Though before it becomes a horror novel it is darkly atmospheric with the impenetrable swamp, mists surrounding the realms, fog arising every night, murder, and the mysterious comings and goings, the other elements and tone seem to keep it more a dark fantasy than a horror novel.
I think the author did a good job with atmosphere, scenery, dialogue, pacing, and keeping track of the different plot elements. It took me a while to get used to the style of writing, in which the author, while clear they are depicting the story from another point of view, did so without breaking into new chapters or sections. I quickly got used to it but I would prefer if any sort of point of view changes there at least be a page or paragraph break of some sort.
I liked how the story had a definitive end with not a lot of ambiguity. Nov 08, Jeff Waltersdorf rated it it was ok. I continue to plow through the dusty cardboard box in the basement containing my old Ravenloft fiction books. I preferred this to the first two in the series, which isn't saying much. Perhaps because it didn't include any of the major personalities that I was already familiar with Strahd and Lord Soth , and thus had preconceived notions of. The story follows a paddlewheel showboat traveling through the swamps of Sourange a Louisiana analog, complete with plantations and zombies.
The boat is cre I continue to plow through the dusty cardboard box in the basement containing my old Ravenloft fiction books. The boat is crewed by a bunch of people I didn't really care about, most doing bad things or getting into trouble. Things didn't start picking up steam for me until the appearance of the darklord Anton Misroi, but by then the book was nearly over. Jul 08, Frank rated it it was ok.
I'm reading this series in order even though I know you don't really have to , and I have to admit this was my least favorite so far. The story wasn't bad, but I feel the execution fell flat. At one point it started jumping around a bit too much, but more specifically, the main character's maturation into what she ended as just seemed all too quick for my liking and even less believable. Not that fantasy needs to be believable but, you know.
Jul 01, Robert rated it it was ok. Not my favorite of the Ravenloft series. Aug 25, Travis rated it really liked it Shelves: Dance of the Dead by Christie Golden- This is the third book that was released in the Ravenloft line of novels based off the Ravenloft setting in the pen and paper roleplaying game Dungeons and Dragons. This is also a stand-alone novel and can be read without any prior knowledge with Ravenloft or Dungeons and Dragons.
Christie Golden has written a number of books in shared universes and otherwise. She has written two other novels based in the Ravenloft setting, Vampire of the Mists and The Enemy Dance of the Dead by Christie Golden- This is the third book that was released in the Ravenloft line of novels based off the Ravenloft setting in the pen and paper roleplaying game Dungeons and Dragons. She's also written a number of stories that are set in the various Star Trek universes. She wrote one book in the Star Trek: She contributed a book to the Star Trek: Gateways series titled No Man's Land.
She has also written a book in the Star Trek: Another shared universe that she's contributed to is Warcraft. Rise of the Lich King, and The Shattering: Christie Golden has also contributed a number of short stories to various anthologies. However, this book is hard to find and you'll most likely need to pick it up used. Larissa Snowmane's world is turned upside down. As the Lady of the Sea in the play The Pirates Pleasure, the dancer has had an uneventful and peaceful life.
All that changed when after a performance, she finds the lead singer, Liza, strangled in her room. After the captain of the showboat and Larissa 'uncle', Raoul Dumont, finds out about the death, he sets off and heads into the Mists. During the horrifying trip into the Mists, the showboat comes out unharmed. They find themselves near a port in a place called Souragne, a swamp-like island. After disembarking at Port d'Elhour, the captain offers his entertainment to the town, for a free taste of the show. During a scene from the play, Larissa encounters a friendly man named Willen who can see her when she's invisible.
But before she could ask anything more about him, her scene comes up and has to leave to act. After the brief taste of the play that Captain Dumont gives the town, he takes Larissa on a walk, only to cause a schism between their relationship. With the help of the mysterious Willen, Larissa is able to hide from Dumont and his unwanted advances. However, she decides to return to the showboat for the first full performance. After the successful show, a strange human asks Dumont if he can accompany them to their next destination. He accepts after the stranger, Lond, shows his 'usefulness'.
Larissa finds Willen again, after Willen joins the showboat to help navigate the swamp. But Willen has something awful and horrifying to tell her about her beloved 'uncle' and that she's special. What is this horrifying secret that the captain has? Will the showboat escape the swamp? Why is Larissa so special? The characters themselves were not bad at all.
The problem is that there is just too many characters. While some characters had some nice development and interesting enough, but there was just too many that didn't have enough. For example, the pilot Jahedrin and Gelaar needed more time to develop. While Jahedrin didn't have that big of a role, it was awkward to see him get so much scene time at the end. He does seem like a very interesting character, but it almost seemed like his character was just thrown in for some exposition and lines.
However, Gelaar is the most disappointing side character. He had a constant presence throughout the story, yet not any development other than him losing his daughter. He's the most disappointing character because at the end of the story he just suddenly becomes a dues ex machina and has a moment of great development but then he is suddenly forgotten. While the side characters were good, they seemed to need 'more'. The villains were just wonderfully evil. The mysterious stranger, Lond, is the more straightforward villain.
He's evil and you can definitely tell that he is. While this wouldn't be a good thing, somehow this just works. He does things late in the story that is utterly horrifying and vile, and he's made to be hated. Then you have the sympathetic, yet not sympathetic character of Dumont. For half of this story, Dumont comes off as a rather nice character.
Sure, he killed one of the boats pilots to make Larissa fall in love with him, but even past that he was likeable. He had this charisma that it seemed no matter what he did, you couldn't help but like him.
It could have been his friendship with his first mate Dragoneyes or how he generally acts towards his cast, but something about him makes me like him. However, he does slowly became a mean and vile character but even when this happens, I couldn't help but like him. He also has a kind of 'redemption moment' at the end that was really good, if tragic.
All in all, the villains were wonderful. I also really liked the protagonists. Larissa was good and Willen was interesting. Larissa had a lot to make her a wonderful and interesting character. She had a well-developed and heartbreaking background. She matures throughout the story and has very good character development and progression. Not to mention her naivety in things is kind of for lack of a better term cute. That makes her change all the more shocking and well-earned.
