"I would serve you, sir," she said gently. Her half-hidden lips curved in a narrow smile. She shrugged. "And, in so doing, serve myself."

"I thought my curiosity atrophied," he answered. "My imagination a petrified knot. Here you pick at threads to bring it back to life. This loosening is unlikely to be pleasant. Should I fear you?" He lifted a dented pewter cup to his lips and tasted the remains of his wine. "You are a witch, perhaps? Do you seek to revive the dead? I am not sure ..."

"I am not sure, either," she told him. "Will you trust me enough to come with me to my house?"

"I regret madam, I am only lately bereaved-"

"I'm no sensation-seeker, sir, but an honest woman with an honest ambition. I do not tempt you with the pleasures of the flesh, but of the soul. Something which might engage you for a while, even ease your mind a little. I can more readily convince you of this if you come to my house. I live there alone, save for servants. You may bring your sword, if you wish. Indeed, if you have fellows, bring them also. Thus, I offer you every advantage."

The albino rose slowly from his bench and placed the empty goblet carefully on the well-worn wood. His own smile reflected hers. He bowed. "Lead on, madam." And he followed her through a crowd which parted like corn before the reaper and he left a momentary silence behind him.

CHAPTER TWO.

The Material She had brought him to the depth of the city's oldest quarter, where artists of every skill, she told him, were licensed to work unhindered by landlord or, save in the gravest cases, the law. This ancient sanctuary was created by time-honoured tradition and the granting of certain guarantees by the clerics whose great university had once been the centre of the settlement. These guarantees had been strengthened during the reign of the great King Alo'ofd, an accomplished player of the nine-stringed murmerlan murmerlan, who loved all the arts and struggled with a desire to throw off the burdens of his office and become a musician. King Alo'ofd's decrees had been law for the past millennium and his successors had never dared challenge them.

"Thus, this quarter harbours not only artists of great talent," she told him, "but many who have only the minimum of talent. Enough to allow them to live according to our ancient freedoms. Sadly, sir, there is as much forgery practised here, of every kind, as there is originality."

"Yours is not the only such quarter." He spoke absently, his eyes inspecting the colourful paintings, sculptures and manuscripts displayed on every side. They were of varied quality, but only a few showed genuine inspiration and beauty. Yet the accomplishment was generally higher than Elric had usually observed in the Young Kingdoms. "Even in Melnibone we had these districts. Two of my cousins, for instance, were calligraphers. Another composed for the flute."

"I have heard of Melnibonean arts," she said. "But we are too distant from your island home to have seen many examples. There are stories, of course." She smiled. "Some of them are decidedly sinister ..."

"Oh, they are doubtless true. We had no trouble if audiences, for instance, died for an artist's work. Many great composers would experiment, for instance, with the human voice." His eyes again clouded, remembering not a crime but his lost passion.

It seemed she misinterpreted him. "I feel for you, sir. I am not one of those who celebrated the fall of the Dreaming City."

"You could not know its influence, so far away," he murmured, picking up a remarkable little pot and studying its design. "But those who were our neighbours were glad to see us humiliated. I do not blame them. Our time was over." His expression was again one of cultivated insouciance. She turned her own gaze towards a house which leaned like an amiable drunkard on the buttressed walls of two neighbours, giving the impression that if it fell, then all would fall together. The house was of wood and sandy brick, of many floors, each at an angle to the rest, covered by a waved roof.

"This is the residence," she told him, "where my forefathers and myself have lived and worked. It is the House of the Th'ee and I am Rai-u Th'ee, last of my line. It is my ambition to leave a single great work of art behind, carved in a material which has been in our possession for centuries, yet until now always considered too valuable to use. It is a rare material, at least to us, and possessed of a number of qualities, some of which our ancestors only hinted at."

"My curiosity grows," said Elric, though now he found himself wishing that he had accepted her offer and brought his sword. "What is this material?"

"It is a kind of ivory," she said, leading him into the ramshackle house which, for all its age and decrepitude, had clearly once been rich. Even the wall-hangings, now in rags, revealed traces of their former quality. There were paintings from floor to ceiling which, Elric knew, would have commanded magnificent prices at any market. The furniture was carved by genuine artists and showed the passing of a hundred fashions, from the plain, somewhat austere style of the city's secular period, to the ornate enrichments of her pagan age. Some were inset with jewels, as were the many mirrors, framed with exquisite and elaborate ornament. Elric was surprised, given what she had told him of the quarter, that the House of Th'ee had never been robbed.

