Day Four.
I slept in this morning. It felt wonderful being lazy. Had breakfast out of the garden. An apple, some berries, a drink of spring water. I plunged my hands into the cold water and the water felt fresh and sharp in my mouth. When I splashed it on my face it revived me better than any protein pill or chemical shake.
I feel a peace I have never felt before. I am no longer driven. I am content to be. Sat outside reading a poetry by someone by the name of Wordsworth. The rainbow comes and goes and lovely is the rose/ the moon doth with delight, look round her when the heavens are bare. I read the words and they become a part of me. I feel the words like a shock and I feel I have found something that I once had lost.
A change in the weather today, it definitely feels colder. Down by the lake the water has slowly begun to harden into a thin transparent sheet. Discovered later in a book that this is something called ice. Walked around the lake and at one point spotted a small bird on a log. It looked up at me and hopped about on the log. Don’t know how I know but I know this was a robin redbreast. He plunged his beak into his scarlet waistcoat and pecked hard at the soil until he had pulled up a fat, juicy, wriggling worm. I sat there for a while and was content to share his company.
This world seems to be growing on its own. Originally I had placed certain features in this place. But this world is living and breathing and spreading far beyond the parameters I had set.. How is that possible? I seem to be ware of something new every waking moment. I am changing also. I am becoming brighter about the edges. My thoughts are clearer and there is a spring in my step. It is as if I also have a world within me that is growing. I am a voyager travelling in a new world and there is so much to see and so much to learn. I t is as if I am becoming aware of myself for the first time.
Day Five.
Much colder last night. There was a halo around the moon and diamond shapes coated on the windows. I could see my breath leaving my mouth like thick fog. This morning the world was coated in a white powder like icing. I scooped a handful and put some in my mouth and it was so cold it burnt my mouth. So this is snow.
Sat in all morning watching the snow falling from the sky. It felt like dreaming as I sat there, unaware of the passing of time. I was filled with a sense of wonder. How could something so simple create such a feeling of joy within me. I heard an echo of the silence and was content merely to be. No longer feel a need to be always striving always restless.
Reading Thoreau again today. He too observes details in the life around him. He stores them up like riches. Even the passing colour of the sky or the movement of a shadow fascinates him. He is immersed in everything and nothing escapes his attention. Back in the world before, I saw nothing. Now I see everything. I cannot believe that there is so much to see. Later in the afternoon walked down to the lake.
Had a strange sense of being watched. Maybe I have been alone for too long. Then after standing by the lake, wrapped up in a thick overcoat, a scarf and thick woollen gloves I set off back to the cabin. That is when I saw something in the snow that made my heart skip a beat. Something that could not be. For quite clearly, impressed in the snow was a trail of footprints leading into the forest. Oh Pod I thought, somebody else is here. I also felt something else for the first time. I felt afraid.
Day Six.
Something or someone else has stepped into this world of mine. Who or what would follow me here? Did not sleep well last night. Pod seems remote of late, like a distant memory of a dream. Afraid to step outside this morning,. what else would I find? Has my absence been detected back in Lon Cit? Maybe someone is looking for me. Maybe they want to take me back to my former life. I don’t want to go back.
Visions coming to me the more time I spend here. Later in the day came across a small boy. He was standing alone and shivering with the cold. He told me his name was Pip. I walked with him awhile and he told me all about a strange lady, all dressed in white who lived in a large old house. I asked him if there where others here with him. He told me about a boy called Copperfield who sat by a tree reading all the time and another boy called Smike. Pip told me that they have all come here from the land of lost dreams and that as I was the only dreamer living they had all come here to be near me.
The worlds I have been reading about and the world I have created are merging as one. Pip said I had to keep on reading and dreaming or all these other worlds would die. Together we walked back through the woods. Pip walked along for a while and then when I turned around he was gone. Am I losing my mind? Who am I? Who is Lantos? Who am I becoming? I am lost in a world of thought and afraid the walls of my existence will soon come crashing down.
Day Seven
The seasons change so fast here. Woke this morning to the first day of spring. This is day seven but it could just as well be year seven. Time seems eternal like a flat piece of parchment being slowly unrolled. If I thrust my finger through the fabric then I travel through time, living days and months in minutes. This morning a clock appeared on my bedroom wall. It had fingers on a strange green dial, yet they pointed nowhere. Around the clock face where the words in Paradise is only Now.
Existence is a state of mind. That thought came to me from Pod knows where. If I believe in it then it exists. Tried this out this morning. I sat outside in a patch of shade and focussed my thoughts. I had seen the picture of a cuckoo sitting in the branch of a tree. I held the image in my mind and when I looked up Lo and behold there it was. If I look at an empty shelf I can fill it with books in seconds. I thought of Pip and suddenly he was there too. I laughed out loud at the power of my own thoughts. “What larks!” Pip said to me.
