At the top of the Brow, beneath them as they looked down, they saw a shining mass of white, which looked strangely out of place amongst such wreckage as they had been viewing. It appeared so strange that Adam suggested trying to find a way down so that they might see it closely.
Sir Nathaniel suddenly stopped and said:
‘We need not go down. I know what it is. The explosions of last night have blown off the outside of the cliffs. That which we see is the vast bed of china clay through which the Worm originally found its way down to its lair. See, there is the hole going right down through it. We can catch the glint of the water of the deep quags far down below. Well, her ladyship didn’t deserve such a funeral, or such a monument. But all’s well that ends well. We had better hurry home. Your wife may be waking by now, and is sure to be frightened at first. Come home as soon as you can. I shall see that breakfast is ready. I think we all want it.’
Florence Stoker’s Preface to
Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories
(1914)
Following Bram Stoker’s death on 20 April 1912 his widow, Florence Ann Lemon Stoker (née Balcombe, 1844–1935), collected together the stories which were subsequently published as
Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories
(1914). A number of them had previously appeared in periodicals during Stoker’s lifetime. ‘The Judge’s House’ was originally published on 5 December 1891 in the Christmas edition of
The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News
, ‘The Squaw’ and ‘Crooken Sands’ appearing in the 1893 and 1894 Christmas editions respectively. ‘The Secret of the Growing Gold’ first appeared on 23 January 1892 in
Black and White
and ‘A Dream of Red Hands’ on 11 July 1894 in
The Sketch
. ‘A Gipsy Prophecy’, ‘The Coming of Abel Behenna’ and ‘The Burial of the Rats’, meanwhile, were all published for the first time in 1914. Although Florence Stoker’s claim that ‘Dracula’s Guest’ was an ‘unpublished episode’ from
Dracula
is certainly accurate, it is unlikely that the version published in this collection was the same that Stoker intended for inclusion in his novel.
A few months before the lamented death of my husband – I might say even as the shadow of death was over him – he planned three series of short stories for publication, and the present volume is one of them. To his original list of stories in this book, I have added an hitherto unpublished episode from ‘Dracula.’ It was originally excised owing to the length of the book, and may prove of interest to the many readers of what is considered my husband’s most remarkable work. The other stories have already been published in English and American periodicals. Had my husband lived longer, he might have seen fit to revise this work, which is mainly from the earlier years of his strenuous
life. But, as fate has entrusted to me the issuing of it, I consider it fitting and proper to let it go forth practically as it was left by him.
FLORENCE A. L. BRAM STOKER.
The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh
(1890) and
The Lambton Worm
(1890)
The care which Bram Stoker took in rooting his stories in a relevant historical or mythological framework is particularly evident in
The Lair of the White Worm
. Entrenched in the environment of England’s legendary past, whilst playing to the social concerns of the early twentieth century,
The Lair of the White Worm’s
citation of the legends of the Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh and the Lambton Worm underscore its multivalent concerns about aggressive femininity, male gallantry and the classification of humanity, transposing them from author-centred anxieties to fundamental issues. Whilst providing a solid mythological backdrop to reinforce the ‘longstanding’ nature of such anxieties, in using them Stoker simultaneously elevates his own story into a modern myth for the contemporary reader.
As is the nature of folk-tales, the stories themselves exist in a variety of forms, from poetry to prose. The versions given here are those most contemporary with Stoker’s own novel; ‘The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh’ is taken from Joseph Jacobs’s edited collection
English Fairy Tales
(London: David Nutt, 1890), pp. 183–7 and ‘The Lambton Worm’ from Edwin Sidney Hartland’s edited collection
English Fairy and Other Folk Tales
(London: Walter Scott, 1890), pp. 78–82.
In Bamborough Castle once lived a king who had a fair wife and two children, a son named Childe Wynd and a daughter named Margaret. Childe Wynd went forth to seek his fortune, and soon after he had gone his mother died. The king mourned her long and faithfully, but one day while he was hunting he came across a lady of great beauty, and became so much in love with her that he determined to marry
her. So he sent word home that he was going to bring a new queen to Bamborough Castle.
