CHAPTER XVI
THE VAMPIRE
Vranic, having found out that the Austrian law could do nothing forhim, except punish him for his crime in cutting down the vines of aman who had done him no harm, shut himself up at home to nurse hiswounded head, to brood over his revenge, and pity himself for all themishaps that had befallen him. The more he pitied himself, the moreirritable he grew, and the more he considered himself a poorpersecuted wretch. He durst not go out for fear of being laughed at;and, in fact, when he did go, the children in the streets began tocall him names, to ask him what he had done with his ears, andwhether he liked cutting people's vines down.
With his bickering and peevish temper, not only his fast friends grewweary of him, but his own family forsook him; his very brother, atlast, could not abide his saturnine humour, and left him. He thenbegan to drink to try and drown his troubles; still, he only tookenough to muddle his brains, and, moreover, the greater quantity ofspirits he consumed the more sullen he grew.
Having but one idea in his head--that is, the great wrong that hadbeen done to him--he hardly fell asleep at nights but he was at oncehaunted by fearful dreams. His murdered brother would at once appearbefore him and ask him--urge him--to avenge his death:
"While you are enjoying the inheritance I left you, I am groaning inhell-fire, and my murderer is not only left free, but he is evenmade much of."
Masses were said for the dead man's soul, still that was of no avail;Vranic's dreams got always more frightful. The _morina_, the dreadful_mara_ or nightmare, took up its dwelling in the tailor's house. Nosooner did the poor man close his eyes than the ponderous ghost camehovering over him, and at last crushed him with its weight. The signof the pentacle was drawn on every door and window. A witch drew itfor him on paper with magical ink, and he placed the paper under hispillow. He put another on the sheets; then the nightmare left himalone, and other evil spirits came in its stead. Not knowing thenames of these evil spirits or their nature, it was a difficult taskto find out the planet under which they were subjected, the signwhich they obeyed, and what charm was potent enough to scare themaway.
One night (it was about the hour when his brother had been murdered)the tailor was lying on his bed in a half-wakeful slumber--that is tosay, his drowsy body was benumbed, but his mind was still quiteawake, when all at once he was roused by the noise of a loud windblowing within the house. Outside, everything was perfectly quiet,but inside a distant door seemed to have been opened down in somecellar, and a draught was blowing up with a moaning, booming sound.You might have fancied that a grave had been opened and a ghastlygale was blowing from the hollow depths of hell below, and that itcame wheezing up. It was dreadful to hear, for it had such a dismalsound.
Perhaps it was only his imagination, but Vranic thought that thismysterious draught was cold, damp and chilly; that it had an earthy,rank smell of mildew as it blew by him.
He lay there shivering, hardly daring to breathe, putting his tonguebetween his chattering teeth not to make a noise, and listening tothat strange, weird blast as at last it died far away in a faint,imperceptible sigh.
No sooner had the sound of the wind entirely subsided than he heard acadenced noise of footsteps coming from afar. Were these steps out ofthe house or inside? he could not tell. He heard them draw nearer andever nearer; they seemed to come across the wall of the room, as ifbricks and stones were no obstacle to his uncanny visitor; now theywere in his room, walking up to his bed. Appalled with terror, Vraniclooked towards the place from where the footsteps came, but he couldnot see anybody. Trembling as if with a fit of palsy, he cast afearful, furtive glance all around, even in the furthermost corner ofthe room; not the shadow of a ghost was to be seen; nevertheless, thefootsteps of the invisible person grew louder as they approached at aslow, sure, inexorable pace.
At last they stopped; they were by his bed. Vranic felt the breath ofa person on his very face.
Except a person who has felt it, no one can realise the horror ofhaving an invisible being leaning over you, of feeling his breath onyour face.
Vranic tried to rise, but he at once came in close contact with theunseen monster; two cold, clammy, boneless hands gripped him andpinned him down; he vainly struggled to get free, but he was as ababy in the hands of his invisible foe. In a few seconds he wasentirely mastered, cowed down, overcome, panting, breathless. When hetried to scream, a limp, nerveless hand, as soft as a huge toad, wasplaced upon his mouth, shutting it up entirely, and impeding allpower of utterance. Then the ponderous mass of the ghost came uponhim, crushed him, smothered him. Fainting with fear, his strength andhis senses forsook him at the same time, and he swooned away.