She doesn't seem like a good heroic character, yet she pulls it off almost flawlessly. Willen is pretty much the same way. His background is a little more mystical, but for some reason it's interesting. I really can't say much about Willen without some major spoilers, so I'll just say that his character is surprising interesting. I really liked how this story had characters that are native to Ravenloft.
While this is a very minor thing, I really liked it. There was no real need for a famous character from another setting to be transported into this realm. It was just nice to see this change after having the first two books of other settings having an introduction in another setting. It was also nice to see that characters that from the Ravenloft setting hold their own. I do have a hard time calling this a fantasy horror novel.
Conrad began with the stupid way that Jeans always stuck his lower jaw out to look like he was thinking, and then moved right into some confused vaporing about how misunderstood he, Conrad Bunger, really was. Conrad explained about death, and how the secret of life is that we each possess a fragment of the universal life-force. A page and two-thirds. He ended by making fun of a St. X administrator called Deforio. Deforio was in charge of issuing late-slips.
Conrad filled them in with random curse words. He felt like if he willed it, he could float right up to the ceiling. The next morning, as he was walking down the hall to his third period mathematics class, Conrad was suddenly struck from behind. Something clamped on to the soft tendons of his neck and dragged him into an empty classroom.
It was Brother Saint-John-of-the-Cross. Conrad had once seen Brother Saint-John-of-the-Cross punch a student, a football player, in the jaw. Quivering with fear, he crept off to math class. But as soon as he sat down, the wall speaker crackled into life. The other boys looked at Conrad as he left the silent room.
Some smiled, some gloated, some simply looked upset. Next time it could be me. The Assistant Principal was a wise-eyed man with big shoulders and a trim gray crew cut. His name was Brother Hershey. If Saint-John-of-the-Cross was a hard cop, Hershey was a soft cop. He had a Boston accent and an air of pained rationality. A change has come over you, Conrad.
- Schönes Deutschland Teil V: Hansestadt Hamburg (German Edition)?
- Heat of Winter.
- Rhapsody of Realities January 2013 French Edition.
Are you having personal problems? Nausea , and On the Road. Any action is equally meaningless. The present moment is all that matters. Has this attitude led you into sins of impurity? If you really acted up, Hershey would take you out to the gym and paddle you. A lower-track boy had told Conrad about it at lunch one day. I can hold out till graduation. Finally, Hershey crumpled up the essay and threw it in the trash can. He leaned back in his chair and sighed again. We all have doubts; God never meant for life to be easy.
The pressure of all the things he wanted to say was like a balloon in his chest. Life should make sense right here and now! Brother Hershey leaned forward and studied the calendar on his desk. When he spoke again there was an edge to his voice. Pretend to believe, and belief may come to you. By the time school let out it was raining hard.
Conrad got his books and ran out to wait for his bus. But then the bus pulled up anyway and they all ran through the rain and Conrad stepped in a puddle on purpose, and all the other bus guys were hurrying to get good seats. Conrad sat in back by himself, he felt so cut off and who gave a damn listening to the bus guys all excited about parties or cigarettes or getting drunk.
He felt like a cold hand was grabbing his guts and squeezing them. The bus started moving and all the bus guys were shouting, not out of joy, but to get everyone to look at them, but nobody really noticed each other, except some of the guys who were really bugged about not making the scene were laughing at all the right times. Then the bus was really going, and Conrad was sitting at the window looking at the road all black shiny wet and being amazed at how humans move by going past stationary objects and not hitting anything.
He was hungry as hell because of no lunch. He felt like vomiting, but instead he spat on a bunch of little white worms which lived in a crack in the floor. Looking out the window again, he saw a great big oak tree dripping unbelievable drops into a puddle and blurping up giant bubbles that looked like jellyfish until they popped, but the whole time all the guys in the bus were shouting.
Conrad felt dazed and confused. An outing of the church youth group, on their way to an all-state Episcopal youth jamboree. The girls had been singing for eighty miles, singing with hysterical good cheer. The only other guy was named Chuck Sands. He read the Bible, had pimples and greasy hair. They piled out of the van in front of a family restaurant in some tiny Kentucky town.
The girls rushed ahead and got a table by the window. There were four of them. They were still out by the van. Patsie was whispering secrets to Randy. Conrad hurried around the corner and walked a few blocks. Seed store, drugstore, dentist, bank. It felt good to be alone, in the middle of nowhere, free from the relentless pressure to conform. He flared his nostrils and breathed in alienation. This was a time to be thinking deep thoughts. What is it all about?
Why is all of this here? How can human beings be so blind? The girls primping their hair and waiting for food. For the last few months, Conrad had had a strange feeling of having just woken up. His early childhood—he could barely remember anything about it. But now—he was cut off, awkward and posturing, a self in a world of strangers. And what lay ahead? A meaningless struggle ending with a meaningless death. How could anyone take rules seriously?
His parents, the brothers at school, the cool party-boys and the horny youth-group kids—how could they act like they knew the answers? Conrad tripped on a crack in the sidewalk just then. Something strange happened as he fell. Some special part of his brain cut in, and instead of falling, he hung there, tilted forward, in defiance of natural law. The instant the miracle dawned on Conrad, it was over. He fell the rest of the way forward and landed heavily on the cracked cement. For a full minute, he lay there, trying to bring back the state of mind that had let him float. And he often flew in dreams.
Maybe he was going nuts. He got to his feet and walked around the corner. There was a lit-up supermarket. Muzak washed up and down the empty aisles; the fluorescent lights oozed their jerky glow. He found a package of bologna and a small bunch of bananas. Dee Decca sat next to Conrad at breakfast. This Dee Decca had short dark hair and a reasonably pretty face, though there was something odd-looking about her body. Georgetown is my ace in the hole. Then I could go off and bum around.
I missed the boat in high school. The Kentucky State Episcopal Conference Center was a collection of buildings something like a summer camp. Two groups of cabins, a dining hall, an administration building, and a large outdoor pavilion. The buildings were perched at the top of a long empty hill that bulged down to a forlorn brown river.