Apparently reading his thoughts, she said: "This place has been afforded certain protections down the years." She led him into a tall studio, lit by a single, unpapered window through which a great deal of light entered, illuminating the scrolls and boxed books lining the walls. Crowded on tables and shelves stood sculptures in every conceivable material. They were in bone and granite and hardwood and limestone. They were in clay and bronze, in iron and sea-green basalt. Bright, glinting whites, deep, swirling blacks. Colours of every possible shade from darkest blue to the lightest pinks and yellows. There was gold, silver and delicate porphyry. There were heads and torsos and reclining figures, beasts of every kind, some believed extinct. There were representations of the Lords and Ladies of Chaos and of Law, every supernatural aristocrat who had ever ruled in heaven, hell or limbo. Elementals. Animal-bodied men, birds in flight, leaping deer, men and women at rest, historical subjects, group subjects and half-finished subjects which hinted at something still to be discovered in the stone. They were the work of genius, decided the albino, and his respect for this bold woman grew. "Yes." Again she anticipated a question, speaking with firm pride. "They are all mine. I love to work. Many of these are taken from life ..."

He thought it impolitic to ask which.

"But you will note," she added, "that I have never had the pleasure of sculpting the head of a Melnibonean. This could be my only opportunity."

"Ah," he began regretfully, but with great grace she silenced him, drawing him to a table on which sat a tall, shrouded object. She took away the cloth. "This is the material we have owned down the generations but for which we had never yet found an appropriate subject." He recognized the material. He reached to run his hand over its warm smoothness. He had seen more than one of these in the old caves of the Phoorn, to whom his folk were related. He had seen them in living creatures who even now slept in Melnibone, wearied by their work of destruction, their old master made an exile, with no-one to care for them save a few mad old men who knew how to do nothing else.

"Yes," she whispered, "it is what you know it is. It cost my forefathers a great fortune for, as you can imagine, your folk were not readily forthcoming with such things. It was smuggled from Melnibone and traded through many nations before it reached us, some two and a half centuries ago."

Elric found himself almost singing to the thing as he caressed it. He felt a mixture of nostalgia and deep sadness.

"It is dragon ivory, of course." Her hand joined his on the hard, brilliant surface of the great curved tusk. Few Phoorn had owned such fangs. Only the greatest of the patriarchs, legendary creatures of astonishing ferocity and wisdom, who had come from their old world to this, following their kin, the humanlike folk of Melnibone. The Phoorn, too, had not been native to this world, but had fled another. They, too, had always been alien and cruel, impossibly beautiful, impossibly strange. Elric felt kinship even now for this piece of bone. It was perhaps all that remained of the first generation to settle on this plane.

"It is a holy thing." His voice was growing cold again. Inexplicable pain forced him to withdraw from her. "It is my own kin. Blood for blood, the Phoorn and the folk of Melnibone are one. It was our power. It was our strength. It was our continuity. This is ancestral bone. Stolen bone. It would be sacrilege ..."

"No, Prince Elric, in my hands it would be a unification. A resolution. A completion. You know why I have brought you here."

"Yes." His hand fell to his side. He swayed, as if faint. He felt a need for the herbs he carried with him. "But it is still sacrilege ..."

"Not if I am the one to give it life." Her veil was drawn back now and he saw how impossibly young she was, what beauty she had: a beauty mirrored in all the things she had carved and moulded. Her desire was, he was sure, an honest one. Two very different emotions warred within him. Part of him felt she was right, that she could unite the two kinsfolk in a single image and bring honour to all his ancestors, a kind of resolution to their mutual history. Part of him feared what she might create. In honouring his past, would she be destroying the future? Then some fundamental part of him made him gather himself up and turn to her. She gasped at what she saw burning in those terrible, ruby eyes.

"Life?"

"Yes," she said. "A new life honouring the old. Will you sit for me?" She too was caught up in his mood, for she too was endangering everything she valued, possibly her own soul, to make what might be her very last great work. "Will you allow me to create your memorial? Will you help me redeem that destruction whose burden is so heavy upon you? A symbol for everything that was Melnibone?"