When he came back to life, the cold, grey light of the dawning day,pouring in through the half-closed shutters, gave the room a squalid,lurid look. His head was not exactly paining him, but it felt drainedof all its contents, and as light as an empty skull, or an old poppyhead in which the seeds are rattling. He looked around. There wasnothing unusual in the room; everything was just as it had been uponthe previous evening. Had his struggle with the ghost been but adream? He tried to move, to rise, but all his limbs were as weary andsore as if he had really fought and been beaten. Nay, his whole bodywas as weak as if he had had some long illness and was only nowconvalescent. He recalled to mind all the details of the struggle, helooked at the places where he felt numb and sore, and everywhere heremarked livid stains which he had not seen before. He lifted himselfup on his right elbow; to his horror and consternation, there weretwo or three spots of blood upon the white sheet.
He felt faint and sick at that sight; he understood everything. Hishad not been a dream; his gruesome visitor was a frightful ghost, aterrible _vukodlaki_, which had fought with him and sucked his blood.His brother had become a loathsome vampire; he was the first victim.
For a moment he remained bewildered, unable to think; then when hedid manage to collect his wandering senses, the terrible reality ofhis misfortune almost drove him mad again.
The ghost, having tasted his blood, would not leave him till it haddrained him to the very last drop. He was a lost man; no medical aidcould be of any use; nourishing food, wine and tonics might prolonghis agony a few days longer and no more. He was doomed to a suredeath. Daily--as if in a decline--he saw himself wasting away, forthe vampire would suck the very marrow of his bones.
His was a dreary life, indeed, and yet he clung to it with might andmain. The days passed on wearily, and he tried to hope against hopeitself; but he was so weak and dispirited that the slightest noisemade him shiver and grow pale. An unexpected footstep, the opening orshutting of a door, slackened or accelerated the beating of hisheart.
With fear and trembling he waited for night to come on, and when thesun went down--when darkness came over the earth--his terror grewapace. Still, where was he to go? He had not a single friend on thesurface of the earth. He, therefore, drank several glasses ofspirits, muttered his prayers and went to bed. No sooner had hefallen asleep than he fell again a prey to the vampire.
On the third night he determined not to go to bed, but to remainawake, and thus wait for the arrival of his gruesome guest. Still, atthe last moment his courage failed him, so he went to an old man wholived hard by. He promised to make him a new waistcoat if he wouldonly give him a rug to sleep on, and tell him a story until he gotdrowsy.
The old man complied willingly, above all as Vranic had brought a_bukara_ of wine with him, so he at once began the story of
THE PRIEST AND HIS COOK.
In the village of Steino there lived an old priest who wasexceedingly wealthy, but who was, withal, as miserly as he was rich.Although he had fields which stretched farther than the eye couldreach, fat pastures, herds and flocks; although his cellars werefilled with mellow wine, his barns were bursting with the grace ofGod; although abundance reigned in his house, still he was neverknown to have given a crust of bread to a beggar or a glass of wineto a weary old man.
He lived all alone with a skinfl
int of an old cook, as stingy ashimself, who would rather by far have seen an apple rot than give itto a hungry child whose mouth watered for it.
Those two grim old fogeys, birds of one feather, cared for no oneelse in this world except for each other, and, in fact, the people inSteino said----, but people in villages have bad tongues, so it'suseless to repeat what was said about them.
The priest had a nephew, a smith, a good-hearted, bright-eyed, burlykind of a fellow, beloved by all the village, except by his uncle,whom he had greatly displeased because he had married a bonny lass ofthe neighbouring village of Smarje, instead of taking as a wifethe----, well, the cook's niece, though, between us and the wall, thecook was never known to have had a sister or a brother either, andthe people----, but, as I said before, the people were apt to saynasty things about their priest.
The smith, who was quite a pauper, had several children, for thepoorer a man is the more babies his wife presents him with--womeneverywhere are such unreasonable creatures--and whenever he appliedto his uncle for a trifle, the uncle would spout the Scriptures inLatin, saying something about the unfitness of casting pearls beforepigs, and that he would rather see him hanged than help him.
Once--it was in the middle of winter--the poor smith had been withoutany work for days and days. He had spent his last penny; then thebaker would not give him any more bread on credit, and at last, on acold, frosty night, the poor children had been obliged to go to bedsupperless.
The smith, who had sworn a few days before never again to put hisfoot in the priest's house, was, in his despair, obliged to humblehimself, and go and beg for a loaf of bread, with which to satisfyhis children on the morrow.
Before he knocked at the door, he went and peeped in through thehalf-closed shutters, and he saw his uncle and the cook seated by aroaring fire, with their feet on the fender, munching roastedchestnuts and drinking mulled wine. Their shining lips still seemedgreasy from the fat sausages they had eaten for supper, and, as hesniffed at the window, he fancied the air was redolent with thespices of black-pudding. The smell made his mouth water and hishungry stomach rumble.
