Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck, chapter
twenty nine. The next morning's mail brought a letter from Ethel,
a few lines of encouragement and affection. Yes, she was right.
It would not do for him to stay under one
roof with Reginald any longer. He must only obtain the manuscript, and,
if possible, surprise him in the attempt to exercise his
(00:23):
mysterious and criminal power. Then he would be in the
position to dictate terms and to demand Jack's safety as
the price of his silence. Reginald, however, had closeted himself
that day in his studio, busily writing. Only the clatter
of his typewriter announced his presence in the house. There
was no chance for conversation or for obtaining the precious
manuscript of Laantina. Meanwhile, Ernest was looking over his papers
(00:47):
and preparing everything for a quick departure. Glancing over old
letters and notes, he became readily interested and hardly noticed
the passage of the hours. When the night came, he
only partly undressed and threw himself upon the bed. It
was now ten at twelve. He had promised Ethel to
speak to her over the telephone. He was determined not
to sleep at all that night. At last he would
(01:09):
discover whether or not the previous night and other nights,
Reginald had secretly entered his room. When one hour had
passed without incident, his attention relaxed a little. His eyes
were gradually closing, when suddenly something seemed to stir at
the door. The Chinese vase came rattling to the floor.
At once Ernest sprang up. His face had blanched with terror.
(01:32):
It was whiter than the linen in which they wrapped
the dead, but his soul was resolute. He touched a button,
and the electric light illuminated the whole chamber. There was
no nook for even a shadow to hide, Yet there
was no one to be seen from Without the door
came no sound. Suddenly something soft touched his foot. He
gathered all his will power so as not to break
(01:53):
out into a frenzied shriek. Then he laughed, not a
hearty laugh, to be sure. A nose and tail gracefully curled,
were brushing against him. The source of the disturbance was
a little Maltese cat, his favorite, that by some chance
had remained in his room after its essay at midnight gymnastics,
the animal quieted down and lay purring at the foot
(02:16):
of his bed. The presence of a living thing was
a certain comfort, and the reservoir of his strength was
well nigh exhausted. He dimly remembered his promise to ethel,
but his lids drooped with sheer weariness. Perhaps an hour
passed in this way, when suddenly his blood congealed with dread.
He felt the presence of the hand of Reginald Clark,
(02:38):
unmistakably groping in his brain, as if searching for something
that had still escaped him. He tried to move to
cry out, but his limbs were paralyzed. When by a
superhuman effort he at last succeeded in shaking off the
numbness that held him unchained. He awoke just in time
to see a figure that of a man, disappearing in
the wall that separated Reginalds upon apartments from his room.
(03:02):
This time it was no delusion of the senses. He
heard something like a secret door softly closing behind retreating steps.
A sudden, fierce anger seized him. He was oblivious of
the danger of the terrible power of the older man,
oblivious of the love he had once borne him, oblivious
of everything save the sense of outraged humanity and outraged right.
(03:24):
The law permits us to shoot a burglar who goes
through our pockets at night? Must he tolerate the ravages
of this A thousand times more dastardly and dangerous spiritual thief?
Was Reginald to enjoy the fruit of other men's labor unpunished?
Was he to continue growing into the mightiest literary factor
of the century by preying upon his betters, Abel, Walcum
(03:45):
ethel he Jack. Were they all to be victims of
this insatiable monster? Was this force resistless as it was relentless? No,
A thousand times no. He dashed himself against the wall
of the place where the shadow of Reginald Clarke had disappeared.
In doing so, he touched upon a secret spring. The
(04:05):
wall gave way noiselessly. Speechless with rage, he crossed the
next room in the one adjoining it, and stood in
Reginald's studio. The room was brilliantly lighted, and Reginald, still dressed,
was seated at his writing table, scribbling notes upon little
scraps of paper in his accustomed manner. At Ernest's approach,
he looked up without evincing the least sign of terror
(04:26):
or surprise. Calmly, almost majestically, he folded his arms over
his breast, but there was a menacing glitter in his
eyes as he confronted his victim, Chapter thirty. Silently, the
two men faced each other. Then Ernest hissed, thief. Reginald
shrugged his shoulders. Vampire. So Ethel has infected you with
(04:51):
her absurd fancies, poor boy. I am afraid I have
been wanting to tell you for some time, but I
think we have reached the hearting of our road, and
that you dare to tell me. The more he raged,
the calmer Reginald seemed to become. Really he said, I
(05:11):
fail to understand. I must ask you to leave my room.