Princess Margaret was not very glad to hear of her mother’s place being taken, but she did not repine but did her father’s bidding. And at the appointed day came down to the castle gate with the keys all ready to hand over to her stepmother. Soon the procession drew near, and the new queen came towards Margaret who bowed low and handed her the keys of the castle. She stood there with blushing cheeks and eyes on ground, and said: ‘O welcome, father dear, to your halls and bowers, and welcome to you my new mother, for all that’s here is yours, ’ and again she offered the keys. One of the king’s knights who had escorted the new queen cried out in admiration: ‘Surely this northern Princess is the loveliest of her kind.’ At that the new queen flushed up and cried out: ‘At least your courtesy might have excepted me, ’ and then she muttered below her breath: ‘I’ll soon put an end to her beauty.’
That same night the queen, who was a noted witch, stole down to a lonely dungeon wherein she did her magic and with spells three times three, and with passes nine times nine she cast Princess Margaret under her spell. And this was her spell:
‘I weird ye to be a Laidly Worm,
And borrowed shall ye never be,
Until Childe Wynd, the King’s own son
Come to the Heugh and thrice kiss thee;
Until the world comes to an end,
Borrowed shall ye never be.’
So Lady Margaret went to bed a beauteous maiden, and rose up a Laidly Worm. And when her maidens came in to dress her in the morning they found coiled up on the bed a dreadful dragon, which uncoiled itself and came towards them. But they ran away shrieking, and the Laidly Worm crawled and crept, and crept and crawled till it reached the Heugh or rock of the Spindleston, round which it coiled itself, and lay there basking with its terrible snout in the air.
Soon the country round about had reason to know of the Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh. For hunger drove the monster out from its cave and it used to devour everything it could come across. So at last they went to a mighty warlock and asked him what they should do. Then he consulted his works and his familiar, and told them: ‘The Laidly Worm is really the Princess Margaret and it is hunger that drives her forth to do such deeds. Put aside for her seven kine,
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and each day as the sun goes down, carry every drop of milk they yield to
the stone trough at the foot of the Heugh, and the Laidly Worm will trouble the country no longer. But if ye would that she be borrowed to her natural shape, and that she who bespelled her be rightly punished, send over the seas for her brother, Childe Wynd.’
All was done as the warlock advised, and the Laidly Worm lived on the milk of the seven kine, and the country was troubled no longer. But when Childe Wynd heard the news, he swore a mighty oath to rescue his sister and revenge her on her cruel stepmother. And three-and-thirty of his men took the oath with him. Then they set to work and built a long ship, and its keel they made of the rowan tree.
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And when all was ready, they out with their oars and pulled sheer for Bamborough Keep.
But as they got near the keep, the stepmother felt by her magic power that something was being wrought against her, so she summoned her familiar imps and said: ‘Childe Wynd is coming over the seas; he must never land. Raise storms, or bore the hull, but nohow must he touch shore.’ Then the imps went forth to meet Childe Wynd’s ship, but when they got near, they found they had no power over the ship, for its keel was made of the rowan tree. So back they came to the queen witch, who knew not what to do. She ordered her men-at-arms to resist Childe Wynd if he should land near them, and by her spells she caused the Laidly Worm to wait by the entrance of the harbour.
As the ship came near, the Worm unfolded its coils, and dipping into the sea, caught hold of the ship of Childe Wynd, and banged it off the shore. Three times Childe Wynd urged his men on to row bravely and strong, but each time the Laidly Worm kept it off the shore. Then Childe Wynd ordered the ship to be put about, and the witch-queen thought he had given up the attempt. But instead of that, he only rounded the next point and landed safe and sound in Budle Creek, and then, with sword drawn and bow bent, rushed up followed by his men, to fight the terrible Worm that had kept him from landing.
But the moment Childe Wynd had landed, the witch-queen’s power over the Laidly Worm had gone, and she went back to her bower all alone, not an imp, nor a man-at-arms to help her, for she knew her hour was come. So when Childe Wynd came rushing up to the Laidly Worm it made no attempt to stop him or hurt him, but just as he was going to raise his sword to slay it, the voice of his own sister Margaret came from its jaws saying:
‘O quit your sword, unbend your bow,
And give me kisses three;
For though I am a poisonous worm,
No harm I’ll do to thee.’