The poor man knocked at the door with a trembling hand; his legsbegan to quake, he had not eaten the whole of that long day; but thenhe thought of his hungry children, and knocked with a steadier hand.
The priest, hearing the knock, thought it must be some piousparishioner bringing him a fat pullet or perhaps a sleek sucking-pig,the price of a mass to be said on the morrow; but when, instead, hesaw his nephew, looking as mean and as sheepish as people usually dowhen they go a-begging, he was greatly disappointed.
"What do you want, bothering here at this time of the night?" askedthe old priest, gruffly.
"Uncle," said the poor man, dejectedly.
"I suppose you've been drinking, as usual; you stink of spirits."
"Spirits, in sooth! when I haven't a penny to bless me."
"Oh, if it's only a blessing you want, here, take one and go!"
And the priest lifted up his thumb and the two fingers, and utteredsomething like "_Dominus vobiscum,_" and then waved him off; whilstthe old shrew skulking near him uttered a croaking kind of laugh, andsaid that a priest's blessing was a priceless boon.
"Yes," replied the smith, "upon a full stomach; but my children havegone to bed supperless, and I haven't had a crust of bread the wholeof the day."
"'Man shall not live by bread alone,' the Scriptures say, and youought to know that if you are a Christian, sir."
"Eh? I daresay the Scriptures are right, for priests surely do notlive on bread alone; they fatten on plump pullets and crisppork-pies."
"Do you mean to bully me, you unbelieving beggar?"
"Bully you, uncle!" said the burly man, in a piteous tone; "onlythink of my starving children."
"He begrudges his uncle the grub he eats," shrieked the old cat of acook.
"I'd have given you something, but the proud man should be punished,"said the wrathful priest, growing purple in the face.
"Oh, uncle, my children!" sobbed the poor man.
"What business has a man to have a brood of brats when he can't earnenough to buy bread for them?" said the cook, aloud, to herself.
"Will you hold your tongue, you cantankerous old cat?" said the smithto the cook.
The old vixen began to howl, and the priest, in his anger, cursed hisnephew, telling him that he and his children could starve for all hecared.
The smith thereupon went home, looking as piteous as a taillessturkey-cock; and while his children slept and, perhaps, dreamt of_kolaci_, he told his wife the failure he had met with.
"Your uncle is a brute," said she.
"He's a priest, and all priests are brutes, you know."
"Well, I don't know about all of them, for I heard mygreat-grandmother say that once upon a time there lived----"
"Oh, there are casual exceptions to every rule!" said her husband."But, now, what's to be done?"
"Listen," said the wife, who was a shrewd kind of woman; "we can'tlet the children starve, can we?"
"No, indeed!"
"Then follow my advice. I know of a grass that, given to a horse, oran ox, or a sheep, or a goat, makes the animal fall down, looking asif it were dead."
"Well, but you don't mean to feed the children with this grass, doyou?" said the smith, not seeing the drift of what she meant.
"No; but you could secretly go and give some to your uncle's fattestox."
"So," said the husband, scratching his head.
"Once the animal falls down dead, he'll surely give it to you, as nobutcher 'll buy it; we'll kill it and thus be provided with meat fora long time. Besides, you can sell the bones, the horns, the hide,and get a little money besides."
"And for to-morrow?"
"I'll manage to borrow a few potatoes and a cup of milk."
On the next day the wife went and got the grass, and the smith,unseen, managed to go and give it to his uncle's fattest ox. A fewhours afterwards the animal was found dead.
On hearing that his finest ox was found in the stable lying stiff andstark the priest nearly had a fit; and his grief was still greaterwhen he found out that not a man in the village would offer him apenny for it, so when his nephew came he was glad enough to give itto him to get rid of it.
The cook, who had prompted the priest to make a present of the ox tohis nephew, hoped that the smith and all his family would be poisonedby feeding on carrion flesh.
"But," said the uncle, "bring me back the bones, the horns, and thehide."
To everyone's surprise, and to the old cook's rage, the smith and hischildren fed on the flesh of the dead ox, and throve on it. After theox had all been eaten up, the priest lost a goat, and then a goose,in the same way, and the smith and his family ate them up withevident gusto.
After that, the old cook began to suspect foul play on the part ofthe smith, and she spoke of her suspicions to her master.
The priest got into a great rage, and wanted to go at once to thepolice and accuse his nephew of sorcery.
