Dracula's Guest & Other Weird Tales - The Burial of the Rats

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
The Burial of the Rats Part one. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Hailey Flag The Burial of the Rats by
Bram Stoker. Leave in Paris by the Orleans Road, cross

(00:25):
the Incent and turn to the right. You find yourself
in a somewhat wild and not at all savory district.
Right and left before you, and behind and on every
side rise great heaps of dust and waste, accumulated by
the process of time. Paris has its night as well
as its day life, and the sojourner who enters his
hotel in the Rue de Rivoli or the Rue Centenaar

(00:47):
late at night or leaves it early in the morning,
can guess, in coming near Montrouge, if he has not
done so already, the purpose of those great wagons that
look like boilers on wheels, which he finds halting everywhere
as he passes. Every city has its peculiar institutions created
out of its own needs, and one of the most
notable institutions of Paris is its ragpicking population. In the

(01:09):
early morning and Parisian life commences at an early hour.
May be seen in most streets, standing on the pathway,
opposite every courtin alley, and between every few houses, as
still in some American cities, even imparts of New York,
large wooden boxes into which the domestics or tenement holders
empty the accumulated dust of the past day. Around these

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boxes gather and pass on when the work is done,
to fresh fields of labor and pastors new squalid, hungry
looking men and women, the implements of whose craft consists
of a coarse bag or basket slung over the shoulder,
and a little rake with which they turn over and
probe and examine in the minutest manner. The dustbins they
pick up and deposit in their baskets by eight of

(01:51):
their rakes, whatever they may find, with the same facility
as a chinaman uses his chopsticks. Paris is a city
of centralization, and centralization and classification are closely allied. In
the early times, when centralization is becoming a fact, its
forerunner is classification. All things which are similar or analogous

(02:13):
become grouped together, and from the grouping of groups rises
one whole or central point. We see radiating many long
arms with innumerable tenticulae, and in the center rises a
gigantic head with a comprehensive brain, and keen eyes to
look on every side, and ears sensitive to hear, and
a voracious mouth to swallow. Other cities resemble all the

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birds and beasts and fishes whose appetites and digestions are normal.
Paris alone is the analogical hypothesis of the octopus, product
of centralization, carried in an ad absurdum. It fairly represents
the devilfish, and in no respects is the resemblance more
curious than in the similarity of the digestive apparatus. Those

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intelligent tourists who, having surrendered their individuality in to the
hands of sher's cooker gouze, do Paris in three days,
are often puzzled to know how it is that the
dinner which in London would cost about six shillings, can
be had for three francs in a cafe at the
Palais Royale. They need have no more wonder if they
will but consider the classification, which is a theoretic specialty

(03:19):
of Parisian life, and adopt all round the fact from
which the Schiffer has his genesis. The Paris of eighteen
fifty was not like the Paris of today, and those
who see the Paris of Napoleon and Baron Haussmann can
hardly realize the existence of the state of things forty
five years ago. Amongst other things, however, which have not changed,
or those districts where the waste is gathered. Dust is

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dust all the world over, in every age, and the
family likeness of dust heaps is perfect. The traveler, therefore,
who visits the environs of Montrouge can go back and
fancy without difficulty to the year eighteen fifty. In this
year I was making a prolonged stay in Paris. I
was very much in love with a young lady, who,
though she returned my passion, so far yielded to the

(04:03):
wishes of her parents that she had promised not to
see me or to correspond with me for a year.
I too, had been compelled to accede to these conditions
under a vague hope of parental approval. During the term
of probation, I had promised to remain out of the
country and not to write to my dear one until
the expiration of the year. Naturally, the time went heavily

(04:24):
with me. There was not one of my own family
or circle who could tell me of Alice, and none
of her own folk had, I am sorry to say,
sufficient generosity to send me even an occasional word of
comfort regarding her health and well being. I spent six
months wandering about Europe, but as I could find no
satisfactory distraction in travel, I determined to come to Paris,