It was almost spring. The ground was wet but not muddy. The pale sun was like a chalk mark on the cloudy sky. They walked downhill, lacing their fingers. Her face was creamy white, with two brown moles. Her mouth had an interesting double-bowed curve to it. They were over the brow of the hill now, and the buildings were nowhere in sight. He steered them into a grove of trees and slid his hand up from her waist and toward her bra strap. She pushed her tongue in his mouth. She tasted like tobacco.
He pushed his tongue back. Her mouth was cool inside. The taste of her spit. They kissed some more. As Conrad had predicted, the grown-ups gave up on them. He and Dee made their way down to the river and walked along the bank. Apparently the river flooded frequently, for the shore was littered with sticks.
There were big sycamore trees. In one spot the river had eaten a great dirt cave into the hillside. Conrad and Dee sat on a rock in there and talked. I can hardly remember anything about it. My mother used to give me hay-fever pills. The first thing I remember really clearly is my tenth birthday. It was the day my family moved to Louisville. My brother and I saw a flying wing. Everything here seems so stupid and unreal. Have you heard of existentialism? Not like in church, anyway. Maybe the universe is God? Everything fits together into a whole, and that Whole is God.
Conrad strained, and rose up maybe an inch from the rock they were sitting on. A whole stream of them—each woman would march into my room, smile, and march out. One after the other. I used to rub my cushy way before I was twelve. I did it even when I was real little. This was just incredible. Conrad grabbed Dee and pushed his tongue deep into her mouth.
He took one of her hands and pressed it in his crotch to feel his boner. She drew her hand back, but she kept kissing him. They kissed for so long that Conrad came in his pants. Dee noticed the stain. They joined the others for lunch. For the whole lunch, Conrad was on a cloud. When Conrad got back to Louisville and told Hank about his new girl, Hank made fun of him.
I even came in my pants. I heard the cops caught her naked with Billy Ballhouse in a car last fall. Remember the one you made up about coming from a flying saucer? It was on the way down to the conference center—we all stopped for food, and I was walking to the supermarket. I tripped on the sidewalk, and instead of falling, I just hung there. I thought that was only a kind of beer in comic books. God, he felt wonderful. Drunk on the first Saturday in May. Conrad shrugged and opened his beer. It was Derby Day, and all the grown-ups were at the track.
You know where I feel it first? Some of the cooler Chevalier boys were there, too. When Conrad lurched out of the pool and began trying to open his fourth Blatz, Ballhouse spoke up. Maybe you should make a run. He remembered having seen the beer opener there. He put all his attention into getting two triangles punched into the top of his beer can. But then someone was shoving him. Ardmore howled with delight, and Leggett burst into giggles.
Ballhouse shook his head and gave up. There was a whole fridge of beer, and the three remaining boys spent the rest of the afternoon working on it. At some point the Derby was on TV. Watching it, Conrad realized he was seeing double. It was time to leave. I used to race these things in South Korea. It felt like a crunchy sliding board. The steering wheel jerked like a living thing, the wheels locked sideways, Ardmore was yelling and—.
A sound that Conrad felt, rather than heard, a sound and a brief moment of frenzied motion. The horn was blowing. The horn was stuck. He was in a barbed-wire fence and the car was wrapped around a black locust tree and Jim was lying still. The bleat of that stuck horn was driving him nuts. They did that, and things got a little better.
Dead black nothing with no time left. He flinched away from that and began struggling to reconstruct the details of the accident, trying to fit it into some rational frame. The tree had been on the right side of the road. Momentum made the car slew to the left, and Conrad had been thrown out of his door. The funny thing was that the tree had been blocking the path from the car to where Conrad had landed. By all rights, Conrad should have sailed into the tree and broken his neck.
He struggled to remember the details. How had he managed to miss the tree? Somehow he had levitated his way around it. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, Conrad realized he was floating above the mattress again. He flash-jerked, and jolted back down. All night he dreamed about the flame-people.
Like a cat landing on its feet. I think maybe I have psychic powers, Mom. What does God have to do with it? God is everything, Conrad. God takes care of us in different ways. Praying is something you do for your own self. When I hit that fence, everything just got black. It was just black nothing. I think that must be what happens when you die, no matter what. Conrad was surprised that his mother had such definite opinions about these questions.
But why did she bother going to church if there was no afterlife? I care about you. That first Louisville summer had been hot, and old Caldwell had bought Conrad a giant wading pool. I got drunk and made trouble. Call a cab if you have to. My father was waiting for me at the breakfast table. He was the kindest man, Conrad; I wish you could have met him. It would destroy us to lose you. It might not look that way, but even yesterday, I was careful not to get killed. But why bother, it would only sound like crazy bragging.
See a Problem?
This was not the time to say what he really thought, to say that nothing made sense at all and that it would be better for everyone to admit it. This was not the time to push his father any further. He even builds his own guitars. You know I have four Bo Diddley albums at home, Dee? Tell me about the deeper meanings of Bo Diddley, Conrad. She wore a thin white cardigan, and a print dress with a Villager collar.
Usually she wore sweatshirts. Conrad proceeded to sing the first few lines of the song, capturing the sense, if not the exact sound of Bo Diddley. He and his family were due to be transferred out to California in only one month. It was all ending fast.
But no one outside my parents cared, not even Ardmore. She said it was awful. Normally he never socialized with the St. It had been strange to see them all at a dance, probably with girls they were going to marry and not use rubbers with. A mixture of hope and cynicism had led Conrad to bring Sue Pohlboggen instead of Dee. Sue was supposed to be easy. Did you make out with her? On the way from the prom to the St. The problem was that she was wearing such a tight girdle that his hand had gone numb before he could figure out where her cunt actually was.
Was this how grown-up sex worked? I like Flatt and Scruggs, too. Bonds is coming, too. The stage was in the middle of the big arena-auditorium at the Kentucky State Fairgrounds. When he was ten, Conrad had come here to see the Shrine Circus. Today they had a lot of flags up, since it was the day after the Fourth of July. Some people had reserved seats down on the coliseum floor, but everyone else was up in the bleachers. It was a very mixed crowd. There was a middle-aged black guy with baggy pants right behind Dee and Conrad, and when the Shirelles came out, he danced so hard that you could hear his dick slapping his leg.