"No," said the cook, "we must catch them on the hip, and then we canact."
"But how are we to find them out?"
After brooding over the matter for some days, the cook bethoughtherself that the best plan would be to shut herself up in a cupboard,and have it taken to the nephew's house.
The priest, having approved of her plan, put it at once intoexecution.
"I have," said the uncle to the nephew, "an old cupboard which needsrepairing; will you take it into your house and keep it for a fewdays?"
"Willingly," said the nephew, who had not the slightest suspicion ofthe trap laid to catch him.
The cupboard was brought, and put in the only room the smithpossessed; the children looked at it with wonder, for they had neverseen such a big piece of furniture before. The wife had somesuspicion. Still, she kept her own counsel.
Soon afterwards the remains of the goose were brought on the table,and, as the children licked the bones, the husband and
wife discussedwhat meat they were to have for the forthcoming days--was it to bepork, veal, or turkey?
As they were engrossed with this interesting topic, a slight, shrillsound came out of the cupboard.
"What's that?" said the wife, whose ears were on the alert.
"I didn't hear anything," said the smith.
"_Apshee_," was the sound that came again from the cupboard.
"There, did you hear?" asked the wife.
"Yes; but from where did that unearthly sound come?"
The wife, without speaking, winked at her husband and pointed to thecupboard.
"_Papshee_," was now heard louder than ever.
The children stopped gnawing the goose's bones; they opened theirgreasy mouths and their eyes to the utmost and looked scared.
"There's some one shut in the cupboard," said the smith, jumping up,and snatching up his tools.
A moment afterwards the door flew open, and to everyone's surprise,except the wife's, the old cook was found standing bolt upright inthe empty space and listening to what they were saying.
The old woman, finding herself discovered, was about to scream, butthe smith caught her by the throat and gave her such a powerfulsqueeze, that before knowing what he was doing, he had choked thecook to death.
The poor man was in despair, for he had never meant to commit amurder--he only wanted to prevent the old shrew from screaming.
"_Bog me ovari!_ what is to become of me now?"
"Pooh!" said the wife, shrugging her shoulders; "she deserves herfate; as we make our bed, so must we lie."
"Yes," quoth the smith, "but if they find out that I've strangledher, they'll hang me."
"And who'll find you out?" said she. "Let's put a potato in her mouthand lock up the cupboard again; they'll think that she choked herselfeating potatoes."
The smith followed his wife's advice, and early on the morrow thepriest came again and asked for his press.
"Talking the matter over with the cook," said he, "I've decided notto have my cupboard repaired, so I've come to take it back."
"Your cook is right," said the smith's wife; "she's a wise old woman,your cook is."
"Very," said the priest, uncomfortably.
"There's more in her head than you suppose," said the wife, thinkingof the potato.
"There is," said the priest.
"Give my kind respects to your cook," said the wife as the men weretaking the cupboard away.
"Thank you," said the priest, "I'll certainly do so."
About an hour afterwards the priest came back, ghastly pale, to hisnephew, and taking him aside said:
"My dear nephew--my only kith-and-kin--a great misfortune hasbefallen me."
"What is it, uncle?" asked the smith.
"My cook," said the priest, lowering his voice, "has--eatingpotatoes--somehow or other--I don't know how--choked herself."
"Oh!" quoth the smith, turning pale, "it is a great misfortune; butyou'll say masses for her soul and have her properly buried."
"But the fact is," interrupted the priest, "she looks so dreadful,with her eyes starting out of their sockets, and her mouth wide open,that I'm quite frightened of her, and besides, if the people see herthey'll say that I murdered her."
"Well, and how am I to help you?"
"Come and take her away, in a sack if you like; then bury her in somehole, or throw her down a well. Do whatever you like, as long as I amrid of her."
The smith scratched his head.
"You must help me; you are my only relation. You know that whatever Ihave 'll go to you some day, so----"
"And when people ask what has become of her?"
"I'll say she's gone to her--her niece."
"Well, I don't mind helping you, as long as I don't get into a scrapemyself."
"No, no! How can you get into trouble?"
The priest went off, and soon afterwards the smith went to hisuncle's house, and taking a big sack, shoved the cook into it andtied the sack up, put it on his shoulders and trudged off.
"Here," said the uncle, "take this florin to get a glass of wine onthe way, and I hope I'll never see her any more--nor," he added tohimself--"you either."