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where at least I would be with an easy hail
of London in case any good fortune should call me
thither before the appointed time. That hope deferred maketh the
heart sick was never better exemplified than in my case,
For in addition to the perpetual longing to see the
face I loved, there was always with me a heroine
anxiety lest some accident should prevent me showing Alice in

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due time that I had, throughout the long period of probation,
been faithful to her trust and my own love. Thus
every adventure which I undertook had a fierce pleasure of
its own, for it was fraught with possible consequences greater
than it would have ordinarily borne. Like all travelers, I
exhausted the places of most interest in the first month
of my stay, and was driven in the second month

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to look for amusement whithersoever I might. Having made sundry
journeys to the better known suburbs, I began to see
that there was a terror incognita in so far as
the guide book was concerned, in the social wilderness lying
between these attractive points. Accordingly, I began to systematize my researches,
and every day took up the thread of my exploration

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at the place where I had on the previous day
dropped it. In the process of time, my wanderings led
me near Montrouge, and I saw that hereabouts lay the
ultimathula of social exploration, a country as little known as
that round the source of the White Nile. And so
I determined to investigate philosophically the Chiffonier, his habitat, his life,

(06:09):
and his means of life. The job was an unsavory one,
difficult of accomplishment, and with little hope of adequate reward. However,
despite reason, obstinacy prevailed, and I entered into my new
investigation with a keener energy than I could have summoned
to aid me in any investigation leading to any end
valuable or worthy. One day, late, in a fine afternoon,

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toward the end of September, I entered the holy of
holies of the city of Dust. The place was evidently
the recognized abode of a number of chiffoniers, for some
sort of arrangement was manifested in the formation of the
dust heaps near the road. I passed among these heaps,
which stood like orderly sentries, determined to penetrate further and
trace dust to its ultimate location. As I passed along,

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I saw behind the dust heaps a few forms that
flitted to and fro, evidently watching with great interest the
adment of any stranger to such a place. The district
was like a small Switzerland, and as I went forward,
my torturous course shut out the path behind me. Presently
I got into what seemed a small city or community
of chiffoniers. There were a number of shanties or huts

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such as may be met with in the remote part
of the bog of Allen, rude places with wattled walls
plastered with mud, and roofs of rude thatch made from
stable refuse. Such places as one would not like to
enter for any consideration, and which even in water color,
could only look picturesque if judiciously treated. In the midst
of these huts was one of the strangest adaptations I

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cannot say habitations I had ever seen. An immense old wardrobe,
a colossal remnant of some boudoir of Charles the seventh
or Henry the second, had been converted into a dwelling house.
The double doors lay open, so that the entire menage
was open to public view. In the open half of
the wardrobe was a common sitting room of some four

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feet by six in which sat smoking their pipes round
a charcoal brazier no fewer than six old soldiers of
the First Republic, with their uniforms torn and worn threadbare.
Evidently they were of the mauvais suget class. Their bleary
eyes and limp jaws told plainly of a common love
of absinthe, and their eyes had that haggard worn look

(08:22):
of slumber and ferocity which follows hard in the wake
of drink. The other side stood as of old, with
its shelves intact save that they were cut to half
their depth, and in each shelf, of which there were six,
was a bed made with rags and straw. The aft
dozen of worthies who inhabited this structure looked at me
curiously as I passed, and when I looked back after

(08:43):
going a little way, I saw their heads together in
a whispered conference. I did not like the look of
this at all, for the place was very lonely, and
the men looked very, very villainous. However, I did not
see any cause for fear, and went on my way,
penetrating further and further into the Sahara. The way was
torturous to a degree, and from going round in a

(09:03):
series of semicircles as one goes in skating with the
Dutch roll, I got rather confused with regard to the
points of the compass. When I had penetrated a little way,
I saw as I turned the corner of a half
made heap. Sitting on a heap of straw, an old
soldier with threadbare coat. Hallo, said I to myself, the
First Republic is well represented here in its soldiery. As