Some lesser-known black groups played next, and then some white singers came on. One of them was Dee Clark. The song was It Must Be Raindrops. Over in the empty seats, Dee and Conrad got into a kind of follow-the-leader game, balancing along on the seatbacks, childlike and free. The wonderful music spread out to fill all space and time, music for Conrad and Dee alone, centered in the eternal Now. Conrad felt like he could fly Dee to the top of the coliseum, if he wanted to. Fly up to the top where the flashing circus acrobats had whirled, years ago.
Suddenly, finally, Bo Diddley and his band were out on the stage, red sequined tuxes and all. Conrad dragged Dee back to their seats. Diddley struck up a steady chicken-scratch on his git-box and began trading insults with his drummer. Conrad howled, and the man behind them stood up and slapped his dick against his leg again. Dee began looking around to see if anyone else from her class was here. Bo Diddley, the man, right there, in the flesh, black as they come, sweating and screaming—for a few minutes, Conrad forgot himself entirely.
Bo Diddley was the last act before intermission, and Conrad hurried down behind the stage to get a closer look at his hero. Incredibly, Bo Diddley was right there, standing around talking to some black women. He was shorter than he looked on the stage, and uglier. It was incredible, to be touching the actual meat-body, the actual living person that made the music Conrad loved so well.
During the moment he touched Diddley, everything seemed to make sense. And then the moment was over, as usual, every moment over, over and over again. Conrad mumbled his thanks and wandered off, a bit dazed, looking for Dee. He found her with Francie Shields and Hank Larsen. Hank, for his part, was drunk. I just shook hands with Bo Diddley. What are you doing for our generation? You want a belt, Conrad? Let me see that hand. Hank and Francie and Dee had all gone to the regular public high school together. Hank had been voted most handsome, and Francie had starred in the senior play.
She was a bit overweight, but pretty in a straight-mouth-straight-nose-straight-hair way. Her voice was a lovely, purring lisp. Dee and I can wait with them. They went halfway up the dark bleachers behind the stage and passed the bottle around. For some reason, Conrad was feeling a little desperate. He sucked hard at the bottle, forcing down four or five big slugs in a row. As always, the hot poison set his face-holes to running—he leaned over a railing and retched some spit. Dee took a few sips, Hank some more, and then Conrad finished the bottle. Can you feel it, too? He was all worked up.
The sixties have begun! Why should we be all white at college and learn stuff to be faceless Joe bureaucrat with kids like us? I want this summer to last forever! Are you on the Larsen bandwagon, folks? Everything was hot and roaring. Another band had started up. Conrad turned off the clock-radio and sat up. It was barely light out. No time to lose. He got dressed and took the cream pie off the kitchen counter. It had defrosted nicely overnight. Hank was leaving today. High school was all over. Hank was out in his backyard, by his ham-radio antenna, waiting for Conrad.
He had his pie ready, too. But now, at five in the morning, they just stood there, the two of them, holding their sad, flat frozen pies. Moving and college, this was really the end. Conrad took his pie home and threw it in the garbage. It was all over. Dee gone, Hank gone, his family about to move, and four years of hard college work coming up—hard work to be followed by marriage and a real job.
No slack, no slack in sight. If only he could learn to control his powers of levitation. Just yesterday, he and Hank had had a last talk about it. We could test it by going downtown and having you jump off the Heyburn Building! She thought language was funny, especially English. I have a cardboard box for you. After some milk and a bologna sandwich, Conrad got to work sorting his stuff: He drifted down to the basement to paunch out. Caldwell had been off in the army since last summer.
He was stationed in Germany. Conrad picked up an issue and turned to a sex-poem he remembered seeing: In the bottom drawer, he found a flat wood case with two little dueling pistols. Caldwell had traded one of his drunk college friends a record player for the guns. Conrad took out one of the little pistols and looked it over. It was a one-shot. There were bullets in the case as well. On an impulse, Conrad pocketed the pistol and a bunch of bullets.
In case anyone gives me a hard time. He had a date that night, with an eleventh-grader called Taffy Sinclair. It was still a little early to pick up Taffy. You had to load it one bullet at a time. Conrad fired it out over the water, missed seeing the bullet splash, and tried again. There , right out in the middle, halfway to Indiana.
He reloaded and shot a tree trunk from point-blank range. The little bullet bored right in. Imagine shooting yourself , Conrad thought. He took out the empty cartridge, made double-sure the gun was empty, and put it to his head. What if I were going to kill myself right now? He psyched himself up into half believing it and pulled the trigger. The dry little sound made Conrad shudder. But with the click had come a sudden feeling like a muscle unclenching at the center of his brain.
Right now, for the first time, he was going to be able to fly as well as he wanted! Twenty feet, thirty… He was out over the real current now, looking back at his VW on shore. Somehow it felt very natural. But then, all at once, the power was gone. Conrad plummeted into the brown Ohio. It took a few minutes of real struggle to get back to shore. Conrad got into a dry outfit and sat there thinking.
What makes me so special? He wondered if he should open up the gin. A few weeks ago, Conrad had made the mistake of trying to talk to Mr. Sinclair when he was drunk. Sinclair took it too seriously. Tonight they were going downtown to see To Kill a Mockingbird. Taffy looked great, tan and blonde in a spaghetti-strap blue dress. With his usual thoughtfulness, he had provided for her independence in this situation.
How refuse the offers of this generous friend? Thus I promised myself, as I journied towards my destination with roused and ardent expectation: Methought the time was now arrived, when, childish occupations laid aside, I should enter into life. Even in the Elysian fields, Virgil describes the souls of the happy as eager to drink of the wave which was to restore them to this mortal coil.
The young are seldom in Elysium, for their desires, outstripping possibility, leave them as poor as a moneyless debtor. We are told by the wisest philosophers of the dangers of the world, the deceits of men, and the treason of our own hearts: How few in youth's prime, moor their vessels on the "golden sands," and collect the painted shells that strew them. But all at close of day, with riven planks and rent canvas make for shore, and are either wrecked ere they reach it, or find some wave-beaten haven, some desart strand, whereon to cast themselves and die unmourned.