He let go of his caution but felt no responsive glee. The fire dulled in his eyes. His mask returned. "I will need you to help me brew certain herbs, madam. They will sustain me while I sit for you."

Her step was light as she led him into a room where she had lit a stove and on which water already boiled, but his own face still resembled the stone of her carvings. His gaze was turned inward, his eyes alternately flared and faded like a dying candle. His chest moved with deep, almost dying breaths as he gave himself up to her art.

CHAPTER THREE.

The Sitting How many hours did he sit, still and silent in the chair? At one time she remarked on the fact that he scarcely moved. He said that he had developed the habit over several hundred years and, when she voiced surprise, permitted himself a smile. "You have not heard of Melnibone's dream couches? They are doubtless destroyed with the rest. It is how we learn so much when young. The couches let us dream for a year, even centuries, while the time passing for those awake was but minutes. I appear to you as a relatively young man, lady. But actually I have lived for centuries. It took me that time to pursue my dream-quests, which in turn taught me my craft and prepared me for... " And then he stopped speaking, his pale lids falling over his troubled, unlikely eyes.

She drew breath, as if to ask a further question, then thought better of it. She brewed him cup after cup of invigorating herbs and she continued to work, her delicate chisels fashioning an extraordinary likeness. She had genius in her hands. Every line of the albino's head was rapidly reproduced. And Elric, almost dreaming again, stared into the middle distance. His thoughts were far away and in the past, where he had left the corpse of his beloved Cymoril to burn on the pyre he had made of his own ancient home, the great and beautiful Imrryr, the Dreaming City, the dreamer's city, which many had considered indestructible, had believed to be more conjuring than reality, created by the Melnibonean Sorcerer Kings into a delicate reality, whose towers, so tall they disappeared amongst clouds, were actually the result of supernatural will rather than the creation of architects and masons.

Yet Elric had proven such theories false when Melnibone burned. Now all knew him for a traitor and none trusted him, even those whose ambition he had served. They said he was twice a traitor, once to his own folk, second to those he had led on the raid which had razed Imrryr and upon whom he had turned. But in his own mind he was thrice a traitor, for he had slain his beloved Cymoril, beautiful sister of cousin Yyrkoon, who had tricked Elric into killing her with that terrible black blade whose energy both sustained and drained him.

It was for Cymoril, more than Imrryr, that Elric mourned. But he showed none of this to the world and never spoke of it. Only in his dreams, those terrible, troubled dreams, did he see her again, which is why he almost always slept alone and presented a carefully cultivated air of insouciance to the world at large.

Had he agreed to the sculptress's request because she reminded him of his cousin?

Hour upon tireless hour she worked with her exquisitely made instruments until at last she had finished. She sighed and it seemed her breath was a gentle witch-wind, filling the head with vitality. She turned the portrait for his inspection.

It was as if he stared into a mirror. For a moment he thought he saw movement in the bust, as if his own essence had been absorbed by it. Save for the blank eyes, the carving might have been himself. Even the hair had been carved to add to the portrait's lifelike qualities.

She looked to him for his approval and received the faintest of smiles. "You have made the likeness of a monster," he murmured. "I congratulate you. Now history will know the face of the man they call Elric Kinslayer."

"Ah," she said, "you curse yourself too much, my lord. Do you look into the face of one who bears a guilt-weighted conscience?"

And of course, he did. She had captured exactly that quality of melancholy and self-hatred behind the mask of insouciance which characterized the albino in repose.

"Whoever looks on this will not say you were careless of your crimes." Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper now.

At this he rose suddenly, putting down his cup. "I need no sentimental forgiveness," he said coldly. "There is no forgiveness, no understanding, of that crime. History will be right to curse me for a coward, a traitor, a killer of women and of his own blood. You have done well, madam, to brew me those herbs, for I now feel strong enough to put all this and your city behind me!"

She watched him leave, walking a little unsteadily like a man carrying a heavy burden, through the busy night, back to the inn where he had left his sword and armour. She knew that by morning he would be gone, riding out of Sered-oma, never to return. Her hands caressed the likeness she had made, the blind, staring eyes, the mouth which was set in a grimace of self-mocking carelessness.

And she knew he would always wonder, even as he put a thousand leagues between them, if he had not left at least a little of his yearning, desperate soul behind him.