You fail to understand, you cad Ernest cried. He stepped
to the writing table and opened the secret drawer with
a blow. A bundle of manuscripts fell on the floor
with a strange rustling noise. Then, seizing his own story,
he hurled it upon the table and behold the last
(05:34):
pages bore corrections in ink that could have been made
only a few minutes ago, Reginald smiled, Have you come
to play havoc with my manuscripts? He remarked, your manuscripts,
Reginald clarke, You are an impudent impostor. You have written
no word that is your own. You are an embezzler
of the mind, strutting through life and borrowed in stolen plumes.
(05:57):
And at once the mask fell from Reginald's face. Why stolen,
he coolly said, with a slight touch of irritation. I absorb,
I appropriate. That is the most any artist can say
for himself. God creates man molds. He gives us the colors,
we mix them. That is not the question. I charge
(06:21):
you with having wilfully and criminally interfered in my life.
I charge you with having robbed me of what was mine.
I charge you with being utterly vile and rapacious, a
hypocrite and a parasite, foolish boy, Reginald rejoined austerely. It
is through me that the bestin you shall survive, even
as the obscure Lazabethans live in him. Of Avon, Shakespeare absorbed,
(06:43):
it was great in little men, a greatness that otherwise
would have perished, and gave it a setting, a life.
A thief may plead the same. I understand you better.
It is your inordinate vanity that prompts you to abuse
your monstrous power. You er self. Love is never entered
into my actions. I am careless of personal fame. Look
(07:06):
at me, boy, as I stand before you. I am Homer,
I am Shakespeare. I am every cosmic manifestation in art.
Men have doubted in each incarnation my individual existence. Historians
have more to tell of the meanest Athenian scribble or
Elizabethan Poetaster than of me. The radiance of my work
obscured my very self. I care not. I have a mission.
(07:30):
I am the servant of the Lord. I am the
vessel that bears the host. He stood up at full length,
the personification of grandeur and power, A tremendous force trembled
in his very finger tips. He was like a gigantic dynamo,
charged with the might of ten thousand magnetic storms that
shake the Earth in its orbit and lash myriads of
(07:51):
planets through infinities of space. Under ordinary circumstances, Earnest or
any other man would have quailed before him. But the Boy,
and that that epic moment had grown out of his stature.
He felt the sword of vengeance in his hands. To
him was entrusted the cause of Abel, and of Walcom,
of Ethel and of Jack. His was the struggle of
the individual's soul against the same blind and cruel fate
(08:14):
that in the past had fashioned the ichthiosaurus and the mastodon.
By what right, he cried, do you assume that you
are the literary messiah? Who appointed you? What divine powers
made you the steward of my might and of theirs
whom you have robbed. I am a light bearer. I
tread the high hills of mankind. I point the way
(08:35):
to the future. I light up The abysses of the
past were not my stature gigantic? How could I hold
the torch in all men's sight. The very souls that
I tread underfoot realize as their dying gaze follows me,
the possibilities with which the future is big, eternally secure.
I carried the essence of what is cosmic, of what
(08:56):
is divine. I am Homer Gerta Shakespeare. I am an
embodiment of the same force of which Alexander, Caesar, Confucius
and the cristos were also embodiments, none so strong as
to resist me. A sudden madness overcame Ernest at this boast.
He must strike now or never. He must rid humanity
(09:19):
of this dangerous maniac, this demon of strength. With the
power ten times intensified. He raised a heavy chair so
as to hurl it at Reginald's head and crush it.
Reginald stood there, calmly, a smile upon his lips. Primal
cruelties rose from the depth of his nature. Still he smiled,
turning his luminous gaze upon the boy, and behold. Ernest's
(09:42):
hand began to shake. The chair fell from his grasp.
He tried to call for help, but no sound issued
from his lips. Utterly paralyzed, he confronted the force. Minutes
eternities passed, and still those eyes were fixed upon him.
But this was no longer Reginald. It was all brain,
(10:04):
only brain, a tremendous brain machine, infinitely complex, infinitely strong.