A truce to philosophy! Hope, glory, love, and blameless ambition are my guides, and my soul knows no dread. What has been, though sweet, is gone; the present is good only because it is about to change, and the to come is all my own. Do I fear, that my heart palpitates? Now that I am arrived at its base, my pinions are furled, the mighty stairs are before me, and step by step I must ascend the wondrous fane Behold me in a new capacity. All was strange and admirable to the shepherd of Cumberland. With breathless amaze I entered on the gay scene, whose actors were.
Soon, too soon, I entered the giddy whirl; forgetting my studious hours, and the companionship of Adrian. Passionate desire of sympathy, and ardent pursuit for a wished-for object still characterized me. The sight of beauty entranced me, and attractive manners in man or woman won my entire confidence. I called it rapture, when a smile made my heart beat; and I felt the life's blood tingle in my frame, when I approached the idol which for awhile I worshipped.
The mere flow of animal spirits was Paradise, and at night's close I only desired a renewal of the intoxicating delusion. The dazzling light of ornamented rooms; lovely forms arrayed in splendid dresses; the motions of a dance, the voluptuous tones of exquisite music, cradled my senses in one delightful dream. And is not this in its kind happiness? I appeal to moralists and sages. I ask if in the calm of their measured reveries, if in the deep meditations which fill their hours, they feel the extasy of a youthful tyro in the school of pleasure?
Can the calm beams of their heaven-seeking eyes equal the flashes of mingling passion which blind his, or does the influence of cold philosophy steep their soul in a joy equal to his, engaged. But in truth, neither the lonely meditations of the hermit, nor the tumultuous raptures of the reveller, are capable of satisfying man's heart. From the one we gather unquiet speculation, from the other satiety.
The mind flags beneath the weight of thought, and droops in the heartless intercourse of those whose sole aim is amusement. There is no fruition in their vacant kindness, and sharp rocks lurk beneath the smiling ripples of these shallow waters. Thus I felt, when disappointment, weariness, and solitude drove me back upon my heart, to gather thence the joy of which it had become barren.
My flagging spirits asked for something to speak to the affections; and not finding it, I drooped. Thus, notwithstanding the thoughtless delight that waited on its commencement, the impression I have of my life at Vienna is melancholy. Goethe has said, that in youth we cannot be happy unless we love. I did not love; but I was devoured by a restless wish to be something to others.
I became the victim of ingratitude and cold coquetry--then I desponded, and imagined that my discontent gave me a right to hate the world. I receded to solitude; I had recourse to my books, and my desire again to enjoy the society of Adrian became a burning thirst. Emulation, that in its excess almost assumed the venomous properties of envy, gave a sting to these feelings.
At this period the name and exploits of one of my countrymen filled the world with admiration. Relations of what he had done, conjectures concerning his future actions, were the never-failing topics of the hour. I was not angry on my own account, but I felt as if the praises which this idol received were leaves torn from laurels destined for Adrian. But I must enter into some account of this darling of fame--this favourite of the wonder-loving world. Lord Raymond was the sole remnant of a noble but impoverished family.
From early youth he had considered his pedigree with complacency, and bitterly lamented his want of wealth. His first wish was aggrandisement; and the means that led towards this end were secondary considerations. Haughty, yet trembling to every demonstration of respect; ambitious, but too proud to shew his ambition; willing to achieve honour, yet a votary of pleasure,-- he entered upon life.
He was met on the threshold by some insult, real or imaginary; some repulse, where he least expected it; some disappointment, hard for his pride to bear. He writhed beneath an injury he was unable to revenge; and he quitted England with a vow not to return, till the good time should arrive, when she might feel the power of him she now despised. He became an adventurer in the Greek wars. His reckless courage and comprehensive genius brought him into notice. He became the darling hero of this rising people.
His foreign birth, and he refused to throw off his allegiance to his native country, alone prevented him from filling the first offices in the state. But, though others might rank higher in title and ceremony, Lord Raymond held a station above and beyond all this. He led the Greek armies to victory; their triumphs were all his own. When he appeared, whole towns poured forth their population to meet him; new songs were adapted to their national airs, whose themes were his glory, valour, and munificence. A truce was concluded between the Greeks and Turks.
At the same time, Lord Raymond, by some unlooked-for chance, became the possessor of an immense fortune in England, whither he returned, crowned with glory, to receive the meed of honour and distinction before denied to his pretensions. His proud heart rebelled against this change. In what was the despised Raymond not the same? If the acquisition of power in the shape of wealth caused this alteration, that power should they feel as an iron yoke.
Power therefore was the aim of all his endeavours; aggrandizement the mark at which he for ever shot. In open ambition or close intrigue, his end was the same--to attain the first station in his own country. This account filled me with curiosity. The events that in succession followed his return to England, gave me keener feelings.
Among his other advantages, Lord Raymond was supremely handsome; every one admired him; of women he was the idol. He was courteous, honey-tongued--an adept in fascinating arts. What could not this man achieve in the busy English world? Change succeeded to change; the entire history did not reach me; for Adrian had ceased to write, and Perdita was a laconic correspondent. The rumour went that Adrian had become--how write the fatal word--mad: Nay, more, that this aspiring noble revived the claim of the house of Windsor to the crown, and that, on the event of Adrian's incurable disorder and his marriage with the sister, the brow of the ambitious Raymond might be encircled with the magic ring of regality.
Such a tale filled the trumpet of many voiced fame; such a tale rendered my longer stay at Vienna, away from the friend of my youth, intolerable. Now I must fulfil my vow; now range myself at his side, and be his ally and support till death. Farewell to courtly pleasure; to politic intrigue; to the maze of passion and folly!
Native England, receive thy child!
Dance Of The Dead
A voice most irresistible, a power omnipotent, drew me thither. After an absence of two years I landed on its shores, not daring to make any inquiries, fearful of every remark. My first visit would be to my sister, who inhabited a little cottage, a part of Adrian's gift, on the borders of Windsor Forest. From her I should learn the truth concerning our protector; I should hear why she had withdrawn from the protection of the Princess Evadne, and be instructed as to the influence which this overtopping and towering Raymond exercised over the fortunes of my friend.