ASPECTS OF FANTASY.

(PART 3).

In this third article concerning the undercurrents in much of our gothic and weird-story history, Michael Moorcock covers the good-and-evil hero-villain aspects of many classic writers and their works.

-John Carnell, SCIENCE FANTASY No. 63, February 1964

ASPECTS OF FANTASY.

(1964).

3. Figures of Faust Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel-bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone: regard his hellish fall, Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise, Only to wonder at unlawful things, Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits To practise more than heavenly power permits.-The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe A FITTING EPITAPH FITTING EPITAPH for the majority of hero-villains whose appearance in fantasy is the subject of this article. It helps, also, to illustrate why horror stories relying on the Christian idea of good and evil no longer convince us so much as they used to. Most modern readers can't believe in the existence of rewards and punishments for the good or evil man. Yet Faust, and heroes like him, continue to convince in spite of this. There is no denying that even to a wicked old atheist like me, the pathos and tragedy of Marlowe's closing chorus is moving (even though I suspect him of tacking it on as a sop to the Elizabethan censor). for the majority of hero-villains whose appearance in fantasy is the subject of this article. It helps, also, to illustrate why horror stories relying on the Christian idea of good and evil no longer convince us so much as they used to. Most modern readers can't believe in the existence of rewards and punishments for the good or evil man. Yet Faust, and heroes like him, continue to convince in spite of this. There is no denying that even to a wicked old atheist like me, the pathos and tragedy of Marlowe's closing chorus is moving (even though I suspect him of tacking it on as a sop to the Elizabethan censor).

I intend to make my "Faust-figure" category rather a broad one, partly for reasons of space, partly because Faust is marvelously interpretable. So here the Faust theme will mean roughly the tragedy of the curious and brilliant man destroyed by his own curiosity and brilliance.

In my last article, I described the device of using natural and architectural scenes to induce a mood of terror, strangeness or sublimation. Often this device could dominate the entire novel and characters were very much in second-place, not a serious defect in the terror tale or tale of wonder, but the best fantasies contain a complementary balance of marvel and characterization. The characters need not always be subtly drawn, but they are always archetypes.

The Faustian character-type appears again and again in fantasy tales. He has appeared, in various guises, more than any other type and his development in fantasy fiction is still going on. Ignoring his ancestors (including the magician-alchemist Dr. Johannes Faustus of German legend) we can begin with Marlowe's rather bitty play about him which was first published in 1604. The play is memorable for some of its passages, but is clumsily constructed and does not have the impact on present-day readers which it obviously had on its Elizabethan and Jacobean audiences.

Basically the story is of brilliant Doctor John Faustus who is a dabbler in alchemy and magic. He contacts Mephistophilis the Devil's agent, who tempts him to sell his soul. Friends and good angels urge him to desist, but he finally gives in on the following conditions: First, that Faustus may be a spirit in form and substance. Secondly, that Mephistophilis shall be his servant, and at his command. Thirdly, that Mephistophilis shall do for him, and bring him whatsoever (he desires)...I, John Faustus, of Wittenburg, Doctor, by these presents, do give both body and soul to Lucifer prince of the east, and his Minister Mephistophilis; and furthermore grant unto them that, twenty-four years being expired, the articles above written inviolate, full power to fetch or carry the said John Faustus, body and soul, flesh, blood, or goods, into their habitation wheresoever.

After this businesslike document is prepared, Faustus asks Mephistophilis "Where is the place that men call hell?" Mephistophilis tells him that "Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib'd in one self place; for where we are is hell, and where hell is, there must we ever be; and, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, and every creature shall be purified, all places shall be hell that are not heaven." To which Faustus replies: "Come, I think hell's a fable."

Mephistophilis has an ominous answer: "Aye, think so still, till experience change thy mind."

Faustus then embarks on a series of rather disconnected adventures ranging from tragedy to farce and finally gets his come-uppance in a dramatic last scene where he repents too late. In other versions of the story Faust is saved in the nick of time by his repentance. In the Gothic tales particularly, the Faustian hero-villain has no such luck.

The basic Faust plot involves an intelligent man whose experiments lead him-and often others-to a sticky end. In religious terms this is a man who is attracted to evil, who succumbs to it and is finally ruined by it. In scientific terms it is a man who conducts a dangerous experiment which gets out of control and overcomes him.

