The Jewel of Seven Stars (hardcover) [Hardcover]

Bram Stoker (Author)

Book Description

Publication Date: September 1, 2001

Malcolm Ross went to face the trial that waited in the Trelawny home. And because he did, the jewel of horror was unleashed ? and that unleashed the horror consumes us all. A novel of unyielding terror from the author of Dracula. (This jacketless hardcover edition is intended for the library trade.)

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The Jewel of Seven Stars

CHAPTER I

A Summons in the Night

IT ALL SEEMED SO REAL THAT I COULD HARDLY IMAGINE that it had ever occurred before; and yet each episode came, not as a fresh step in the logic of things, but as something expected. It is in such wise that memory plays its pranks for good or ill; for pleasure or pain; for weal or woe. It is thus that life is bitter-sweet, and that which has been done becomes eternal.

Again, the light skiff, ceasing to shoot through the lazy water as when the oars flashed and dripped, glided out of the fierce July sunlight into the cool shade of the great drooping willow branches--I standing up in the swaying boat, she sitting still and with deft fingers guarding herself from stray twigs or the freedom of the resilience of moving boughs. Again, the water looked golden-brown under the canopy of translucent green; and the grassy bank was of emerald hue. Again, we sat in the cool shade, with the myriad noises of nature both without and within our bower merging into that drowsy hum in whose sufficing environmentthe great world with its disturbing trouble, and its more disturbing joys, can be effectually forgotten. Again, in that blissful solitude the young girl lost the convention of her prim, narrow up-bringing and told me in a natural, dreamy way of the loneliness of her new life. With an undertone of sadness she made me feel how in that spacious home each one of the household was isolated by the personal magnificence of her father and herself; that there confidence had no altar, or sympathy no shrine; and that there even her father's face was as distant as the old country life seemed now. Once more, the wisdom of my manhood and the experience of my years laid themselves at the girl's feet. It was seemingly their own doing; for the individual 'I' had no say in the matter, but only just obeyed imperative orders. And once again the flying seconds multiplied themselves endlessly. For it is in the arcana of dreams that existences merge and renew themselves, change and yet keep the same--like the soul of a musician in a fugue. And so memory swooned, again and again, in sleep.

It seems that there is never to be any perfect rest. Even in Eden the snake rears its head among the laden boughs of the Tree of Knowledge. The silence of the dreamless night is broken by the roar of the avalanche; the hissing of sudden floods; the clanging of the engine bell marking its sweep through a sleeping American town; the clanking of distant paddles over the sea ... . Whatever it is, it is breaking the charm of my Eden. The canopy of greenery above us, starred with diamond-points of light, seems to quiver in the ceaseless beat of paddles; and the restless bell seems as though it would never cease ... .

All at once the gates of Sleep were thrown wide open, and my waking ears took in the cause of the disturbing sounds. Waking existence is prosaic enough--there was somebody knocking and ringing at someone's street door.

I was pretty well accustomed in my Jermyn Street chambersto passing sounds; usually I did not concern myself, sleeping or waking, with the doings, however noisy, of my neighbours. But this noise was too continuous, too insistent, too imperative to be ignored. There was some active intelligence behind that ceaseless sound; and some stress or need behind the intelligence. I was not altogether selfish, and at the thought of someone's need I was, without premeditation, out of bed. Instinctively I looked at my watch. It was just three o'clock; there was a faint edging of grey round the green blind which darkened my room. It was evident that the knocking and ringing were at the door of our own house; and it was evident, too, that there was no one awake to answer the call. I slipped on my dressing-gown and slippers, and went down to the hall door. When I opened it there stood a dapper groom, with one hand pressed unflinchingly on the electric bell whilst with the other he raised a ceaseless clangour with the knocker. The instant he saw me the noise ceased; one hand went up instinctively to the brim of his hat, and the other produced a letter from his pocket. A neat brougham was opposite the door, the horses were breathing heavily as though they had come fast. A policeman, with his night lantern still alight at his belt, stood by attracted to the spot by the noise.

'Beg pardon, sir, I'm sorry for disturbing you, but my orders was imperative; I was not to lose a moment, but to knock and ring till someone came. May I ask you, sir, if Mr Malcolm Ross lives here?'

'I am Mr Malcolm Ross.'

'Then this letter is for you, sir, and the bro'am is for you too, sir!'

I took, with a strange curiosity, the letter which he handed to me. As a barrister I had had, of course, odd experiences now and then, including sudden demands upon my time; but never anything like this. I stepped back into the hall, closing the door, but leaving it ajar; then I switchedon the electric light. The letter was directed in a strange hand; a woman's. It began at once without 'dear sir' or any such address:

You said you would like to help me if I needed it; and I believe you meant what you said. The time has come sooner than I expected. I am in dreadful trouble, and do not know where to turn, or to whom to apply. An attempt has, I fear, been made to murder my Father; though, thank God, he still lives. But he is quite unconscious. The doctors and police have been sent for; but there is no one here whom I can depend on. Come at once, if you are able to; and forgive me if you can. I suppose I shall realise later what I have done in asking such a favour; but at present I cannot think. Come! Come at once!