I had never before been in the neighbourhood of Windsor; the fertility and beauty of the country around now struck me with admiration, which encreased as I approached the antique wood. The ruins of majestic oaks which had grown, flourished, and decayed during the progress of centuries, marked where the limits of the forest once reached, while the shattered palings and neglected underwood shewed that this part was deserted for the younger plantations, which owed their birth to the beginning of the nineteenth century, and now stood in the pride of maturity.
Perdita's humble dwelling was situated on the skirts of the most ancient portion; before it was stretched Bishopgate Heath, which towards the east appeared interminable, and was bounded to the west by Chapel Wood and the grove of Virginia Water. Behind, the cottage was shadowed by the venerable fathers of the forest, under which the deer came to graze, and which for the most part hollow and decayed, formed fantastic groups that contrasted with the regular beauty of the younger trees. These, the offspring of a later period, stood erect and seemed ready to advance fearlessly into coming time; while those out worn stragglers, blasted and broke, clung to each other, their weak boughs sighing as the wind buffetted them--a weather-beaten crew.
A light railing surrounded the garden of the cottage, which, low-roofed, seemed to submit to the majesty of nature, and cower amidst the venerable remains of forgotten time. Flowers, the children of the spring, adorned her garden and casements; in the midst of lowliness there was an air of elegance which spoke the graceful taste of the inmate. With a beating heart I entered the enclosure; as I stood at the entrance, I heard her voice, melodious as it had ever been, which before I saw her assured me of her welfare. A moment more and Perdita appeared; she stood before me in the fresh bloom of youthful womanhood, different from and yet the same as the mountain girl I had left.
Her eyes could not be deeper than they were in childhood, nor her countenance more expressive; but the expression was changed and improved; intelligence sat on her brow; when she smiled her face was embellished by the softest sensibility, and her low, modulated voice seemed tuned by love. Her person was formed in the most feminine proportions; she was not tall, but her mountain life had given freedom to her motions, so that her light step scarce made her foot-fall heard as she tript across the hall to meet me.
When we had parted, I had clasped her to my bosom with unrestrained warmth; we met again, and new feelings were awakened; when each beheld the other, childhood passed, as full grown actors on this changeful scene. The pause was but for a moment; the flood of association and natural feeling which had been checked, again rushed in full tide upon our hearts, and with tenderest emotion we were swiftly locked in each other's embrace. This burst of passionate feeling over, with calmed thoughts we sat together, talking of the past and present.
I alluded to the coldness of her letters; but the few minutes we had spent together sufficiently explained the origin of this. New feelings had arisen within her, which she was unable to express in writing to one whom she had only known in childhood; but we saw each other again, and our intimacy was renewed as if nothing had intervened to check it. I detailed the incidents of my sojourn abroad, and then questioned her as to the changes that had taken place at home, the causes of Adrian's absence, and her secluded life.
The tears that suffused my sister's eyes when I mentioned our friend, and her heightened colour seemed to vouch for the truth of the reports that had reached me. But their import was too terrible for me to give instant credit to my suspicion. Was there indeed anarchy in the sublime universe of Adrian's thoughts, did madness scatter the well-appointed legions, and was he no longer the lord of his own soul? Beloved friend, this ill world was no clime for your gentle spirit; you delivered up its governance to false humanity, which stript it of its leaves ere winter-time, and laid bare its quivering life to the evil ministration of roughest winds.
Have those gentle eyes, those "channels of the soul" lost their meaning, or do they only in their glare disclose the horrible tale of its aberrations? Does that voice no longer "discourse excellent music? I veil my eyes in terror of the change, and gushing tears bear witness to my sympathy for this unimaginable ruin. The frank and unsuspicious mind of Adrian, gifted as it was by every natural grace, endowed with transcendant powers of intellect, unblemished by the shadow of defect unless his dreadless independence of thought was to be construed into one , was devoted, even as a victim to sacrifice, to his love for Evadne.
He entrusted to her keeping the treasures of his soul, his aspirations after excellence, and his plans for the improvement of mankind. As manhood dawned upon him, his schemes and theories, far from being changed by personal and prudential motives, acquired new strength from the powers he felt arise within him; and his love for Evadne became deep-rooted, as he each day became more certain that the path he pursued was full of difficulty, and that he must seek his reward, not in the applause or gratitude of his fellow creatures, hardly in the success of his plans, but in the approbation of his own heart, and in her love and sympathy, which was to lighten every toil and recompence every sacrifice.
In solitude, and through many wanderings afar from the haunts of men, he matured his views for the reform of the English government, and the improvement of the people. It would have been well if he had concealed his sentiments, until he had come into possession of the power which would secure their practical development. But he was impatient of the years that must intervene, he was frank of heart and fearless. He gave not only a brief denial to his mother's schemes, but published his intention of using his influence to diminish the power of the aristocracy, to effect a greater equalization of wealth and privilege, and to introduce a perfect system of republican government into England.
At first his mother treated his theories as the wild ravings of inexperience. But they were so systematically arranged, and his arguments so well supported, that though still in appearance incredulous, she began to fear him. She tried to reason with him, and finding him inflexible, learned to hate him. Strange to say, this feeling was infectious. His enthusiasm for good which did not exist; his contempt for the sacredness of authority; his ardour and imprudence were all at the antipodes of the usual routine of life; the worldly feared him; the young and inexperienced did not understand the lofty severity of his moral views, and disliked him as a being different from themselves.
Evadne entered but coldly into his systems. She thought he did well to assert his own will, but she wished that will to have been more intelligible to the multitude. She had none of the spirit of a martyr, and did not incline to share the shame and defeat of a fallen patriot. She was aware of the purity of his motives, the generosity of his disposition, his true and ardent attachment to her; and she entertained a great affection for him. He repaid this spirit of kindness with the fondest gratitude, and made her the treasure-house of all his hopes.
At this time Lord Raymond returned from Greece. No two persons could be more opposite than Adrian and he. With all the incongruities of his character, Raymond was emphatically a man of the world. His passions were violent; as these often obtained the mastery over him, he could not always square his conduct to the obvious line of self-interest, but self-gratification at least was the paramount object with him. He looked on the structure of society as but a part of the machinery which supported the web on which his life was traced. The earth was spread out as an highway for him; the heavens built up as a canopy for him.