Childe Wynd stayed his hand, but he did not know what to think if some witchery were not in it. Then said the Laidly Worm again:
‘O quit your sword, unbend your bow,
And give me kisses three,
If I’m not won ere set of sun,
Won never shall I be.’
Then Childe Wynd went up to the Laidly Worm and kissed it once; but no change came over it. Then Childe Wynd kissed it once more; but yet no change came over it. For a third time he kissed the loathsome thing, and with a hiss and a roar the Laidly Worm reared back and before Childe Wynd stood his sister Margaret. He wrapped his cloak about her, and then went up to the castle with her. When he reached the keep, he went off to the witch queen’s bower, and when he saw her, he touched her with a twig of rowan tree. No sooner had he touched her than she shrivelled up and shrivelled up, till she became a huge ugly toad, with bold staring eyes and a horrible hiss. She croaked and she hissed, and then hopped away down the castle steps, and Childe Wynd took his father’s place as king, and they all lived happy afterwards.
But to this day, the loathsome toad is seen at times, haunting the neighbourhood of Bamborough Keep, and the wicked witch-queen is a Laidly Toad.
The park and manor-house of Lambton, belonging to a family of the same name, lie on the banks of the Wear, to the north of Lumley. The family is a very ancient one, much older, it is believed, than the twelfth century, to which date its pedigree extends. The old castle was dismantled in 1797, when a site was adopted for the present mansion on the north bank of the swiftly-flowing Wear, in a situation of exceeding beauty. The park also contains the ruins of a chapel, called Brugeford or Bridgeford, close to one of the bridges which span the Wear.
Long, long ago – some say about the fourteenth century – the young heir of Lambton led a careless, profane life, regardless alike of his duties to God and man, and in particular neglecting to attend mass, that he might spend his Sunday mornings in fishing. One Sunday, while thus engaged, having cast his line into the Wear many times without success, he vented his disappointment in curses loud and deep,
to the great scandal of the servants and tenantry as they passed by to the chapel at Brugeford.
Soon afterwards he felt something tugging at his line, and trusting he had at last secured a fine fish, he exerted all his skill and strength to bring his prey to land. But what were his horror and dismay on finding that, instead of a fish, he had only caught a worm of most unsightly appearance! He hastily tore the thing from his hook, and flung it into a well close by, which is still known by the name of the Worm Well.
The young heir had scarcely thrown his line again into the stream when a stranger of venerable appearance, passing by, asked him what sport he had met with; to which he replied: ‘Why, truly, I think I have caught the devil himself. Look in and judge.’ The stranger looked, and remarked that he had never seen the like of it before; that it resembled an eft,
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only it had nine holes on each side of its mouth; and, finally, that he thought it boded no good.
The worm remained unheeded in the well till it outgrew so confined a dwelling-place. It then emerged, and betook itself by day to the river, where it lay coiled round a rock in the middle of the stream, and by night to a neighbouring hill, round whose base it would twine itself, while it continued to grow so fast that it soon could encircle the hill three times. This eminence is still called the Worm Hill. It is oval in shape, on the north side of the Wear, and about a mile and a half from old Lambton Hall.
The monster now became the terror of the whole countryside. It sucked the cows’ milk, worried the cattle, devoured the lambs and committed every sort of depredation on the helpless peasantry. Having laid waste the district on the north side of the river, it crossed the stream and approached Lambton Hall, where the old lord was living alone and desolate. His son had repented of his evil life, and had gone to wars in a distant country. Some authorities tell us he had embarked as a crusader for the Holy Land.
On hearing of their enemy’s approach, the terrified household assembled in council. Much was said, but to little purpose, till the steward, a man of age and experience, advised that the large trough which stood in the courtyard should immediately be filled with milk. This was done without delay; the monster approached, drank the milk, and, without doing further harm, returned across the Wear to wrap his giant form around his favourite hill. The next day he was seen recrossing the river; the trough was hastily filled again, and with the same results. It was found that the milk of ‘nine kye’ was needed to fill the trough; and if this quantity was not placed there every day,
regularly and in full measure, the worm would break out into a violent rage, lashing its tail round the trees in the park, and tearing them up by the roots.