It was a warm day, and the cook was heavy. The poor man was in agreat perspiration; his throat was parched; the road was dusty andhilly. After an hour's march he stopped at a roadside inn to drink aglass of wine. He quaffed it down at a gulp and then he had another,and again another, so that when he came out everything was ratherhazy and blurred. Seeing some carts of hay at the door which weregoing to the next town, he asked permission to get on top of one ofthe waggons. The permission was not only granted, but the carter evenhelped him to hoist his sack on top. The smith, in return, got downand offered the man a glass of wine for his kindness. Then he againgot on the cart and went off to sleep. An hour or two afterwards,when he awoke, the sack was gone. Had it slipped down? had it beenstolen from him?--he could not tell. He did not ask for it, but heonly congratulated himself at having so dexterously got rid of thecook, and at once went back home.
That evening his children had hardly been put to bed when the doorwas opened, and his uncle, looking pale and scared, came in panting.
"She's back, she's back!" he gasped.
"Who is back?" asked the astonished smith.
"Why, she, the cook."
"Alive?" gasped the smith.
"No, dead in the sack."
"Then how the deuce did she get back?"
"How? I ask you how?"
"I really don't know how. I dug a hole ten feet deep, half filled thehole with lime, then the other half with stones and earth, and Iplanted a tree within the hole, and covered the earth all around withsods. It gave me two days' work. I'll take and show you the place ifyou like."
The priest looked at his nephew, bewildered.
"But, tell me," continued the smith, "how did she come back?"
"Well, they brought me a waggon of hay, and on the waggon there was asack, which I thought must contain potatoes or turnips which someparishioner sent me, so I had the sack put in the kitchen. When themen had gone I undid the sack, and to my horror out pops the cook'sugly head, staring at me with her jutting goggle-eyes and her gapingmouth, looking like a horrid jack-in-the-box. Do come and take heraway, or she'll drive me out of my senses; but come at once."
The smith went back to the priest's house, tied the cook in the sack,and then putting the sack on his shoulders, he carried his load away.He had made up his mind to go and chuck her down one of those almostbottomless shafts which abound in the stony plains of the Karst.
He walked all night; at daybreak he saw a man sleeping on the grassby the highway, having near him a sack exactly like the one he wascarrying.
"What a good joke it'll be," thought he, "to take that sack and putmine in its stead."
He at once stepped lightly on the grass, put down the cook, took upthe other sack, which was much lighter than his own, and scamperedback home as fast as his weary legs could carry him.
An hour afterwards the sleeping man awoke, took up his sack, which hewas surprised to find so much heavier than it had been when he hadgone off to sleep, and then went on his way.
That evening the priest came back to his nephew's house, lookinguglier and more ghastly, if possible, than the evening before.Panting and gasping, with a weak and broken voice:
"She's back again," he said in a hoarse whisper.
The smith burst out laughing.
"It's no laughing matter," quoth the priest, with a long face.
"No, indeed, it isn't," replied the nephew; "only, tell me how shecame back."
"A pedlar, an honest man whom I sometimes help by lending him atrifle on his goods--merely out of charity--brought me a sack ofshoes, begging me to keep it for him till he found a stall forto-morrow's fair. I told him to put the sack in the kitchen, and hedid so. When he had gone, I thought I'd just see what kind of shoeshe had for sale, and whether he had a pair that fitted me. I openedthe sack, and I almost fai
nted when I saw the frightful face of thecook staring at me."
"And now," asked the smith, "am I to carry her away again, for youknow, uncle, she is rather heavy; and besides----"
"No," replied the priest; "I'll go away myself for a few days; duringthat time drown her, burn or bury her; in fact, do what you like withher, as long as you get rid of her. Perhaps, knowing I'm not at home,she'll not come back. In the meanwhile, as you are my only relation,come and live in my house and take care of my things as if they wereyour own; and they'll be yours soon enough, for this affair has madean old man of me."
The priest went home, followed by his nephew. Arriving there, he wentto the stable, saddled the mare, got on her, gave his nephew hisblessing, bade him take care of his house, and trotted off. No soonerhad he gone than the smith saddled the stallion, then went and tookthe cook out of the sack, tied her on the stallion's saddle, then letthe horse loose to follow the mare.
The poor priest had not gone a mile before he heard a horse gallopingbehind him, and, fearing that it was the police coming to bring himback, he spurred the mare and galloped on; but the faster he rode,the quicker the stallion galloped after him.
Looking round, the priest, to his horror and dismay, saw his cook,with her eyes starting wildly out of their sockets, and her horridmouth gaping as black as the hole of hell, chasing him, nay, she wasonly a few yards behind.