Not more than a mile away, ethel endeavor to call
to him through the night. The telephone rang once, twice
thrice insistingly, but Ernest heard it not. Something dragged him,
dragged the nerves from his body dragged, dragged, dragged. It
(10:27):
was an irresistible suction, pitiless, passionless, immense sparks, blue, crimson,
and violet seemed to play around. The living battery had
reached the finest fibers of his mind. Slowly, every trace
of mentality disappeared, first the will, then feeling, judgment, memory, fear,
(10:47):
even all that was stored in his brain cells came
forth to be absorbed by that mighty engine. The princess
with the yellow veil appeared, flitted across the room and
melted away. She was followed by childhood memory, girls, heads,
boys faces. He saw his dead mother waving her arms
to him and expression of death agony distorted the placid features,
(11:09):
then throwing a kiss to him, she too disappeared. Picture
on picture followed words of love that he had spoken, sins, virtues, magnanimities, meannesses, terrors,
mathematical formulas, even and snatches of songs. Leontina came and
was swallowed up. No, it was Ethel who was trying
to speak to him, trying to warn. She waved her
(11:30):
hands in frantic despair. She was gone, a pale face, dark,
disheveled hair. Jack how he had changed he was in
the circle of the vampire's transforming might. Jack. He cried,
Surely Jack had something to explain, something to tell him,
some word that, if spoken, would bring rest to his soul.
(11:50):
He saw the words rise to the boy's lips, but
before he had time to utter them, his image also
had vanished, and Reginald. Reginald too was gone. There was
only the mighty brain, panting, whirling. Then there was nothing.
The annihilation of Earnest Fielding was complete. Vacantly, he stared
at the walls, at the room, and at his master.
(12:12):
The latter was wiping the sweat from his forehead. He
breathed deeply. The flush of youth spread over his features.
His eyes sparkled with a new and dangerous brilliancy. He
took the thing that had once been Earnest Fielding by
the hand and led it to its room. Chapter thirty one.
(12:32):
With the first flush of the morning, Ethel appeared at
the door of the house on Riverside Drive. She had
not heard from Earnest and had been unable to obtain
connection with him at the telephone. Anxiety had hastened her steps.
She brushed against Jack, who was also directing his steps
to the abode of Reginald Clarke. At the same time,
something that resembled Earnest Fielding passed from the House of
(12:55):
the Vampire. It was a dull and brutish thing, hideously transformed,
without a vestige of mind. Mister Fielding cried ethel beside
herself with fear as she saw him descending Earnest. Jack
gasped no less startled at the change in his friend's appearance.
Ernest's head followed the source of the sound, but no
(13:18):
spark of recognition illumined the deadness of his eyes. Without
a present and without a past. Blindly a gibbering idiot,
he stumbled down the stairs end of Section fifteen, End
of The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck
The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck, chapter
twenty nine. The next morning's mail brought a letter from Ethel,
a few lines of encouragement and affection. Yes, she was right.
It would not do for him to stay under one
roof with Reginald any longer. He must only obtain the manuscript, and,
if possible, surprise him in the attempt to exercise his
(00:23):
mysterious and criminal power. Then he would be in the
position to dictate terms and to demand Jack's safety as
the price of his silence. Reginald, however, had closeted himself
that day in his studio, busily writing. Only the clatter
of his typewriter announced his presence in the house. There
was no chance for conversation or for obtaining the precious
manuscript of Laantina. Meanwhile, Ernest was looking over his papers
(00:47):
and preparing everything for a quick departure. Glancing over old
letters and notes, he became readily interested and hardly noticed
the passage of the hours. When the night came, he
only partly undressed and threw himself upon the bed. It
was now ten at twelve. He had promised Ethel to
speak to her over the telephone. He was determined not
to sleep at all that night. At last he would
(01:09):
discover whether or not the previous night and other nights,
Reginald had secretly entered his room. When one hour had
passed without incident, his attention relaxed a little. His eyes
were gradually closing, when suddenly something seemed to stir at
the door. The Chinese vase came rattling to the floor.
At once Ernest sprang up. His face had blanched with terror.
(01:32):
It was whiter than the linen in which they wrapped
the dead, but his soul was resolute. He touched a button,
and the electric light illuminated the whole chamber. There was
no nook for even a shadow to hide, Yet there
was no one to be seen from Without the door
came no sound. Suddenly something soft touched his foot. He
gathered all his will power so as not to break
(01:53):
out into a frenzied shriek. Then he laughed, not a
hearty laugh, to be sure. A nose and tail gracefully curled,
were brushing against him. The source of the disturbance was
a little Maltese cat, his favorite, that by some chance
had remained in his room after its essay at midnight gymnastics,
the animal quieted down and lay purring at the foot
(02:16):
of his bed. The presence of a living thing was
a certain comfort, and the reservoir of his strength was
well nigh exhausted. He dimly remembered his promise to ethel,
but his lids drooped with sheer weariness. Perhaps an hour
passed in this way, when suddenly his blood congealed with dread.