Probably it was the influence of Goethe's more complex Faust Faust and Milton's Satan of and Milton's Satan of Paradise Lost Paradise Lost on the German Schauer-Romantik ("Horror Romance") school of the late eighteenth century which, by on the German Schauer-Romantik ("Horror Romance") school of the late eighteenth century which, by their their influence, produced the superfluity of Faustian heroes in the English Gothic novel and its progeny. Mrs. Radcliffe's monk Schedoni of influence, produced the superfluity of Faustian heroes in the English Gothic novel and its progeny. Mrs. Radcliffe's monk Schedoni of The Italian The Italian (1797) is the villain of her finest novel which concentrates on the Satanically attractive Schedoni, with his cowl which "threw a shade over the livid paleness of his face" which "bore the traces of many passions, which seemed to have fixed the features they no longer animated." (1797) is the villain of her finest novel which concentrates on the Satanically attractive Schedoni, with his cowl which "threw a shade over the livid paleness of his face" which "bore the traces of many passions, which seemed to have fixed the features they no longer animated."

M.G. Lewis was influenced by Radcliffe (though not by Schedoni) when he wrote his very readable The Monk The Monk (1796-Bestseller Library, 3/6). Here, a lustful woman, Matilda, takes the place of Mephistophilis and uses sex to bring down her prey, but the pact with Satan soon follows: (1796-Bestseller Library, 3/6). Here, a lustful woman, Matilda, takes the place of Mephistophilis and uses sex to bring down her prey, but the pact with Satan soon follows: Ambrosio started, and expected the demon with terror ... The thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious music sounded in the air! At the same time the cloud disappeared, and he beheld a figure more beautiful than fancy's pencil ever drew. It was a youth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and face was unrivalled. He was perfectly naked, a bright star sparkled on his forehead, two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders, and his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires, which shone with a brilliancy far surpassing that of precious stones. Circlets of diamonds were fastened around his arms and ankles, and in his right hand he bore a silver branch imitating myrtle. His form shone with dazzling glory: he was surrounded by clouds of rose-coloured light, and at the moment that he appeared a refreshing air breathed perfumes throughout the cavern. Ambrosio gazed upon the spirit with delight and wonder.

The Monk had its mysterious ruins, crypts and labyrinths and virtuous imperiled heroines, but was unusual in that the main narrative was told from the villain's viewpoint and not from the heroine's. It was also unusual for its overt eroticism. As in many other Gothic novels, the shadow of Lovelace, demon-lover of Richardson's had its mysterious ruins, crypts and labyrinths and virtuous imperiled heroines, but was unusual in that the main narrative was told from the villain's viewpoint and not from the heroine's. It was also unusual for its overt eroticism. As in many other Gothic novels, the shadow of Lovelace, demon-lover of Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe Clarissa Harlowe (1748) is observed here. (1748) is observed here.

In Mary Shelley's Frankenstein Frankenstein (1817) the downfall of the hero comes about because of his basically-alchemical dabbling. Frankenstein continues in the Faust tradition. His evil takes on independence in the tragic monster (really the hero of the tale) and he struggles with an evil he is no longer able to control and which, in the end, is his doom. Frankenstein's monster is, of course, really an aspect of Frankenstein himself and his frantic attempts to destroy his creation, his long conversations with it, can be seen as an ever-weakening effort to control his own "bad" self. In (1817) the downfall of the hero comes about because of his basically-alchemical dabbling. Frankenstein continues in the Faust tradition. His evil takes on independence in the tragic monster (really the hero of the tale) and he struggles with an evil he is no longer able to control and which, in the end, is his doom. Frankenstein's monster is, of course, really an aspect of Frankenstein himself and his frantic attempts to destroy his creation, his long conversations with it, can be seen as an ever-weakening effort to control his own "bad" self. In Frankenstein Frankenstein we see the early development of one of fantasy fiction's largest sub-genres-science fiction. Dabbling in magic is replaced by dabbling in science-but the basic theme and result is the same. Here is the first anti-science science fiction tale in which the elements of fantasy blend with an interest in scientific theory to create a theme which is today commonplace in SF-particularly English SF in the hands of Wyndham, Ballard, Ald-iss and Brunner for instance. we see the early development of one of fantasy fiction's largest sub-genres-science fiction. Dabbling in magic is replaced by dabbling in science-but the basic theme and result is the same. Here is the first anti-science science fiction tale in which the elements of fantasy blend with an interest in scientific theory to create a theme which is today commonplace in SF-particularly English SF in the hands of Wyndham, Ballard, Ald-iss and Brunner for instance.