MARGARET TRELAWNY

Pain and exultation struggled in my mind as I read; but the mastering thought was that she was in trouble and had called on me--me! My dreaming of her, then, was not altogether without a cause. I called out to the groom:

'Wait! I shall be with you in a minute!' Then I flew upstairs.

A very few minutes sufficed to wash and dress; and we were soon driving through the streets as fast as the horses could go. It was market morning, and when we got out on Piccadilly there was an endless stream of carts coming from the west; but for the rest the roadway was clear, and we went quickly. I had told the groom to come into the brougham with me so that he could tell me what had happened as we went along. He sat awkwardly, with his hat on his knees as he spoke.

'Miss Trelawny, sir, sent a man to tell us to get out a carriage at once; and when we was ready she come herselfand gave me the letter and told Morgan--the coachman, sir--to fly. She said as I was to lose not a second, but to keep knocking till someone come.'

'Yes, I know, I know--you told me! What I want to know is, why she sent for me. What happened in the house?'

'I don't quite know myself, sir; except that master was found in his room senseless, with the sheets all bloody, and a wound on his head. He couldn't be waked nohow. 'Twas Miss Trelawny herself as found him.'

'How did she come to find him at such an hour? It was late in the night, I suppose?'

'I don't know, sir; I didn't hear nothing at all of the details.'

As he could tell me no more, I stopped the carriage for a moment to let him get out on the box; then I turned the matter over in my mind as I sat alone. There were many things which I could have asked the servant; and for a few moments after he had gone I was angry with myself for not having used my opportunity. On second thought, however, I was glad the temptation was gone. I felt that it would be more delicate to learn what I wanted to know of Miss Trelawny's surroundings from herself, rather than from her servants.

We bowled swiftly along Knightsbridge, the small noise of our well-appointed vehicle sounding hollowly in the morning air. We turned up the Kensington Palace Road and presently stopped opposite a great house on the lefthand side, nearer, so far as I could judge, the Notting Hill than the Kensington end of the avenue. It was a truly fine house, not only with regard to size but to architecture. Even in the dim grey light of the morning, which tends to diminish the size of things, it looked big.

Miss Trelawny met me in the hall. She was not in any way shy. She seemed to rule all around her with a sort ofhigh-bred dominance, all the more remarkable as she was greatly agitated and as pale as snow. In the great hall were several servants, the men standing together near the hall door, and the women clinging together in the further corners and doorways. A police superintendent had been talking to Miss Trelawny; two men in uniform and one plain-clothes man stood near him. As she took my had impulsively there was a look of relief in her eyes, and she gave a gentle sigh of relief. Her salutation was simple.

'I knew you would come!'

The clasp of the hand can mean a great deal, even when it is not intended to mean anything especially. Miss Trelawny's hand somehow became lost in my own. It was not that it was a small hand; it was fine and flexible, with long delicate fingers--a rare and beautiful hand; it was the unconscious self-surrender. And though at the moment I could not dwell on the cause of the thrill which swept me, it came back to me later.

She turned and said to the police superintendent:

'This is Mr Malcolm Ross.' The police officer saluted as he answered:

'I know Mr Malcolm Ross, miss. Perhaps he will remember I had the honour of working with him in the Brixton Coining case.' I had not at first glance noticed who it was, my whole attention having been taken with Miss Trelawny.

'Of course, Superintendent Dolan, I remember very well!' I said as we shook hands. I could not but note that the acquaintanceship seemed a relief to Miss Trelawny. There was a certain vague uneasiness in her manner which took my attention; instinctively I felt that it w...

--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Product Details

• Hardcover: 304 pages
• Publisher: Borgo Press (September 1, 2001)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 158715577X
• ISBN-13: 978-1587155772
• Product Dimensions: 9.3 x 6.4 x 1 inches
• Shipping Weight: 1.4 pounds (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 3.8 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (19 customer reviews)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #6,277,391 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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16 of 17 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Stoker's best known post-Dracula novel, August 11, 2003

By 

Daniel Jolley "darkgenius" (Shelby, North Carolina USA) - See all my reviews
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This review is from: The Jewel of Seven Stars (Mass Market Paperback)

Originally published in 1903, some six years after Dracula, Bram Stoker's The Jewel of Seven Stars is a singular work of dark fantasy. It reads as if it were one of the author's earliest writings, espousing a much more awkward style than that which permeates Stoker's most famous novel. The characters are stereotypical of the time, the dialogue is sometimes forced and so Victorian in its manner that it fails to draw the reader fully into the story, and it leaves too many unanswered questions in its wake. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this, Stoker's most familiar novel after Dracula, is its storyline built around the resurrection of an ancient Egyptian mummy. Few people today realize that Stoker not only truly defined the vampire genre, he helped give rise to the mummy genre as well. By far the most fascinating aspect of this tale is its ending, though, which I will discuss below.