The terrified priest spurred on the mare, which began to gallop alongthe highway; but withal she flew like an arrow, the stallion wasgaining ground at every step. The priest, fainting with fear, lostall his presence of mind; he then spurred the mare across country.The poor animal reared at first, and then began to gallop over thestony plain; no obstacles could stop her, she jumped over bushes andbriars, stumbling almost at every step.
The priest, palsied with terror, as ghastly pale as a ghost, couldnot help turning round; alas! the cook was always at his heels. Hisfear was such that he almost dropped from his horse. He lashed thepoor mare, forgetful of all the dangers the plains of the Karstpresented, for the ground yawned everywhere--here in huge, deepclefts, there in bottomless shafts; or it sank in cup-like hollows,all bordered with sharp, jagged rocks, or concealed in the bushesthat surround them. His only thought was to escape from the grimspectre that pursued him. The lame and bleeding mare had stopped onthe brink of one of these precipices, trembling and convulsed withterror. The priest, who had just turned round, dug his spurs into theanimal's sides; she tried to clear the cleft, but missed her footing,and rolled down in the abyss. The stallion, seeing the maredisappear, stopped short, and uttered a loud neigh, shivering withfear. The shock the poor beast had got burst the bonds which held thecorpse on his back, and the cook was thus chucked over his head onthe prone edge of the pit.
A few days afterwards some peasants who happened to pass by found thecook sitting, stiff and stark, astride on a rock, seemingly staring,with eyes starting from their sockets and her black mouth gapingwidely, at the mangled remains of her master's corpse.
As the priest had told the clerk that he was going away for a fewdays, everybody came to the conclusion that his cook, having followedhim against his will, had frightened the mare and thus caused her ownand her master's death.
The smith having been left in possession of his uncle's house, aswell as of all his money and estates, and being, moreover, the onlylegal heir, thus found himself all at once the richest man in thevillage. As he was beloved by everybody, all rejoiced at his goodluck, especially all those who owed money to the priest and whosedebts he cancelled.
"You liked this story?" said the old man to Vranic, as soon as he hadfinished.
"Yes," replied the tailor, thinking of the ghastly, livid corpse,with grinning, gaping mouth, and glassy, goggle eyes, galloping afterthe priest, and wondering whether she was like the vampire. "Yes,it's an interesting story, but rather gruesome."
"Well, but it's only a story, and, whether ghastly or lively, it'sonly words, which--as the proverb says--are evanescent assoap-bubbles. Now," continued he, "if you want to go off to sleep,look at this," and he gave him a bit of cardboard, on which weretraced several circles; "look at it till you see all these ringswheeling round. When they disappear, you'll be asleep."
The old man put the bit of cardboard before Vranic, who leaned hiselbows on the table and his head between the palms of his hands, andstared at the drawing. Five minutes afterwards he was fast asleep.
When he awoke the next morning, his head was not only aching, but hisweakness had so much increased that he had hardly strength enough tostand on his feet. He, therefore, made up his mind to go to theparish priest, and lay the whole matter before him.
Priests are everywhere but fetich men; therefore, if they have burntwitches for using charms and philters, it is simply because thesewomen trespassed on their own domains, and were more successful thanthey themselves. Of what use would a priest be if he could not prayfor rain, give little _sacre coeur_ bits of flannel as talismansagainst pestilence, or brass medals to scare away the devil? A priestwho can do nothing for us here below, must and will soon fall intodiscredit. The hereafter is so vague and indefinite that it cannotinspire us with half the interest the present does.
The priest whom Vranic consulted was of the same opinion as thetailor. He, too, believed that probably his brother had become avampire, who nightly left the tomb to go and suck his blood. For hisown sake, as well as for that of the whole town, it would be well toexorcise the ghost. The matter, however, had to be kept a profoundsecret, as the Government had put its veto on vampire-killing, andlooked upon all such practices as illegal.
It was, therefore, agreed that Vranic, together with his relationsand some friends, should go to the curate's about ten o'clock atnight; there the curate would be waiting for them with anotherpriest; from there the little party would stealthily proceed to thecemetery where the ceremony was to be held.
The Friday fixed upon arrived. The night was dark, the weathersultry; a storm had been brooding in the heavy clouds overhead andwas now ready to burst every moment.
As soon as the muffled people got to the gate of the burying-groundthe mortuary chapel was opened to them by the sexton. The priests puton their officiating robes, recited several orisons appropriate tothe occasion; then, with the Cross carried before them, bearing aholy-water sprinkler in their hands, followed by Vranic and hisfriends--all with blessed tapers--they went up to the murdered man'stomb. The priest then bade the sexton dig up the earth and bring outthe coffin.