The last of the great Gothic hero-villains was Charles Maturin's Melmoth the Wanderer Melmoth the Wanderer (University of Nebraska Press, 15/-or $1.70). Melmoth (a combination of Faust and Mephistophilis) is doomed to virtual immortality, wandering the world as an agent of the Devil, seeking to purchase another's soul in order to get his own out of pawn. One of the best Gothics, thought by some to be the form's culmination, it is spoiled by lengthy and largely boring sub-plots in the form of whole tales embedded in the main narrative-tales which don't serve any noticeable purpose in furthering the basic story. This is about Melmoth, a tragic, menacing and mysterious figure who always arrives on the scene when someone is about to suffer a nasty fate-he then tries to tempt them to barter their souls to Satan for an easier lot. He never succeeds. (University of Nebraska Press, 15/-or $1.70). Melmoth (a combination of Faust and Mephistophilis) is doomed to virtual immortality, wandering the world as an agent of the Devil, seeking to purchase another's soul in order to get his own out of pawn. One of the best Gothics, thought by some to be the form's culmination, it is spoiled by lengthy and largely boring sub-plots in the form of whole tales embedded in the main narrative-tales which don't serve any noticeable purpose in furthering the basic story. This is about Melmoth, a tragic, menacing and mysterious figure who always arrives on the scene when someone is about to suffer a nasty fate-he then tries to tempt them to barter their souls to Satan for an easier lot. He never succeeds.

The book was published in 1820 and Maturin's development of the Faust theme helped later writers to produce even subtler workings of the basic story. Technically, it relies on a mystery element involving the reader's curiosity about Melmoth's motives, which are only very gradually made clear-a device used to good effect by Wilkie Collins and more recent mystery writers, as well as authors of less sensational novels. At the end of 150 years, having failed to find one person who would agree to his proposition, Melmoth knows he must perish: "No one has ever exchanged destinies with Melmoth the Wanderer. I have traversed the world in the search, and no one, to gain the world, would lose his own soul!" I have traversed the world in the search, and no one, to gain the world, would lose his own soul!" He then dreams of his fate: He then dreams of his fate: His last despairing reverted glance was fixed on the clock of eternity-the upraised black arm seemed to push forward the hand-it arrived at its period-he fell-he sunk-he blazed-he shrieked! The burning waves boomed over his sinking head, and the clock of eternity rung out its awful chime-"Room for the soul of the wandered!"-and the waves of the burning ocean answered, as they lashed the adamantine rock-"There is room for more!"-The Wanderer awoke.

Having wakened, the Wanderer discovers he has aged hideously and tells his visitors, "I am summoned, and must obey the summons-my master has other work for me! When a meteor blazes in your atmosphere-when a comet pursues its burning path towards the sun-look up, and perhaps you may think of the spirit condemned to guide the blazing and erratic orb."

He warns them that if they watch him leave the house "your lives will be the forfeit of your desperate curiosity. For the same stake I risked more than life-and lost it!" He leaves and terrible shrieks are heard from the nearby cliffs overlooking the sea, indescribable sounds are heard all night over the surrounding countryside. In the morning there is only one trace of the Wanderer on the rocks above the sea-his handkerchief.