Adrian felt that he made a part of a great whole. He owned affinity not only with mankind, but all nature was akin to him; the mountains and sky were his friends; the winds of heaven and the offspring of earth his playmates; while he the focus only of this mighty mirror, felt his life mingle with the universe of existence.
His soul was sympathy, and dedicated to the worship of beauty and excellence. Adrian and Raymond now came into contact, and a spirit of aversion rose between them. Adrian despised the narrow views of the politician, and Raymond held in supreme contempt the benevolent visions of the philanthropist. With the coming of Raymond was formed the storm that laid waste at one fell blow the gardens of delight and sheltered paths which Adrian fancied that he had secured to himself, as a refuge from defeat and contumely. Raymond, the deliverer of Greece, the graceful soldier, who bore in his mien a tinge of all that, peculiar to her native clime, Evadne cherished as most dear-- Raymond was loved by Evadne.
Overpowered by her new sensations, she did not pause to examine them, or to regulate her conduct by any sentiments except the tyrannical one which suddenly usurped the empire of her heart. She yielded to its influence, and the too natural consequence in a mind unattuned to soft emotions was, that the attentions of Adrian became distasteful to her.
She grew capricious; her gentle conduct towards him was exchanged for asperity and repulsive coldness. When she perceived the wild or pathetic appeal of his expressive countenance, she would relent, and for a while resume her ancient kindness. But these fluctuations shook to its depths the soul of the sensitive youth; he no longer deemed the world subject to him, because he possessed Evadne's love; he felt in every nerve that the dire storms of the mental universe were about to attack his fragile being, which quivered at the expectation of its advent.
Perdita, who then resided with Evadne, saw the torture that Adrian endured. She loved him as a kind elder brother; a relation to guide, protect, and instruct her, without the too frequent tyranny of parental authority. She adored his virtues, and with mixed contempt and indignation she saw Evadne pile drear sorrow on his head, for the sake of one who hardly marked her. In his solitary despair Adrian would often seek my sister, and in covered terms express his misery, while fortitude and agony divided the throne of his mind.
Anger made no part of his emotion. With whom should he be angry? Not with Raymond, who was unconscious of the misery he occasioned; not with Evadne, for her his soul wept tears of blood--poor, mistaken girl, slave not tyrant was she, and amidst his own anguish he grieved for her future destiny. Once a writing of his fell into Perdita's hands; it was blotted with tears--well might any blot it with the like While there is life there is action and change.
We go on, each thought linked to the one which was its parent, each act to a previous act. No joy or sorrow dies barren of progeny, which for ever generated and generating, weaves the chain that make our life:. Truly disappointment is the guardian deity of human life; she sits at the threshold of unborn time, and marshals the events as they come forth. Once my heart sat lightly in my bosom; all the beauty of the world was doubly beautiful, irradiated by the sun-light shed from my own soul. O wherefore are love and ruin for ever joined in this our mortal dream?
So that when we make our hearts a lair for that gently seeming beast, its companion enters with it, and pitilessly lays waste what might have been an home and a shelter. By degrees his health was shaken by his misery, and then his intellect yielded to the same tyranny. His manners grew wild; he was sometimes ferocious, sometimes absorbed in speechless melancholy. Suddenly Evadne quitted London for Paris; he followed, and overtook her when the vessel was about to sail; none knew what passed between them, but Perdita had never seen him since; he lived in seclusion, no one knew where, attended by such persons as his mother selected for that purpose.
My sister's heightened colour and sparkling eyes half revealed her secret to me. He was perfectly self-possessed; he accosted us both with courtesy, seemed immediately to enter into our feelings, and to make one with us. I scanned his physiognomy, which varied as he spoke, yet was beautiful in every change. The usual expression of his eyes was soft, though at times he could make them even glare with ferocity; his complexion was colourless; and every trait spoke predominate self-will; his smile was pleasing, though disdain too often curled his lips--lips which to female eyes were the very throne of beauty and love.
His voice, usually gentle, often startled you by a sharp discordant note, which shewed that his usual low tone was rather the work of study than nature. Thus full of contradictions, unbending yet haughty, gentle yet fierce, tender and again neglectful, he by some strange art found easy entrance to the admiration and affection of women; now caressing and now tyrannizing over them according to his mood, but in every change a despot.
At the present time Raymond evidently wished to appear amiable. Wit, hilarity, and deep observation were mingled in his talk, rendering every sentence that he uttered as a flash of light. He soon conquered my latent distaste; I endeavoured to watch him and Perdita, and to keep in mind every thing I had heard to his disadvantage. But all appeared so ingenuous, and all was so fascinating, that I forgot everything except the pleasure his society afforded me.
Under the idea of initiating me in the scene of English politics and society, of which I was soon to become a part, he narrated a number of anecdotes, and sketched many characters; his discourse, rich and varied, flowed on, pervading all my senses with pleasure. But for one thing he would have been completely triumphant.
He alluded to Adrian, and spoke of him with that disparagement that the worldly wise always attach to enthusiasm. He perceived the cloud gathering, and tried to dissipate it; but the strength of my feelings would not permit me to pass thus lightly over this sacred subject; so I said emphatically, "Permit me to remark, that I am devotedly attached to the Earl of Windsor; he is my best friend and benefactor. I reverence his goodness, I accord with his opinions, and bitterly lament his present, and I trust temporary, illness. That illness, from its peculiarity, makes it painful to me beyond words to hear him mentioned, unless in terms of respect and affection.
Raymond replied; but there was nothing conciliatory in his reply. I saw that in his heart he despised those dedicated to any but worldly idols. Some reflection seemed to sting him, and the spasm of pain that for a moment convulsed his countenance, checked my indignation. Would I could dream! Even the ghost of friendship has departed, and love"He broke off; nor could I guess whether the disdain that curled his lip was directed against the passion, or against himself for being its slave.
This account may be taken as a sample of my intercourse with Lord Raymond. I became intimate with him, and each day afforded me occasion to admire more and more his powerful and versatile talents, that together with his eloquence, which was graceful and witty, and his wealth now immense, caused him to be feared, loved, and hated beyond any other man in England.