I have begun to understand that the story of my life lies in my own hands. No-one writes my story for it has not been written. I will put my fears behind me and face up to the dangers that may lie ahead. I have lived out here alone for long enough. Whatever is out there I will meet. It is time for the dreamer, at least for this dreamer to awake. Lantos, I told myself, come on old boy, forget all that stuff from a life you never really lived. No matter what happens now, you are never going back.
END OF BOOK ONE
VARNEY THE VAMPYRE
CHAPTER LXX.
THE FUNERAL OF THE STRANGER OF THE INN.—THE POPULAR COMMOTION, AND MRS. CHILLINGWORTH'S APPEAL TO THE MOB.—THE NEW RIOT.—THE HALL IN DANGER.
As yet the town was quiet; and, though there was no appearance of riot or disturbance, yet the magistracy had taken every precaution they deemed needful, or their position and necessities warranted, to secure the peace of the town from the like disturbance to that which had been, of late, a disgrace and terror of peaceably-disposed persons.
The populace were well advertised of the fact, that the body of the stranger was to be buried that morning in their churchyard; and that, to protect the body, should there be any necessity for so doing, a large body of constables would be employed.
There was no disposition to riot; at least, none was visible. It looked as if there was some event about to take place that was highly interesting to all parties, who were peaceably assembling to witness the interment of nobody knew who.
The early hour at which persons were assembling, at different points, clearly indicated that there was a spirit of curiosity about the town, so uncommon that none would have noticed it but for the fact of the crowd of people who hung about the streets, and there remained, listless and impatient.
The inn, too, was crowded with visitors, and there were many who, not being blessed with the strength of purse that some were, were hanging about in the distance, waiting and watching the motions of those who were better provided.
"Ah!" said one of the visitors, "this is a disagreeable job in your house, landlord."—"Yes, sir; I'd sooner it had happened elsewhere, I assure you. I know it has done me no good."
"No; no man could expect any, and yet it is none the less unfortunate for that."—"I would sooner anything else happen than that, whatever it might be. I think it must be something very bad, at a
ll events; but I dare say I shall never see the like again."
"So much the better for the town," said another; "for, what with vampyres and riots, there has been but little else stirring than mischief and disturbances of one kind and another."
"Yes; and, what between Varneys and Bannerworths, we have had but little peace here."
"Precisely. Do you know it's my opinion that the least thing would upset the whole town. Any one unlucky word would do it, I am sure," said a tall thin man.
"I have no doubt of it," said another; "but I hope the military would do their duty under such circumstances, for people's lives and property are not safe in such a state of things."—"Oh, dear no."
"I wonder what has become of Varney, or where he can have gone to."—"Some thought he must have been burned when they burned his house," replied the landlord.
"But I believe it generally understood he's escaped, has he not? No traces of his body were found in the ruins."—"None. Oh! he's escaped, there can be no doubt of that. I wish I had some fortune depending upon the fact; it would be mine, I am sure."
"Well, the lord keep us from vampyres and suchlike cattle," said an old woman. "I shall never sleep again in my bed with any safety. It frightens one out of one's life to think of it. What a shame the men didn't catch him and stake him!"
The old woman left the inn as soon as she had spoke this Christian speech.
"Humane!" said a gentleman, with a sporting coat on. "The old woman is no advocate for half measures!"
"You are right, sir," said the landlord; "and a very good look-out she keeps upon the pot, to see it's full, and carefully blows the froth off!"—"Ah! I thought as much."
"How soon will the funeral take place, landlord?" inquired a person, who had at that moment entered the inn.—"In about an hour's time, sir."
"Oh! the town seems pretty full, though it is very quiet. I suppose it is more as a matter of curiosity people congregate to see the funeral of this stranger?"
"I hope so, sir."
"The time is wearing on, and if they don't make a dust, why then the military will not be troubled."
"I do not expect anything more, sir," said the landlord; "for you see they must have had their swing out, as the saying is, and be fully satisfied. They cannot have much more to do in the way of exhibiting their anger or dislike to vampyres—they all have done enough."
"So they have—so they have."
"Granted," said an old man with a troublesome cough; "but when did you ever know a mob to be satisfied? If they wanted the moon and got it, they'd find out it would be necessary to have the stars also."
"That's uncommonly true," said the landlord. "I shouldn't be surprised if they didn't do something worse than ever."—"Nothing more likely," said the little old man. "I can believe anything of a mob—anything—no matter what."
The inn was crowded with visitors, and several extra hands were employed to wait upon the customers, and a scene of bustle and activity was displayed that was never before seen. It would glad the heart of a landlord, though he were made of stone, and landlords are usually of much more malleable materials than that.
However, the landlord had hardly time to congratulate himself, for the bearers were come now, and the undertaker and his troop of death-following officials.