Robert Spector in his introduction to Seven Masterpieces of Gothic Horror Seven Masterpieces of Gothic Horror (Bantam Books, 95) says that (Bantam Books, 95) says that "Melmoth the Wanderer "Melmoth the Wanderer is a Faust story that begins in contemporary Ireland but re-creates the adventures of John Melmoth, who has lived since the seventeenth century through a pact with the devil. Through six episodes of terror, Maturin creates the experiences of modern anguish. Maturin combines the myths of Faust and the Wandering Jew with all the horrible episodes of the Gothic romances, and yet he never depends on blood and gore for his effects. What Maturin does is to probe the psychological depths of fear, and in doing so, he was a little ahead of his audience. Although is a Faust story that begins in contemporary Ireland but re-creates the adventures of John Melmoth, who has lived since the seventeenth century through a pact with the devil. Through six episodes of terror, Maturin creates the experiences of modern anguish. Maturin combines the myths of Faust and the Wandering Jew with all the horrible episodes of the Gothic romances, and yet he never depends on blood and gore for his effects. What Maturin does is to probe the psychological depths of fear, and in doing so, he was a little ahead of his audience. Although Melmoth Melmoth has come to be regarded by many as the masterpiece of terror fiction, it attracted little attention until psychological Gothicists like Poe and the French Romantics resurrected it some years later." has come to be regarded by many as the masterpiece of terror fiction, it attracted little attention until psychological Gothicists like Poe and the French Romantics resurrected it some years later."

Throughout this long book, Melmoth can also be seen as the Faceless Man of our dreams, the unknown aspect of ourselves which is symbolized, as well, in the figure of the cowled monk, his face shaded and half-seen, or the shadowy, omniscient spectre. He appears in many modern fantasy tales-Leiber's Sheelba of the Eyeless Face in the Grey Mouser yarns, Tolkien's faceless protagonist in the Rings trilogy, Anderson's Odin in The Broken Sword The Broken Sword-even Bester's Burning Man in Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! There's a link, too, perhaps, between the unknown aspect and the "evil" aspect of ourselves in that we sense the presence of the unknown aspect and fear it, therefore judging it "evil." There's a link, too, perhaps, between the unknown aspect and the "evil" aspect of ourselves in that we sense the presence of the unknown aspect and fear it, therefore judging it "evil."

Robert Louis Stevenson might have experienced such a process and in his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886), which was inspired by fever-dreams and nightmares during a bad illness, produced a new variant on the Faust-character in Jekyll slowly becoming dominated by Hyde. We see also our bestial origins, still within us, in the frightful Mr. Hyde. (1886), which was inspired by fever-dreams and nightmares during a bad illness, produced a new variant on the Faust-character in Jekyll slowly becoming dominated by Hyde. We see also our bestial origins, still within us, in the frightful Mr. Hyde. Dorian Gray Dorian Gray (1891) for all its artificiality, is another development of the Faust theme. (1891) for all its artificiality, is another development of the Faust theme.

The doomed hero, bound to destroy himself and those he loves, is one of the oldest character-types in literature. Byron saw himself in this role, to the discomfort of his friends and family, and by acting it out helped to foster it in Romantic literature. Recent hero-villains of this type have been Peake's Steerpike in the Titus Groan trilogy, Poul Anderson's Scafloc in The Broken Sword The Broken Sword, T.H. White's Lancelot in The Once and Future King The Once and Future King, Jane Gaskell's Zerd in The Serpent The Serpent and my own Elric in and my own Elric in The Stealer of Souls The Stealer of Souls.

Bram Stoker's Dracula Dracula (1897) is another variation. Here, of course, vampirism is the strongest element in the story, but Count Dracula's lust for blood is almost identical with the lust for virtuous women which marked his predecessors. Faust desired to have and corrupt Margaret, just as dozens of later "demon-lovers" like Schedoni, Ambrosio and, in real life, Byron and de Sade pursued innocence solely to destroy it. Whether witting or unwitting, the hero-villains of fantasy fiction are usually marked by their ability to destroy qualities in others, and this somehow makes (1897) is another variation. Here, of course, vampirism is the strongest element in the story, but Count Dracula's lust for blood is almost identical with the lust for virtuous women which marked his predecessors. Faust desired to have and corrupt Margaret, just as dozens of later "demon-lovers" like Schedoni, Ambrosio and, in real life, Byron and de Sade pursued innocence solely to destroy it. Whether witting or unwitting, the hero-villains of fantasy fiction are usually marked by their ability to destroy qualities in others, and this somehow makes them them attractive to women readers who are fascinated by them and men readers who identify with them. There is no doubting their appeal, and they are not likely to lose it. attractive to women readers who are fascinated by them and men readers who identify with them. There is no doubting their appeal, and they are not likely to lose it.

