In a Glass Darkly by J. Sheridan Le Fanu (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📕
Description
In a Glass Darkly is a collection of five short stories, presented as posthumous papers of cases of the “metaphysical” doctor Dr. Martin Hesselius. First appearing in “Green Tea,” originally published in 1869, Dr. Hesselius became one of the first literary occult detectives.
J. Sheridan Le Fanu often made revisions to his work and re-released several under new names, including two from In a Glass Darkly: “The Familiar,” a revised version of “The Watcher,” published in 1851, and “Mr. Justice Harbottle,” a revised version of “An Account of Some Strange Disturbances in Aungier Street,” published in 1853.
Most notably, this collection includes what is likely Sheridan Le Fanu’s most famous work, “Carmilla.” A young countess turned vampire, Countess Mircalla uses the anagram of her name, Carmilla, to disguise herself in order to prey on unsuspecting young women. “Carmilla” would heavily influence Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which would later become the prototypical vampire archetype.
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- Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu
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I was now once more under the gigantic boughs of the old lime and chestnut trees; softly, and with a heart throbbing fast, I approached the little structure.
The moon was now shining steadily, pouring down its radiance on the soft foliage, and here and there mottling the verdure under my feet.
I reached the steps; I was among its worn marble shafts. She was not there, nor in the inner sanctuary, the arched windows of which were screened almost entirely by masses of ivy. The lady had not yet arrived.
XIX The KeyI stood now upon the steps, watching and listening. In a minute or two I heard the crackle of withered sticks trod upon, and, looking in the direction, I saw a figure approaching among the trees, wrapped in a mantle.
I advanced eagerly. It was the Countess. She did not speak, but gave me her hand, and I led her to the scene of our last interview. She repressed the ardour of my impassioned greeting with a gentle but peremptory firmness. She removed her hood, shook back her beautiful hair, and, gazing on me with sad and glowing eyes, sighed deeply. Some awful thought seemed to weigh upon her.
“Richard, I must speak plainly. The crisis of my life has come. I am sure you would defend me. I think you pity me; perhaps you even love me.”
At these words I became eloquent, as young madmen in my plight do. She silenced me, however, with the same melancholy firmness.
“Listen, dear friend, and then say whether you can aid me. How madly I am trusting you; and yet my heart tells me how wisely! To meet you here as I do—what insanity it seems! How poorly you must think of me! But when you know all, you will judge me fairly. Without your aid I cannot accomplish my purpose. That purpose unaccomplished, I must die. I am chained to a man whom I despise—whom I abhor. I have resolved to fly. I have jewels, principally diamonds, for which I am offered thirty thousand pounds of your English money. They are my separate property by my marriage settlement; I will take them with me. You are a judge, no doubt, of jewels. I was counting mine when the hour came, and brought this in my hand to show you. Look.”
“It is magnificent!” I exclaimed, as a collar of diamonds twinkled and flashed in the moonlight, suspended from her pretty fingers. I thought, even at that tragic moment, that she prolonged the show, with a feminine delight in these brilliant toys.
“Yes,” she said, “I shall part with them all. I will turn them into money, and break, forever, the unnatural and wicked bonds that tied me, in the name of a sacrament, to a tyrant. A man young, handsome, generous, brave as you, can hardly be rich. Richard, you say you love me; you shall share all this with me. We will fly together to Switzerland; we will evade pursuit; my powerful friends will intervene and arrange a separation; and I shall, at length, be happy and reward my hero.”
You may suppose the style, florid and vehement, in which I poured forth my gratitude, vowed the devotion of my life, and placed myself absolutely at her disposal.
“Tomorrow night,” she said, “my husband will attend the remains of his cousin, Monsieur de St. Amand, to Père la Chaise. The hearse, he says, will leave this at half-past nine. You must be here, where we stand, at nine o’clock.”
I promised punctual obedience.
“I will not meet you here; but you see a red light in the window of the tower at that angle of the château?”
I assented.
“I placed it there, that, tomorrow night, when it comes, you may recognize it. So soon as that rose-coloured light appears at that window, it will be a signal to you that the funeral has left the château, and that you may approach safely. Come, then, to that window; I will open it, and admit you. Five minutes after a travelling-carriage, with four horses, shall stand ready in the porte-cochère. I will place my diamonds in your hands; and so soon as we enter the carriage, our flight commences. We shall have at least five hours’ start; and with energy, stratagem, and resource, I fear nothing. Are you ready to undertake all this for my sake?”
Again I vowed myself her slave.
“My only difficulty,” she said, “is how we shall quickly enough convert my diamonds into money; I dare not remove them while my husband is in the house.”
Here was the opportunity I wished for. I now told her that I had in my banker’s hands no less a sum than thirty thousand pounds, with which, in the shape of gold and notes, I should come furnished, and thus the risk and loss of disposing of her diamonds in too much haste would be avoided.
“Good heaven!” she exclaimed, with a kind of disappointment. “You are rich, then? and I have lost the felicity of making my generous friend more happy. Be it so! since so it must be. Let us contribute, each, in equal shares, to our common fund. Bring you, your money; I, my jewels. There is a happiness to me even in mingling my resources with yours.”
On this there followed a romantic colloquy, all poetry and passion, such as I should, in vain, endeavour to reproduce.
Then came a very special instruction.
“I have come provided, too, with a key, the use of which I must explain.”
It was a double key—a long, slender stem, with a key at each end—one about the size which opens an ordinary room door; the other, as small, almost, as the key of a dressing-case.
“You cannot employ too
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