He felt the presence of the hand of Reginald Clark,
(02:38):
unmistakably groping in his brain, as if searching for something
that had still escaped him. He tried to move to
cry out, but his limbs were paralyzed. When by a
superhuman effort he at last succeeded in shaking off the
numbness that held him unchained. He awoke just in time
to see a figure that of a man, disappearing in
the wall that separated Reginalds upon apartments from his room.
(03:02):
This time it was no delusion of the senses. He
heard something like a secret door softly closing behind retreating steps.
A sudden, fierce anger seized him. He was oblivious of
the danger of the terrible power of the older man,
oblivious of the love he had once borne him, oblivious
of everything save the sense of outraged humanity and outraged right.
(03:24):
The law permits us to shoot a burglar who goes
through our pockets at night? Must he tolerate the ravages
of this A thousand times more dastardly and dangerous spiritual thief?
Was Reginald to enjoy the fruit of other men's labor unpunished?
Was he to continue growing into the mightiest literary factor
of the century by preying upon his betters, Abel, Walcum
(03:45):
ethel he Jack. Were they all to be victims of
this insatiable monster? Was this force resistless as it was relentless? No,
A thousand times no. He dashed himself against the wall
of the place where the shadow of Reginald Clarke had disappeared.
In doing so, he touched upon a secret spring. The
(04:05):
wall gave way noiselessly. Speechless with rage, he crossed the
next room in the one adjoining it, and stood in
Reginald's studio. The room was brilliantly lighted, and Reginald, still dressed,
was seated at his writing table, scribbling notes upon little
scraps of paper in his accustomed manner. At Ernest's approach,
he looked up without evincing the least sign of terror
(04:26):
or surprise. Calmly, almost majestically, he folded his arms over
his breast, but there was a menacing glitter in his
eyes as he confronted his victim, Chapter thirty. Silently, the
two men faced each other. Then Ernest hissed, thief. Reginald
shrugged his shoulders. Vampire. So Ethel has infected you with
(04:51):
her absurd fancies, poor boy. I am afraid I have
been wanting to tell you for some time, but I
think we have reached the hearting of our road, and
that you dare to tell me. The more he raged,
the calmer Reginald seemed to become. Really he said, I
(05:11):
fail to understand. I must ask you to leave my room.
You fail to understand, you cad Ernest cried. He stepped
to the writing table and opened the secret drawer with
a blow. A bundle of manuscripts fell on the floor
with a strange rustling noise. Then, seizing his own story,
he hurled it upon the table and behold the last
(05:34):
pages bore corrections in ink that could have been made
only a few minutes ago, Reginald smiled, Have you come
to play havoc with my manuscripts? He remarked, your manuscripts,
Reginald clarke, You are an impudent impostor. You have written
no word that is your own. You are an embezzler
of the mind, strutting through life and borrowed in stolen plumes.
(05:57):
And at once the mask fell from Reginald's face. Why stolen,
he coolly said, with a slight touch of irritation. I absorb,
I appropriate. That is the most any artist can say
for himself. God creates man molds. He gives us the colors,
we mix them. That is not the question. I charge
(06:21):
you with having wilfully and criminally interfered in my life.
I charge you with having robbed me of what was mine.
I charge you with being utterly vile and rapacious, a
hypocrite and a parasite, foolish boy, Reginald rejoined austerely. It
is through me that the bestin you shall survive, even
as the obscure Lazabethans live in him. Of Avon, Shakespeare absorbed,
(06:43):
it was great in little men, a greatness that otherwise
would have perished, and gave it a setting, a life.
A thief may plead the same. I understand you better.
It is your inordinate vanity that prompts you to abuse
your monstrous power. You er self. Love is never entered
into my actions. I am careless of personal fame. Look
(07:06):
at me, boy, as I stand before you. I am Homer,
I am Shakespeare. I am every cosmic manifestation in art.
Men have doubted in each incarnation my individual existence. Historians
have more to tell of the meanest Athenian scribble or
Elizabethan Poetaster than of me. The radiance of my work
obscured my very self. I care not. I have a mission.
(07:30):
I am the servant of the Lord. I am the
vessel that bears the host. He stood up at full length,
the personification of grandeur and power, A tremendous force trembled
in his very finger tips. He was like a gigantic dynamo,
charged with the might of ten thousand magnetic storms that
shake the Earth in its orbit and lash myriads of
(07:51):
planets through infinities of space. Under ordinary circumstances, Earnest or
any other man would have quailed before him. But the Boy,
and that that epic moment had grown out of his stature.