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I passed him, the old man never even looked up
at me, but gazed on the ground with stolid persistency. Again,
I remarked to myself, see what a life. A rude
warfare can do this. Old man's curiosity is a thing
of the past. When I had gone a few steps, however,
I looked back suddenly and saw that curiosity was not dead.
For the veteran had raised his head and was regarding

(09:46):
me with a very queer expression. He seemed to me
to look very like one of the six worthies in
the press. When he saw me looking, he dropped his head,
and without thinking further of him, I went on my way,
satisfied that there was a trained likeness between these old warriors. Presently,
I met another soldier in a similar manner. He too
did not notice me whilst I was passing. By this

(10:09):
time it was getting late in the afternoon, and I
began to think of retracing my steps. Accordingly, I turned
to go back, but could see a number of tracks
leading between different mounds, and could not ascertain which of
them I should take. In my perplexity, I wanted to
see some one of whom to ask the way, but
could see no one. I determined to go on a
few mounds further and so try to see someone not

(10:31):
a veteran. I gained my object, for after a couple
of hundred yards, I saw before me a single shanty,
such as I had seen before, with however, the difference
that this was not one for living in, but merely
a roof with three walls open in front. From the
evidences which the neighborhood exhibited, I took it to be
a place for sortin. Within it was an old woman,

(10:52):
wrinkled and bent with age. I approached her to ask
her the way. She rose as I came cloaks and
I asked her my way. She immediately commenced a conversation,
and it occurred to me that here, in the very
center of the Kingdom of dust, was a place to
gather details of the history of Parisian ragpicking, particularly as
I could do so from the lips of one who
looked like the oldest inhabitant. I began my inquiries, and

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the old woman gave me most interest in answers. She
had been one of the setosas who had sat daily
before the guillotine, and had taken an active part among
the women who signalized themselves by their violence in the revolution.
While we were talking, she said, suddenly, but Monsieur must
be tad standing and dusted a rickety old stool for
me to sit down. I hardly liked to do so

(11:37):
for many reasons, but the poor old woman was so
civil that I did not like to run the risk
of hurting her by refusing. And moreover, the conversation of
one who had been at the taking of the bas
Steele was so interesting that I sat down, and so
our conversation went on. While we were talking, an old man,
older and more bent and wrinkled even than the woman,
appeared from behind the shanty. Here is Pierre, said she,

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Monsieur can hear studies now if he wishes. For Pierre
was in everything from the Bastille to Waterloo. The old
man took another stool at my request, and we plunged
into a sea of revolutionary reminiscences. This old man, albeit
clothed like a scarecrow, was like any one of the
six veterans. I was now sitting in the center of
the low hut, with the woman on my left hand

(12:22):
and the man on my right, each of them being
somewhat in front of me. The place was full of
all sorts of curious objects of lumber, and of many
things that I wished far away. In one corner was
a heap of rags, which seemed to move from the
number of bermin it contained, and in the other a
heap of bones, whose odor was something shocking. Every now
and then, glancing at the heaps, I could see the

(12:44):
gleaming eyes of some of the rats which had vested
the place. These loathsome objects were bad enough, but what
looked even more dreadful was an old butcher's axe with
an iron handle, stayed with clots of blood, leaning up
against the wall on the right hand side. Still, these
things did not give me much concern. The talk of
the two old people was so fascinating that I stayed

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on and on till the evening came, and the dust
heaps threw dark shadows over the vales between them. After
a time I began to grow uneasy. I could not
tell how or why, but somehow I did not feel satisfied.
Uneasiness is an instinct in means warning. The psychic faculties
are often the centuries of the intellect, and when they

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sound alarm, the reason begins to act, Although perhaps not consciously,
this was so with me. I began to bethink me
where I was and by what surrounded and to wonder
how I should fare in case I should be attacked.
And then the thought suddenly burst upon me, although without
any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered,