The first several chapters of the novel call to my mind the host of whodunit films released in the 1940s and 1950s. Malcolm Ross, a barrister, is called to the home of Margaret Trelawney, a young lady he just recently met and took a fancy to, in the middle of the night. When he arrives at the home, he finds policemen, a doctor, Margaret, and the household staff in a great tizzy over an attack made upon Margaret's father. The man was found on the floor of his room, his left arm slashed in a number of places. The investigation begins, and a constant watch is held over the injured man, who has fallen into a cataleptic state. The next night, under the eyes of Ross, Margaret, and a nurse, a second baffling attack takes place by an unknown assailant. It soon becomes apparent that the person behind the attacks is attempting to gain access to the safe located in the room. Suspicions abound as both the police and the doctor are baffled by the situation. At this point, we begin to learn the history of the Egyptian relics housed in the Trelawney house and hear the story of the ancient Egyptian queen Tera and her apparent plans for reincarnating herself with the help of a beautiful jewel of seven stars, the very item housed in Trelawney's safe. The novel ends with a Great Experiment in which Tera's plans for a rebirth are carried out, the results of which fail to satisfy this reader.

Published in 1903, this novel is steeped in Victorian idealism, particularly in its treatment of Margaret and the courtship between her and Malcolm. Modern readers may find this aspect of the novel either romantic or silly. In addition, the respectful and entirely proper conversations between characters, especially in times of suspicion or fear, may seem strikingly quaint to today's readers. The second half of the novel, which tells the story of the ancient mummy and lays the groundwork for the climax of the Great Experiment, is much more interesting than the preceding pages, yet there are elements to the evolving story that fail to make perfect sense.

The Jewel of Seven Stars is unique in that it features two different endings, neither of which fully satisfies. The accepted version, which you will find in modern publications, is not the original ending but is instead a rewrite first found in the 1919 edition of the novel. It is anticlimactic at best and seems oddly different from the novel as a whole. There is actually some speculation that the final couple of pages of this ending were not even written by Stoker, who was dead and buried seven years prior to this amended edition's release. The original 1903 ending is a much better if rather shocking conclusion to a story that openly hints of ancient horrors; it is a pity that the original ending has been superseded by a questionable and quite dissatisfying rewrite. In any case, though, The Jewel of Seven Stars is an interesting if flawed novel that shows few signs of the literary magic with which Stoker's masterpiece, Dracula, is infused.

9 of 10 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars A Greatly Underrated Book, December 23, 2005

By 

Paul S. Mcalduff (Kwangju, South Korea) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   

This review is from: The Jewel of Seven Stars (Mass Market Paperback)

This book is great. I couldn't put it down. Personally I think that it is as good as "Dracula". It amazes me that it remains so obscure. One of the other reviewers complained of a weak ending. I assume that this poor person was unlucky enough to have read the 1912 edition. Stoker's publishers though that the original 1903 ending was too gruesome and made him rewrite it as a condition of re-publishing the book. I don't think anyone could describe the original ending as weak. If you like a good horror novel I highly recommend this book.

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Mummy Dearest, July 23, 2000

By 

Drew Brainiard "watchword" (Buffalo, NY) - See all my reviews

This review is from: The Jewel of Seven Stars (Pocket Classics) (Paperback)

"Hither the Gods come not at any summons. The Nameless One has insulted them and is forever alone. Go not nigh, lest their vengeance wither you away!"

There are certain story elements I can't resist: Egyptology is one of them. Throw in a mummy's curse and I can be convinced to do all sorts of reckless things--like buying SPHINX, that appalling movie with Lesley-Anne Down. Thus I came to read THE JEWEL OF SEVEN STARS even though it was written by Bram Stoker, the author of DRACULA (vampires being one of my least favorite story elements).

Originally published in 1903, JEWEL tells the story of barrister Malcolm Ross who is summoned in the dead of night by a mysterious letter from lovely Margaret Trelawny, the daughter of a famed Egyptologist. Mr. Trelawny has sunk into a trance-like state following an attack by an unknown assailant--the only clue, the lingering odor of "Nard and Circassia's balmy smells." Trelawny has left strict instructions that in the event of such an attack he is never to be left alone, and no one must remove the peculiar Egyptian bangle around his wrist.

Slowly, with dragging mummy footsteps, this horror classic journeys its restrained way to its inevitable climax. Though possibly a bit slow and bloodless for modern audiences, I think Stoker gets full marks. True, the characters are recognizable Edwardian stereotypes: the blushing, virginal heroine, the stalwart hero, the obsessed patriarch, etc. Nor is there much mystery as to where this is all leading. All the same, JEWEL is an entertaining read; the ideal choice for a muggy summer night. A number of scenes, like the discovery of the tomb in the cliffs and the story's final tragic zenith, remain in one's memory like the persistent scent of bitumen drifting in an open window...