The smell, as the pit was being dug lower down, became always moreoffensive; but when, at last, the rotting deal coffin was drawn outand opened, it became overpoweringly loathsome. The corpse, however,being found in a good state of preservation, there could be no doubtthat the dead man was a vampire. It is true that the tapers whicheveryone held gave but a dim and flickering light; moreover, that thestench was so sickening that all turned at once their heads away indisgust; still, they had all seen enough of the corpse to declare itto be but seemingly dead. The priest, standing as far from it as hepossibly could, began at once to exorcise it in the name of theTrinity, the Virgin and all the saints; to sprinkle it with holywater, commanding it not to move, not to jump out of its box and runaway--for these ghouls are cunning devils, and if one is not on thealert they skedaddle the moment the coffin is opened. Our priest,however, was a match even for the dead man, and his holy-watersprinkler was uplifted even before the lid of the loathsome chest wasloosened.
The storm which had been threatening the whole of that day broke outat last. No sooner had the sexton begun to dig the grave than thewind, which had been moaning and wailing round the stones and woodencrosses, began to howl with a sinister sound. Then, just as thepriest uttered the formula of the exorcism--when the coffin wasuncovered and the uncanny corpse was seen--a flash of lurid lightninggleamed over its livid features, and the rumbling thunder ended in atremendous crash; the earth shook as if with the throes ofchildbirth; hell seemed to yawn and yield forth its fulsome de
ad. Asthe priest sprinkled the corpse with holy water, the rain came downin torrents as if to drown the world.
Although the noise was deafening, still some of the men affirm thatthey heard the corpse lament and entreat not to be killed; but thepriest, a tall, stalwart man of great strength and courage, went onperfectly undaunted, paying no heed to the vampire, mumbling hisprayers as if the man prostrate before him was some ordinary corpseand this was a commonplace, every-day funeral.
The priest, having reached in his orisons the moment when he utteredthe name of Isukrst, or God the Son, Josko Vranic, who stood by,shivering from head to foot, and looking like a cat extracted from atub of soap-suds, drew out a dagger from under his coat, where it hadbeen carefully concealed from the ghost's sight, and stabbed thecorpse. It was, of course, a black steel stiletto, for only such aweapon can kill a vampire. He should have stabbed the dead man in hisneck and through the throat, but he was so sick that he could hardlystand; besides, his candle that instant went out, and, moreover, hewas terribly frightened, for although he was stabbing but a corpse,still that corpse was his own brother.
A flash of lightning which followed that instant of perfect darknessshowed him that the dagger, instead of being stuck in the dead man'sneck, was thrust in the right cheek.
The ceremony being now over, the priests and their attendantshastened back to the chapel to take shelter from the rage of thestorm, as well as to escape from the pestilential stench.
The sexton alone remained outside to heap up the earth again on theuncanny corpse, and shut up the grave.
"Are you sure you stabbed the corpse in the neck, severing thethroat, and thus preventing it from ever sucking blood again?" askedthe priest.
"Yes, I believe I have," answered Vranic, with a whining voice.
"I don't ask you what you believe; have you done it--yes, or no?"said the ecclesiastic, sternly.
"Well, just as I lifted my knife to stab, the candle went out. Icouldn't see at all; the night was so dark; you all were far from me.Besides, as I bent down, the smell made me so sick that----"
"You don't know where you stabbed?" added the priest, angrily.
"He stabbed him in the cheek!" said the sexton, coming in.
"Fool!" burst out the priest, in a stentorian voice.
"I was sure this would be the case," cried out one of the party."Vranic has always been a bungler of a tailor."
"You have done a fine piece of work, you have, indeed, you wretch!"hissed the priest, looking at Vranic scornfully.
"You have endowed that cursed brother of yours with everlastinglife," said the other priest, "and now the whole town will beinfested with another vampire for ever!"
"Do you really think so?" asked Vranic, ready to burst out crying.
"Think so!" said all the other men, scornfully. "To bring us here inthe middle of the night with this storm, to stifle us with thispoisonous stench, and this is the result!"
"But really----" stammered Vranic.
"Anyhow, he'll not leave you till he has sucked the last drop ofblood from your body."
The storm having somewhat abated, all the company wended their wayhomewards, taking no notice of the tailor, who followed them like amangy cur which everyone avoids.