Byron himself wrote an early vampire tale (A Fragment, 1819) and Goethe's contribution to vampire literature was Braut von Korinth Braut von Korinth (1797). Mario Praz in his (1797). Mario Praz in his Romantic Agony Romantic Agony, the standard work on the Romantic Movement, says: The hero of Polidori's Vampire Vampire is a young libertine, Lord Ruthven, who is killed in Greece and becomes a vampire, seduces the sister of his friend Aubrey and suffocates her during the night which follows their wedding. A love-crime becomes an integral part of vampirism, though often in forms so far removed as to obscure the inner sense of the gruesome legend-Thus in is a young libertine, Lord Ruthven, who is killed in Greece and becomes a vampire, seduces the sister of his friend Aubrey and suffocates her during the night which follows their wedding. A love-crime becomes an integral part of vampirism, though often in forms so far removed as to obscure the inner sense of the gruesome legend-Thus in Melmoth the Wanderer Melmoth the Wanderer, the hero, who is a kind of Wandering Jew crossed with Byronic vampire, interrupts a wedding and terrifies everybody with the horrible fascination of his preternatural glare: soon after the bride dies and the bridegroom goes mad.

Byron and other Romantics took the crude Middle European legend of the vampire and transformed it. Praz remarks that Byron was largely responsible for the fashion of vampirism in literature. The desire to steal something valuable from his victims, whether it be blood, innocence or souls, is intrinsic to the Faustian/Byronic hero-villain. In later stories the hero-villain was transformed into a heroine-villainess-such as Le Fanu's Carmilla Carmilla (1871), the female vampire-who has since found her way into American popular literature to an unhealthy extent-remember her on the covers of (1871), the female vampire-who has since found her way into American popular literature to an unhealthy extent-remember her on the covers of Planet Stories Planet Stories or, whip in hand, on the more recent "magazines for men" whose covers are beginning to brighten London bookstalls now? or, whip in hand, on the more recent "magazines for men" whose covers are beginning to brighten London bookstalls now?

Since the psychoanalysis of character-types is liable to produce dozens of different theories, I leave the reader to decide what all this means in sexual terms. Many young fantasy fans often share their enthusiasm for the genre with a taste for the erotic fantasies of Henry Miller, Jean Genet, William Burroughs and others. Certainly the link is obvious in Burroughs's Naked Lunch, Ticket that Exploded Naked Lunch, Ticket that Exploded and and Soft Machine Soft Machine which are works of sheer science fiction and the most brilliant ever to appear. which are works of sheer science fiction and the most brilliant ever to appear. His His Faust is the whole human race rolled into one. Faust is the whole human race rolled into one.

An interesting light on the classic hero-villain comes in J.G. Ballard's Drowned World Drowned World, one of the best novels to appear since the War. Ballard's hero-villain Strangman is not the central character of the book, but he tends to dominate the scenes he appears in.

His handsome saturnine face regarding them with a mixture of suspicion and amused contempt, Strangman lounged back under the cool awning that shaded the poop deck of the depot ship ..."The trouble with you people is that you've been here for thirty million years and your perspectives are all wrong. You miss so much of the transitory beauty of life. I'm fascinated by the immediate past-the treasures of the Triassic compare pretty unfavourably with those of the closing years of the Second Millennium."

Strangman's studied interest in things which seem to the other characters mere trivia shows us the Byronic hero-villain for what he probably is (if he exists in real-life at all today) a brilliant, but bewildered man rebelling against the entire order of things, destroying them because they baffle him, fighting a lonely, hopeless battle against forces which are sure, in the end, to destroy him-even courting that destruction as Oscar Wilde did. Wilde, incidentally, changed his name to Sebastian Melmoth after his release from prison, seeing himself as the character created by Maturin, his kinsman. They all seem to have this quality-Marlowe's Faust, Milton's Satan, the Gothic villains-and Byron himself. We admire them because of it.

EARL AUBEC.

OF MALADOR.

EARL AUBEC OF MALADOR.

Outline for a series of four fantasy novels (1966).

EARL AUBEC, CHAMPION of Lormyr, Earl of Malador, first appeared in the [attached] story "Master of Chaos" (originally called "Earl Aubec and the Golem") in of Lormyr, Earl of Malador, first appeared in the [attached] story "Master of Chaos" (originally called "Earl Aubec and the Golem") in Fantastic Fantastic, May 1964.

"Master of Chaos" will not be incorporated into the novels, but is [enclosed] to give some idea of the character and background etc., of the projected series.