My descent, which claimed interest, if not respect, my former connection with Adrian, the favour of the ambassador, whose secretary I had been, and now my intimacy with Lord Raymond, gave me easy access to the fashionable and political circles of England. To my inexperience we at first appeared on the eve of a civil war; each party was violent, acrimonious, and unyielding. Parliament was divided by three factions, aristocrats, democrats, and royalists. After Adrian's declared predeliction to the republican form of government, the latter party had nearly died away, chiefless, guideless; but, when Lord Raymond came forward as its leader, it revived with redoubled force.
Some were royalists from prejudice and ancient affection, and there were many moderately inclined who feared alike the capricious tyranny of the popular party, and the unbending despotism of the aristocrats. More than a third of the members ranged themselves under Raymond, and their number was perpetually encreasing. The aristocrats built their hopes on their preponderant wealth and influence; the reformers on the force of the nation itself; the debates were violent, more violent the discourses held by each knot of politicians as they assembled to arrange their measures.
Opprobrious epithets were bandied about, resistance even to the death threatened; meetings of the populace disturbed the quiet order of the country; except in war, how could all this end? Even as the destructive flames were ready to break forth, I saw them shrink back; allayed by the absence of the military, by the aversion entertained by every one to any violence, save that of speech, and by the cordial politeness and even friendship of the hostile leaders when they met in private society. I was from a thousand motives induced to attend minutely to the course of events, and watch each turn with intense anxiety.
I could not but perceive that Perdita loved Raymond; methought also that he regarded the fair daughter of Verney with admiration and tenderness. Yet I knew that he was urging forward his marriage with the presumptive heiress of the Earldom of Windsor, with keen expectation of the advantages that would thence accrue to him. All the ex-queen's friends were his friends; no week passed that he did not hold consultations with her at Windsor.
I had never seen the sister of Adrian. I had heard that she was lovely, amiable, and fascinating. Wherefore should I see her? There are times when we have an indefinable sentiment of impending change for better or for worse, to arise from an event; and, be it for better or for worse, we fear the change, and shun the event.
For this reason I avoided this high-born damsel. To me she was everything and nothing; her very name mentioned by another made me start and tremble; the endless discussion concerning her union with Lord Raymond was real agony to me. Methought that, Adrian withdrawn from active life, and this beauteous Idris, a victim probably to her mother's ambitious schemes, I ought to come forward to protect her from undue influence, guard her from unhappiness, and secure to her freedom of choice, the right of every human being.
Yet how was I to do this? She herself would disdain my interference. Since then I must be an object of indifference or contempt to her, better, far better avoid her, nor expose myself before her and the scornful world to the chance of playing the mad game of a fond, foolish Icarus. One day, several months after my return to England, I quitted London to visit my sister. Her society was my chief solace and delight; and my spirits always rose at the expectation of seeing her. Her conversation was full of pointed remark and discernment; in her pleasant alcove, redolent with sweetest flowers, adorned by magnificent casts, antique vases, and copies of the finest pictures of Raphael, Correggio, and Claude, painted by herself, I fancied myself in a fairy retreat untainted by and inaccessible to the noisy contentions of politicians and the frivolous pursuits of fashion.
On this occasion, my sister was not alone; nor could I fail to recognise her companion: In what fitting terms of wonder and delight, in what choice expression and soft flow of language, can I usher in the loveliest, wisest, best?
Dance Of The Dead (Ravenloft, #3) by Christie Golden
How in poor assemblage of words convey the halo of glory that surrounded her, the thousand graces that waited unwearied on her. The first thing that struck you on beholding that charming countenance was its perfect goodness and frankness; candour sat upon her brow, simplicity in her eyes, heavenly benignity in her smile. Her tall slim figure bent gracefully as a poplar to the breezy west, and her gait, goddess-like, was as that of a winged angel new alit from heaven's high floor; the pearly fairness of her complexion was stained by a pure suffusion; her voice resembled the low, subdued tenor of a flute.
It is easiest perhaps to describe by contrast. I have detailed the perfections of my sister; and yet she was utterly unlike Idris. Perdita, even where she loved, was reserved and timid; Idris was frank and confiding. The one recoiled to solitude, that she might there entrench herself from disappointment and injury; the other walked forth in open day, believing that none would harm her.
Wordsworth has compared a beloved female to two fair objects in nature; but his lines always appeared to me rather a contrast than a similitude:. Such a violet was sweet Perdita, trembling to entrust herself to the very air, cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences; and repaying with a thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her lonely bye-path.
Idris was as the star, set in single splendour in the dim anadem of balmy evening; ready to enlighten and delight the subject world, shielded herself from every taint by her unimagined distance from all that was not like herself akin to heaven. I found this vision of beauty in Perdita's alcove, in earnest conversation with its inmate.
When my sister saw me, she rose, and taking my hand, said, "He is here, even at our wish; this is Lionel, my brother. Verney, you will acknowledge this tie, and as my brother's friend, I feel that I may trust you. Then, with lids humid with a tear and trembling voice, she continued-- "Dear friends, do not think it strange that now, visiting you for the first time, I ask your assistance, and confide my wishes and fears to you. To you alone do I dare speak; I have heard you commended by impartial spectators; you are my brother's friends, therefore you must be mine.
What can I say? Doubtless you have both heard the current tale; perhaps believe the slander; but he is not mad! Were an angel from the foot of God's throne to assert it, never, never would I believe it. He is wronged, betrayed, imprisoned--save him! Verney, you must do this; seek him out in whatever part of the island he is immured; find him, rescue him from his persecutors, restore him to himself, to me--on the wide earth I have none to love but only him! Her earnest appeal, so sweetly and passionately expressed, filled me with wonder and sympathy; and, when she added, with thrilling voice and look, "Do you consent to undertake this enterprize?
We then conversed on the plan I should pursue, and discussed the probable means of discovering his residence. While we were in earnest discourse, Lord Raymond entered unannounced: I saw Perdita tremble and grow deadly pale, and the cheeks of Idris glow with purest blushes.