bear it.” She reached up for my own face. She stroked my cheeks, and then the curls of my hair. “And you?” she whispered. “You too, Byron, are getting old.”

‘“Yes.” I laughed lightly. “The crow's-foot has been lavish with its indelible steps.”

‘“Indelible.” Lady Melbourne paused. “But not inevitable.”

‘“No,” I said slowly. I turned away.

‘“Byron?”

‘“ What?”

‘Lady Melbourne said nothing, but the silence was rich with unspoken meaning. I walked to my desk, and took out Shelley's letter. I tossed it to Lady Melbourne. She read it, then handed it back to me. “Send for her,” she said.

‘“Do you think so?”

‘“You look forty, Byron. You are growing fat.”

‘I stared at her. I knew she was telling the truth. “Very well,” I said. “I will do as you suggest.”

‘And I did. My daughter was sent for and arrived. I had refused to see Claire again - the bitch was still too dangerously in love with me - so Allegra came in the company of her Swiss nurse, Elise. Of Shelley, to my disappointment, there was no sign.

‘Lady Melbourne had stayed with me, hidden in my palace away from Lovelace, to make certain that my daughter truly arrived. “Kill her,” she said, that first evening, as we watched Allegra playing on the floor. “Kill her now, before you grow to feel affection for her. Remember Augusta. Remember Ada.”

‘“I will,” I assured her. “But not now - not with you here. I must be alone.”

‘Lady Melbourne bowed her head. “I understand,” she said.

‘“You will not stay here, in Venice?” I asked again.

‘“No. I will cross the ocean to America. I am dead now. What better time to visit a New World?”

‘I smiled and kissed her. “We will meet again,” I said.

‘“Of course. We shall have all eternity.” Then she turned, and left me. I watched her from my balcony. She sat in her gondola, her face cloaked. I waited until I could see her no more - then I turned, and studied my own face in a mirror, tracing again the marks of my age. I glanced down at Allegra. She smiled at me, and held up a toy. “Papa,” she said. “
Bon di
, papa.” Then she smiled again. “Tomorrow,” I muttered. “Tomorrow.” I left my palace. I found Lovelace. I preyed that night, with particular savagery.

‘The next day came, and I did not kill Allegra. Nor the next day - nor the next day after that. Why not? I see the question in your face. But do you need to ask? There was too much of the Byron about her - of me - and of Augusta. She frowned and pouted quite like us. Deep eyes - a dimple in her chin - a scowl on her brow - white skin - sweet voice - a liking for music - a fondness for having her own way in everything. I would raise her to my mouth, part my lips - and she would smile at me, just as Augusta had always smiled. Impossible. Quite impossible.

‘And yet, as ever, the torture of the blood was unbearable - worse, indeed - or was it just that I had forgotten how desperate the craving could be? Elise, I saw, was growing suspicious - not that I cared - but I was worried about what she might write to Shelley. She began to guard Allegra more closely - and all the time, my love for her, my little Byron, was growing - until at last, I knew, I couldn't do it - not kill her - not see her wide eyes close in death. It was a pointless agony to have her round my rooms. I sent her away, to be looked after in the home of the British Consul. A vampire's palace, after all, I thought, was hardly the place to bring up a child.

‘And yet there were others, for whom the knowledge that Allegra was in the care of strangers proved all too upsetting. One summer afternoon, as I was breakfasting with Lovelace, and making our plans for the evening ahead, Shelley was announced. I rose to greet him, delighted. Shelley was affectionate enough, but came to the point at once - Claire was worried about Allegra, and had made him promise to visit me. I tried to set his doubts at rest. We talked about Allegra, her future and her present health - Shelley seemed pacified - and then, so anxious I grew to ease his doubts, almost surprised. Lovelace too, watching me with his emerald eyes, was smiling faintly, and when I invited Shelley to stay for the summer, he actually laughed. Shelley turned, a look of hostility on his face. He glanced at Lovelace's breakfast, an uncooked steak - he shuddered - and looked away again.

‘“What's the matter?” Lovelace asked. “Do you not enjoy the taste of - meat?” He grinned at me. “Byron - do not say he is a vegetarian!”

‘Shelley stared back at him in fury. “Yes, I am a vegetarian,” he said. “Why are you laughing? Because I will not pimp for the gluttony of death? Because the bloody juices and raw horror of your meal fill me with disgust?”

Lovelace laughed even more; then he froze. He stared into Shelley's face, which was pale and framed by golden hair like his, so that it seemed to me, who was watching them, that life and death were both mirroring the beauty of the other. Lovelace shuddered, then grinned again, and turned to me. “
Milord
,” he bowed. He slipped away.

‘“What was he?” Shelley whispered. “Surely not a man?” He was shaking, I saw.

‘I took his arm, and tried to comfort him. “Come with me,” I said. I pointed to my gondola, moored by the palace steps. “We have much to discuss.”