He felt the sword of vengeance in his hands. To
him was entrusted the cause of Abel, and of Walcom,
of Ethel and of Jack. His was the struggle of
the individual's soul against the same blind and cruel fate
(08:14):
that in the past had fashioned the ichthiosaurus and the mastodon.
By what right, he cried, do you assume that you
are the literary messiah? Who appointed you? What divine powers
made you the steward of my might and of theirs
whom you have robbed. I am a light bearer. I
tread the high hills of mankind. I point the way
(08:35):
to the future. I light up The abysses of the
past were not my stature gigantic? How could I hold
the torch in all men's sight. The very souls that
I tread underfoot realize as their dying gaze follows me,
the possibilities with which the future is big, eternally secure.
I carried the essence of what is cosmic, of what
(08:56):
is divine. I am Homer Gerta Shakespeare. I am an
embodiment of the same force of which Alexander, Caesar, Confucius
and the cristos were also embodiments, none so strong as
to resist me. A sudden madness overcame Ernest at this boast.
He must strike now or never. He must rid humanity
(09:19):
of this dangerous maniac, this demon of strength. With the
power ten times intensified. He raised a heavy chair so
as to hurl it at Reginald's head and crush it.
Reginald stood there, calmly, a smile upon his lips. Primal
cruelties rose from the depth of his nature. Still he smiled,
turning his luminous gaze upon the boy, and behold. Ernest's
(09:42):
hand began to shake. The chair fell from his grasp.
He tried to call for help, but no sound issued
from his lips. Utterly paralyzed, he confronted the force. Minutes
eternities passed, and still those eyes were fixed upon him.
But this was no longer Reginald. It was all brain,
(10:04):
only brain, a tremendous brain machine, infinitely complex, infinitely strong.
Not more than a mile away, ethel endeavor to call
to him through the night. The telephone rang once, twice
thrice insistingly, but Ernest heard it not. Something dragged him,
dragged the nerves from his body dragged, dragged, dragged. It
(10:27):
was an irresistible suction, pitiless, passionless, immense sparks, blue, crimson,
and violet seemed to play around. The living battery had
reached the finest fibers of his mind. Slowly, every trace
of mentality disappeared, first the will, then feeling, judgment, memory, fear,
(10:47):
even all that was stored in his brain cells came
forth to be absorbed by that mighty engine. The princess
with the yellow veil appeared, flitted across the room and
melted away. She was followed by childhood memory, girls, heads,
boys faces. He saw his dead mother waving her arms
to him and expression of death agony distorted the placid features,
(11:09):
then throwing a kiss to him, she too disappeared. Picture
on picture followed words of love that he had spoken, sins, virtues, magnanimities, meannesses, terrors,
mathematical formulas, even and snatches of songs. Leontina came and
was swallowed up. No, it was Ethel who was trying
to speak to him, trying to warn. She waved her
(11:30):
hands in frantic despair. She was gone, a pale face, dark,
disheveled hair. Jack how he had changed he was in
the circle of the vampire's transforming might. Jack. He cried,
Surely Jack had something to explain, something to tell him,
some word that, if spoken, would bring rest to his soul.
(11:50):
He saw the words rise to the boy's lips, but
before he had time to utter them, his image also
had vanished, and Reginald. Reginald too was gone. There was
only the mighty brain, panting, whirling. Then there was nothing.
The annihilation of Earnest Fielding was complete. Vacantly, he stared
at the walls, at the room, and at his master.
(12:12):
The latter was wiping the sweat from his forehead. He
breathed deeply. The flush of youth spread over his features.
His eyes sparkled with a new and dangerous brilliancy. He
took the thing that had once been Earnest Fielding by
the hand and led it to its room. Chapter thirty one.
(12:32):
With the first flush of the morning, Ethel appeared at
the door of the house on Riverside Drive. She had
not heard from Earnest and had been unable to obtain
connection with him at the telephone. Anxiety had hastened her steps.
She brushed against Jack, who was also directing his steps
to the abode of Reginald Clarke. At the same time,
something that resembled Earnest Fielding passed from the House of
(12:55):
the Vampire. It was a dull and brutish thing, hideously transformed,
without a vestige of mind. Mister Fielding cried ethel beside
herself with fear as she saw him descending Earnest. Jack
gasped no less startled at the change in his friend's appearance.
Ernest's head followed the source of the sound, but no
(13:18):
spark of recognition illumined the deadness of his eyes. Without
a present and without a past. Blindly a gibbering idiot,
he stumbled down the stairs end of Section fifteen, End
of The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck
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