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be still and make no sign. And so I was
still and made no sign, for I knew that four
cunning eyes were on me, four eyes, if not more.
My god, what a horrible thought, Oh shanty might be
surrounded on three so ey with villains. I might be
in the midst of a band of such desperadoes as
only half a century of periodic revolution can produce. With

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a sense of danger, my intellect and observation quickened, and
I grew more watchful than was my wont I noticed
that the old woman's eyes were constantly wondering toward my hands.
I looked at them, too, and saw the cause. My
rings on my left little finger, I had a large
signet on the right, a good diamond. I thought that
if there was any danger, my first care was to

(14:30):
avert suspicion. Accordingly, I began to work the conversation round
to ragpickin to the drains of the things found there,
and so by easy stages to jewels. Then season a
favorable opportunity, I asked the old woman if she knew
anything of such things. She answered that she did a little.
I held out my right hand, and showing her the diamond,

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asked her what she thought of that. She answered that
her eyes were bad, and stooped over my hand. I said,
as nonchalantly as I could, pardon me, you'll see better, thus,
and taking it off, handed it to her. An unholy
light came into her withered old face. As she touched it.
She stole one glance at me, swift and keen as
a flash of lightnin'. She bent over the ring for

(15:12):
a moment, her face quite concealed, as though examining it.
The old man looked straight out in front of the
shanty before him, at the same time fumbling in his
pockets and producing the screw of tobacco in a paper
and a pipe, which he proceeded to fill. I took
advantage of the paws and the momentary rest from the
searching eyes on my face to look carefully round the place,

(15:33):
now dim and shadowy in the gloaming. There still lay
all the heaps of very reeking foulness. There the terrible
blood stained axe leaning against the wall in the right
hand corner, and everywhere, despite the gloom, the baleful glitter
of the eyes of the rats. I could see them
even through some of the chinks of the boards at
the back, low down close to the ground. But stay,

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these latter eyes seemed more than usually large and bright
and baleful. For an instant, my heart stood still, and
I felt in that whirl and condition of mind in
which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness, and as
though the body is only maintained erect, and that there
is no time for it to fall before recovery. Then

(16:15):
in another second I was calm, coldly calm, with all
my energies in full vigor, with the self control which
I felt to be perfect, and with all my feeling
and instincts alert. Now I knew the full extent of
my danger. I was watched and surrounded by desperate people.
I cannot even guess at how many of them were
lying there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting for

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the moment to strike. I knew that I was big
and strong, and they knew it too. They knew also
as I did, that I was an Englishman and would
make a fight for it, And so we waited. I
had I felt gaining advantage in the last few seconds,
for I knew my danger and understood the situation. Now,
I thought, is the test of my courage, enduring test?

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The fighting test may come lighter. The old woman raised
her head and said to me in a satisfied kind
of way, a very fine ring, indeed, a beautiful ring,
Oh me, I once had such rings, plenty of them,
and bracelets and earrings of For in those days I
led the town a dance. But they've forgotten me. Now

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they've forgotten me. They why they never heard of me?
Perhaps their grandfathers remember me, some of them. And she laughed,
a horse croaken laugh. And then I am bound to
say that she astonished me, for she handed me back
the ring with a certain suggestion of old fashioned grace,
which was not without its pythos. The old man either
with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising from a stool,

(17:45):
and said to me, suddenly and hoarsely, let me see it.
I was about to hand him the ring, when the
old woman said, non, non, do not give it to Pierre.
Pierre is eccentric, he loses things. And such a pretty ring, cat,
said the old man savagely. Suddenly, the old woman said,
rather more loudly than was necessary. Wait, I shall tell

(18:06):
you something about a ring. There was something in the
sound of a voice that jarred upon me. Perhaps it
was my hypersensitiveness, brought up as I was, to such
a pitch of nervous excitement. But I seemed to think
she was not addressing me. As I stole a glance
round the place, I saw the eyes of the rats
in the bone heaps, but missed the eyes along the back.