‘We crossed to the sandy bank of the Lido. I had horses there. We climbed into our saddles, then rode together along the dunes. It was an eerie place, matted with thistles and amphibious weeds, oozing with salt from the tides, quite solitary. Shelley began to grow less upset. “I love these wastelands,” he said, “where everything seems boundless. Out here, you can almost believe that your soul is the same.”

‘I glanced at him. “You still dream then, do you,” I asked, “of possessing secret visions and powers?”

‘Shelley smiled at me, then he spurred his horse forwards, and I joined him, galloping through the sea. The winds drove the living spray into our faces, while the waves, lapping against the shore, harmonised our solitude with a feeling of delight. At length, we slowed our gallop, and began to chat again. The mood of happiness lingered on. We laughed a lot - our conversation was amusing, witty and frank. Only gradually did the talk darken, as though shadowed by the purple clouds of evening, which deepened above us as we turned to ride home. We began to talk of life and death, of free will and destiny - Shelley, as was his custom, argued against despondency, but I, who knew more than my friend had yet dared imagine, took the darker side. I remembered Ahasver's words to me. “Truth may exist,” I said, “but if it does, it is imageless. We cannot glimpse it.” I glanced at Shelley. “Not even those beings who have penetrated death.”

‘A flicker of something passed across his face. “You may be right,” he said, “that we are helpless before our own ignorance. And yet - I still believe - Fate, Time, Chance and Change - all are subject to eternal Love.”

‘I scoffed. “You talk of Utopia.”

‘“Are you so sure?”

‘I reined my horse in. I stared at him. My eyes, I knew, had grown suddenly cold. “What can you know of eternity?”

‘Shelley would not meet my look. By now, we had reached the end of our ride. Still not answering me, he slipped from his saddle, and took his place in the gondola. I joined him. We began to slip across the lagoon. The waters, caught by the sun's dying rays, seemed a lake of fire, but the towers and palaces of Venice, white in the distance against the dark of the sky, were like phantoms, beautiful and deathly. My own face, I knew, was just as pale. We passed the island where Marianna's palace stood. A bell was ringing. Shelley glanced at the bleak walls, and shuddered, as though scenting, across the waters, emotions of despair and pain. “Is there truly an eternity,” he asked me in a distant voice, “which lies beyond death?”

‘“If there were,” I replied, “would you dare to desire it?”

‘“Perhaps.” Shelley paused. He trailed his fingers through the waters of the lake. “So long as I did not have to lose my soul.”

‘“Soul?” I laughed. “I thought you were an infidel, Shelley. What's all this talk about losing a soul? You're sounding rather Christian to me.”

‘Shelley shook his head. “A soul, which I - and you - and all of us - share with the soul of the universe. I believe - I hope . . .” He glanced up. I raised my eyebrows mockingly. There was a long silence. “I might dare,” he said at last, nodding. “Yes, I might.”

‘We talked no more, not until we reached the
palazzo
steps, where we started to joke and banter again. I was content enough. Shelley could not be forced, he had to come to me - come to me and ask. I was prepared to wait. He stayed all summer, not in Venice, but across the lagoon on the Italian shore. The city, I knew, disturbed him - he could see the filth and degradation, he told me once, crawling beneath the outward show of beauty - in this, Venice was like Lovelace and Marianna, both of whom he had met, and been instinctively revolted by. He was revolted as well, I could see, by my own moods and habits, and the contempt and desperation he recognised as their source - and yet, all the time, I fascinated him too - as I was bound to do - for he had never met a being such as myself. We talked much, riding as before along the bank of the Lido. I pushed and tantalised him all the time. He would stare at me, horror mingled with yearning and respect. He was ready to fall, I could sense it - ready to succumb. One night, we stayed up late, discussing again the worlds that were veiled from mortal view. I spoke from experience - Shelley from hope. I was almost ready to reveal the naked truth - but by now it was five - and dawn was unshadowing the Grand Canal - the night was almost gone. I begged Shelley to stay. “Please,” I asked. “There is much . . .” - I smiled - “much I could
reveal
to you.”

‘Shelley stared at me - he trembled - I thought he would agree. But then he rose. “I must get back,” he said.

‘I was disappointed, but I did not protest. There was plenty of time. I watched his gondola until it disappeared from view. Then I too crossed the Venetian lagoon. I visited Shelley in his dreams. I did not feed, but I tempted him. I showed him Truth - a mighty darkness filled with power, radiating gloom as the sunbeams give forth light, formless, an abyss of death, it seemed - and yet as well, imbued with life - where immortality might be searched for and found. I walked into that darkness. Shelley stared, but he could not yet follow me. I glanced back. I smiled. Desperately, Shelley was holding out his arms to me. I smiled again, and beckoned. Then I turned, and was swallowed up by the dark. Tomorrow, I thought - tomorrow night - he would be able to follow me. Tomorrow, it would happen.

‘The next afternoon, I was disturbed at my breakfast by Lovelace. He sat down with me and dawdled at the table. We chatted of nothing for a while. “Oh,” said Lovelace, grinning at me suddenly, “your friend - the vegetable-eater - didst know he is gone?”