There was a stir among the people, who began now to awaken from the lethargy that seemed to have come over them while they were waiting for the moment when it should arrive, that was to place the body under the green sod, against which so much of their anger had been raised. There was a decent silence that pervaded the mob of individuals who had assembled.
Death, with all its ghastly insignia, had an effect even upon the unthinking multitude, who were ever ready to inflict death or any violent injury upon any object that came in their way—they never hesitated; but even these, now the object of their hatred was no more, felt appalled.
'Tis strange what a change comes over masses of men as they gaze upon a dead body. It may be that they all know that to that complexion they must come at last. This may be the secret of the respect offered to the dead.
The undertakers are men, however, who are used to the presence of death—it is their element; they gain a living by attending upon the last obsequies of the dead; they are used to dead bodies, and care not for them. Some of them are humane men, that is, in their way; and even among them are men who wouldn't be deprived of the joke as they screwed down the last screw. They could not forbear, even on this occasion, to hold their converse when left alone.
"Jacobs," said one who was turning a long screw, "Jacobs, my boy, do you take the chair to-night?"—"Yes," said Jacobs who was a long lugubrious-looking man, "I do take the chair, if I live over this blessed event."
"You are not croaking, Jacobs, are you? Well, you are a lively customer, you are."—"Lively—do you expect people to be lively when they are full dressed for a funeral? You are a nice article for your profession. You don't feel like an undertaker, you don't."
"Don't, Jacobs, my boy. As long as I look like one when occasion demands; when I have done my job I puts my comfort in my pocket, and thinks how much more pleasanter it is to be going to other people's funerals than to our own, and then only see the difference as regards the money."
"True," said Jacobs with a groan; "but death's a melancholy article, at all events."—"So it is."
"And then when you come to consider the number of people we have buried—how many have gone to their last homes—and how many more will go the same way."—"Yes, yes; that's all very well, Jacob. You are precious surly this morning. I'll come to-night. You're brewing a sentimental tale as sure as eggs is eggs."
"Well, that is pretty certain; but as I was saying how many more are there—"
"Ah, don't bother yourself with calculations that have neither beginning nor end, and which haven't one point to go. Come, Jacob, have you finished yet?"—"Quite," said Jacob.
They now arranged the pall, and placed all in readiness, and returned to a place down stairs where they could enjoy themselves for an odd half hour, and pass that time away until the moment should arrive when his reverence would be ready to bury the deceased, upon consideration of the fees to be paid upon the occasion.
The tap-room was crowded, and there was no room for the men, and they were taken into the kitchen, where they were seated, and earnestly at work, preparing for the ceremony that had so shortly to be performed.
"Any better, Jacobs?"—"What do you mean?" inquired Jacobs, with a groan. "It's news to me if I have been ill."
"Oh, yes, you were doleful up stairs, you know."—"I've a proper regard for my profession—that's the difference between you and I, you know."
"I'll wager you what you like, now, that I'll handle a corpse and drive a screw in a coffin as well as you, now, although you are so solid and miserable."—"So you may—so you may."
"Then what do you mean by saying I haven't a proper regard for my profession?"—"I say you haven't, and there's the thing that shall prove it—you don't look it, and that's the truth."
"I don't look like an undertaker! indeed I dare say I don't if I ain't dressed like one."—"Nor when you are," reiterated Jacob.
"Why not, pray?"—"Because you have always a grin on your face as broad as a gridiron—that's why."
This ended the dispute, for the employer of the men suddenly put his head in, saying,—
"Come, now, time's up; you are wanted up stairs, all of you. Be quick; we shall have his reverence waiting for us, and then we shall lose his recommendation."
"Ready sir," said the round man, taking up his pint and finishing it off at a draught, at the same moment he thrust the remains of some bread and cheese into his pocket.
Jacob, too, took his pot, and, having finished it, with great gravity followed the example of his more jocose companion, and they all left the kitchen for the room above, where the corpse was lying ready for interment.
There was an unusual bustle; everybody was on the tip-top of exp
ectation, and awaiting the result in a quiet hurry, and hoped to have the first glimpse of the coffin, though why they should do so it was difficult to define. But in this fit of mysterious hope and expectation they certainly stood.
"Will they be long?" inquired a man at the door of one inside,—"will they be long before they come?"—"They are coming now," said the man. "Do you all keep quiet; they are knocking their heads against the top of the landing. Hark! There, I told you so."
The man departed, hearing something, and being satisfied that he had got some information.
"Now, then," said the landlord, "move out of the way, and allow the corpse to pass out. Let me have no indecent conduct; let everything be as it should be."
The people soon removed from the passage and vicinity of the doorway, and then the mournful procession—as the newspapers have it—moved forward. They were heard coming down stairs, and thence along the passage, until they came to the street, and then the whole number of attendants was plainly discernible.
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