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But even as I looked, I saw them again appear.
The old woman's wit had given me a respite from attack,
and the men had sunk back to their reclining posture.
I once lost a ring, a beautiful diamond hoope that
had belonged to a queen, and which was given to
me by a farmer of Zetexis, who afterwards cut his
throat because I sent him away. I thought it must

(18:50):
have been stolen and taxed my people, but I could
get no trace. The police came and suggested that it
had found its way to the drain. We descended I
in my fine clothes, for I would not trust them
with my beautiful ring. I know more of the drains
since then, En of rats too, But I shall never
forget the horror of that place, alive with blazing eyes,

(19:13):
a wall of them just outside the light of our torches. Well,
we got beneath my house. We searched the outlet of
the drain, and there in the filth found my ring,
and we came out. But we found something else also
before we came. As we were coming toward the opening,
a lot of sewer rats, human ones this time, came

(19:35):
towards us. They told the police that one of their
number had gone into the drain and had not returned.
He had gone in only shortly before we had, and
if lost, could hardly be far off. They asked help
to seek him. So we turned back. They tried to
prevent me going, but I insisted it was a new excitement,

(19:57):
and had I not recovered my ring. Not far did
we go till we came on something. There was but
a little water, and the bottom of the drain was
raised with brick, rubbish, and much matter of the kind.
He had made a fight for it, even when his
torch had gone out, but there were too many for him.
They had not been long about it. The bones were

(20:18):
still warm, but they were picked clean. They had even
eaten their own dead ones, and there were bones of
rats as well as of the man. They took it
cool enough, those others, the human ones, and joked of
their comrade when they found him dead, though they would
have helped him living. Bah, what matters it life or death?

(20:39):
And you had no fear, I asked her. Fear, she said,
with a laugh of me, have fear, ask Pierre. But
I was younger then, And as I came through that
horrible drain, with its wall of greedy eyes, always moving
with the circle of the light from the torches, I
did not feel easy. I kept on before the men
know it is a way I have. I never let

(20:59):
the men get it before me. All I want is
a chance and a means. And they ate him up,
took every tlace away except the buns, and no one
knew it. No one's sound of him ever was made
Here She broke into a chucklin fit of the ghastliest merriment,
which it was ever my lot to hear and see.
A great poetist describes her heroine singing, oh to see

(21:22):
or hear her singing scarce, I know which is divinest,
and I can apply the same idea to the old
crone in all save the divinity. For I scarce could
tell which was the most hellish, the harsh, malicious, satisfied,
cruel laugh, or the leering grin and the horrible square
opened into the mouth like a tragic mask, and the
yellow gleam of a few discolored teeth in the shapeless guns.

(21:45):
In that laugh, and with that grin and the chucklan's satisfaction,
I knew, as well as if it had been spoken
to me in words of thunder, that my murder was settled,
and the murderers only bided the proper time for its accomplishment.
I could read between the lines of her gruesome story
commands to her accomplices. Wait, she seemed to say, bide
your time. I shall strike the first blow. Find the

(22:06):
weapon for me, and I shall make the opportunity. He
shall not escape, keeping quiet, and then no one will
be the wiser. There will be no outcry, and the
rats will do their work. It was growing darker and darker,
the night was coming. I stole a glance round the shanty,
Still all the same, the bloody acts in the corner,
the heaps of filth, and the eyes on the bone,

(22:27):
heaps and in the crannies of the floor. Pierre had
been still ostensibly filling his pipe. He now struck a
light and began to puff away at it. The old
woman said, dear, hat, how dark it is, Pierre, like
a good lad like the lamp. Pierre got up and,
with the lighted match in his hand, touched the wick
of a lamp which hung at one side of the
entrance to the shanty, in which had a reflector that