That night, Vranic had not a wink of sleep. No one would have him inhis house; nobody would sleep with him, for fear of fallingafterwards a prey to the vampire. As soon as he lay down and tried toshut his eyes, the terrifying sight appeared before him. Thefestering ghost with the horrible gash in the cheek, just over thejaw-bone, was ever present to his eyes; nor could he get rid of theloathsome, sickening stench with which his clothes, nay, his verybody, seemed saturated. If a mouse stirred he fancied he could seethe ghost standing by him. He hid his head under the bed-cover not tosee, not to hear, until he was almost smothered, and every now andthen he felt a human hand laid on his head, on his shoulder, on hislegs, and his teeth chattered with fear.
The storm ceased; still, the sky remained overcast, and a thin,drizzling rain had succeeded the interrupted showers. The dreadfulnight came to an end; he was happy to see the grey light of dawnsucceed the appalling darkness. Daylight brought with it happierthoughts.
"Perhaps," said he to himself, "my brother was no vampire, after all!Perhaps the blade of the dagger, driven in the cheek, had penetratedslantingly into the neck, severed the throat, and thus killed thevampire; for something must have happened to keep the ghost away."
On the next day Vranic remained shut up at home. He felt sure thathis own relations would henceforth hate him, and his acquaintanceswould stone him if they possibly could. Nothing makes a man not onlyunjust, but even cruel, like fear, and no fear is greater than thevague dread of the unknown. That whole day he tried to work, but histhoughts were always fixed either on the festering corpse he hadstabbed or on the coming night.
Would the ghoul, reeking of hell, come and suck up his blood?
As the light waned his very strength began to flow away, his legsgrew weak, his flesh shivered, the beating of his heart grew evermore irregular.
He lighted his little oil-lamp before it was quite dark, looked aboutstealthily, trembling lest he should see the dreaded apparitionbefore its time, started and shuddered at the slightest noise.
He was weary and worn out by the emotions of the former sleeplessnight; still, he could not make up his mind to go to bed. He placedhis elbows on the board, buried his head within his hands, andremained there brooding over his woes. Without daring to lift up hiseyes or look around, he at times stretched out his hand, clutched agourd full of spirits and took a sip. Time passed, the twilight hadfaded away into soft, mellow darkness without; but in the tailor'sroom the little flickering light only rendered the shadows grim andgruesome.
Drink and lassitude at last overpowered the poor man; his head beganto get drowsy, his ideas more confused; the heaviness of sleepweighed him down.
All at once he was roused from his lethargy by a sound of rushingwinds. He hardly noticed it when it blew from afar, like the slightbreeze that ruffles the surface of the sea; but, now that it camenearer, he remembered having heard it some evenings before. He grewpale, panted, and then his breath stopped, convulsed as he was byfear.
As upon the previous night, the wind was lost in the distance, andthen in the stillness of the night he heard the low, hushed sound offootsteps coming from afar; but they drew nearer and ever nearer,with a heavy, slow, metrical step. The night-walker was near hishouse, at his door, on his threshold. The loathsome, sickening smellof corruption grew stronger and stronger. Now it was asoverpoweringly nauseous as when he had bent down to stab his deadbrother. The sound of footsteps was now within his room; the spectremust surely be by his side. He kept his eyes tightly shut and hishead bent down. A cold perspiration was trickling from his foreheadand through his fingers on to the table.
All at once, something heavy and metallic was thrown in front of him.Although his eyes were tightly shut, he knew that it was the blackdagger that his brother had come to bring him back, and he was notmistaken.
Was there a chuckle just then?
Almost against his will he opened his eyes, lifted his head, andlooked at his guest. The vampire was standing by his side grinning athim hideously, notwithstanding the gash in his right cheek.
"Thank you, brother," said he, in a hollow, mocking voice, "for whatyou did yesterday; you have, in fact, given me everlasting life; and,as one good turn deserves another, you soon will be a vampire alongwith me. Come, don't look so scared, man; it's a pleasant life, afterall. We sleep soundly during the day, and, believe me, no bed is socomfortable as the coffin, no house so quiet as the grave; but atnight, when all the world sleeps and only witches are awake, then wenot only live, but we enjoy life. No cankering care, no worry aboutthe morrow. We have only fun and frolic, for we suck, we suck, wesuck."
Vranic heard the sound of smacking lips just by his neck, the vampirehad already laid his hands upon him.
He tried to rise, to struggle, but his stren
gth and his sensesforsook him; he uttered a choked, raucous sound, then his breathagain stopped spasmodically, his face grew livid, he gasped forbreath, his face and lips got to be of a violet hue, his eyes shutthemselves, as he dropped fainting in his chair.