(22:48):
threw the light all over the place. It was evidently
that which was used for their sortin at night. Not
that stupid Not at the lantern, she called out to him.
He immediately blew it out, saying all right, mother, I'll
find it, And he hustled about the left corner of
the room. The old woman sianging through the darkness the
lentn the lenton. Oh, that is the light that is

(23:10):
most useful to us, poor folks. The lantern was the
friend of the revolution. It is the friend of the chiffonnia.
It helps us when all else fails hardly. And she
said the word. When there was a kind of creaking
at the whole place, and something was steadily dragged over
the roof. Again, I seemed to read between the lines
of her words. I knew the lesson of the lantern.

(23:32):
One of you get on the roof with a noose
and strangle him as he passes out, if we file within.
As I looked out of the opening, I saw a
loop of rope outlined black against the lurid sky. I
was now indeed the set. Pierre was not long in
finding the lantern. I kept my eyes fixed through the
darkness on the old woman. Pierre struck his light. By

(23:54):
its flash, I saw the old woman raise from the
ground beside her, where it had mysteriously appeared, and then
high in the folds of her gown, a long, sharp
knife or dagger. It seemed to be like a butter's
sharpening iron find to a keen point. The lantern was lit.
Bring it here, Pierre, she said, Place it in the
doorway where we can see it. See how nice it is.

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It shuts out the darkness from us. It is just right,
just right for her and her purposes. And threw all
its light on my face, leaving in gloom the faces
of both Pierre and the woman who sat outside of
me on each side. I felt that the time of
action was approaching. But I knew now that the first
signal and movement would come from the woman, and so

(24:37):
watched her. I was all unarmed, but I had made
up my mind what to do. At the first movement,
I would seize the butcher's acte in the right hand
corner and fight my way out. At least I would
die hard. I stole a glance round to fix its
exact locality so I could not fail to seize it
at the first effort, For then, if ever time and
accuracy would be precious. Good God, it was gone. All

(25:03):
the horror the situation burst upon me. But the bitterest
thought of all was that if the issue of the
terrible position should be against me, Alice would infallibly suffer.
Either she would believe me false, and any lover or
anyone who has ever been one can imagine the bitterness
of the thought, or else she would go on loving
long after I had been lost to her and to
the world, so that her life would be broken and embittered,

(25:25):
shattered with disappointment and despair. The very magnitude of the
pain braced me up and nerved me to bear the
dread scrutiny of the plotters I think I did not
betray myself. The old woman was watching me as a
cat does a mouse, and had her right hand hidden
in the folds of her gown, clutching. I knew that long,
cruel looking dagger. Had she seen any disappointment in my face,

(25:47):
she would, I felt, have known that the moment had come,
and would have sprung on me like a tigress, certain
of taking me unprepared. I looked out into the night,
and there I saw a new cause for danger. Before
and around the hut were at a little distance some
shadowy forms, and they were quite still, but I knew
that they were all alerting on guard. Small chance for

(26:08):
me now in that direction again, I stole a glance
around the place. In moments of great excitement and of
great danger, which is excitement, the mine works very quickly,
and the keenness of the faculties which depend on the
mind grow in proportion. I now felt this in an instant.
I took in the whole situation. I saw that the
axe had been taken through a small hole made in

(26:30):
one of the rotten boards. How rotten they must be
to allow of such a thing being done without a
particle and noise the hut was a regular murder trap,
and was guarded all round. A garriter lay on the roof,
ready to entangle me with his noose if I should
escape the dagger of the old hag. In front the
way was guarded by I know not how many watchers,
and at the back was a row of desperate men.

(26:52):
I had seen their eyes still through the crack on
the boards of the floor when last I looked as
I lay prone, waiting for the signal to start a
wrecked if it was to be, ever, now for it.
End of the Burial of the Rats, Part one, recording
by Haley Flag of Texas.