Let's Read: Carmilla [Chapter 4, Pt. 3]

[guardians_song]

We continue on with a chance encounter that will happen to become a reasonably important plot point.

Continuing from last time:

 

This was the first time I had seen her exhibit any definable symptoms of that delicacy of health which her mother had spoken of. It was the first time, also, I had seen her exhibit anything like temper.

Both passed away like a summer cloud; and never but once afterwards did I witness on her part a momentary sign of anger. I will tell you how it happened.

In short, the local hunchbacked charlatan shows up at the castle and offers to sell them amulets against the "oupire" (while his dog howls furiously). These will be important later, mainly because they don't have their claimed effect. Quite the contrary.

Both Carmilla and Laura immediately purchase one, and the charlatan then begins to offer Carmilla his services at dentistry. Seems she has a very sharp tooth, you see. Suffice to say, she does not take the offer well.

“How dare that mountebank insult us so? Where is your father? I shall demand redress from him. My father would have had the wretch tied up to the pump, and flogged with a cart-whip, and burnt to the bones with the castle brand!”

This is bizarrely nasty (and a sign of her Secret Savage Nature - shh!) out of context, but it actually comes off as more reasonable in the context of her being a vampire, since, to the genre-savvy reader, his comment was the equivalent of 'The Empress has no clothes, and she's in the process of stripping off yours'. That said... whoo, when she loses her temper, she really loses her temper.

She gets over it very quickly, however, and gradually returns to her usual self. May I add - for all that she just really went psycho for a moment, she still comes off better than a lot of paranormal-romance love interests because the (visible) fury passed within the next sentence. Contrast this with Edward Cullen, who repeatedly fantasizes about killing Mike Newton, or OOC!Draco Malfoy Jace Wayland, who mocks and denigrates "mundies" every chance he gets. And let's not even mention Anita Blake.

It's also worth noting that the Karnsteins (Carmilla's family) were, as stated later on, not pleasant people. Carmilla may not be exaggerating.

Meanwhile, Laura's father is out of sorts because, as it turns out, yet another peasant girl has come down with a case of Dead. He, in the Modern Enlightened Way, comments that it's all due to natural causes and that the peasants are just scaring each other with their silly superstition. The local silly superstition bats her eyes and muses about how horrible it would be to even imagine seeing such things.

There is an interesting exchange:

“We are in God’s hands: nothing can happen without his permission, and all will end well for those who love him. He is our faithful creator; He has made us all, and will take care of us.”

“Creator! Nature!” said the young lady in answer to my gentle father. “And this disease that invades the country is natural. Nature. All things proceed from Nature—don’t they? All things in the heaven, in the earth, and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so.”

Now, this is a strange remark - on the surface, it's playing Captain Obvious to an unusual level even for this book - and so I puzzled over it some more. When I did so, I realized it has a couple of different nuances.

Laura's father, here, is playing the role of the enlightened Victorian gentleman, so much above all these peasants and their superstitions, and has faith that God will take care of His Own. As this is the Victorian Era, the conventions of the day and age demand that he be right, and so the forces of good are ultimately victorious and Carmilla is slain. 

However... Carmilla, by talking back to him, reveals the falseness of his position. Assuming that she didn't choose this life (and it's implied later on that she didn't, perhaps surviving as a vampire rather than perishing as a victim only by sheer luck), God most certainly did not take care of her. He didn't take care of her victims, either. By speaking so self-righteously and obliviously, Laura's father reveals his privilege and insipid entitlement. From Carmilla's point of view, there is only Nature, and Nature ordains all. Without, it's implied, kindness or conscience.

On another level, her insistence upon "all things proceed[ing] from Nature [and] liv[ing] as Nature ordains" also ties into her justifications for her actions towards Laura. Remember, she "obey[s] the irresistible law of [her] strength and weakness". By acting as a vampire, she is only living according to her nature. She thus neatly excuses herself from all moral responsibility, dismissing it as easily as she dismisses the deaths of "peasants" (or rather, of her victims). Not, mind, that she denies that Laura should be displeased at her actions - she, in fact, seems to sympathize. Recall that "if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours." Later on (Chapter 6), she will say:

You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, hating me through death and after.

But I suppose she would say this would follow from Laura's nature, as her actions follow from hers: she does not begrudge Laura her potential hatred, but she will not let it sway her from her course.

(Before I forget - it could also be that her allergy to religion is worse than one might expect, and her rant was brought on by the mere discussion of God. But that doesn't alter the implications of the exchange at all, only her initial motive.)

I suppose this exchange could also be a metaphor for the respective kinds of moral degeneration brought on by smug piety and amoral atheism, but I may be reading too much into the text already. It might be that the entire point of that exchange was to underline the joke that Carmilla is the disease that's sweeping the countryside.

May I add that this is another way in which this is Lesbian Twilight? The difference is that Sheridan Le Fanu has decided to turn Dead Herrings into severe black humor, rather than pretending he's playing them straight at all. This certainly makes them more palatable, and it does begin to provoke admiration in the reader for Carmilla's ability to play along with a straight face. That's the only thing about her that's straight.

After an awkward pause (lit. "after a silence"), Laura's father says that he's called for a doctor to come and see what's the matter. It turns out Carmilla has no faith in doctors, either. See, apparently she "suffered from this very illness; but I forget all but my pain and weakness, and they were not so bad as are suffered in other diseases". Laura innocently asks when she suffered from this illness, and Carmilla hastily changes the subject.

She looked languidly in my eyes, and passed her arm round my waist lovingly, and led me out of the room.

Either that, or all this serious talk has exhausted her energy reserves, and she needs some not-very-subtle lesbianism to recharge. Laura, for her part, selflessly pitches in.

“Why does your papa like to frighten us?” said the pretty girl with a sigh and a little shudder.

Dear Laura: for a girl who doesn't understand why her best friend keeps holding her hand, declaring eternal love, and draping herself all over her, you get positively HBP!Harry-ish about mentioning her good looks for no good reason whatsoever. 

“He doesn’t, dear Carmilla, it is the very furthest thing from his mind.”

“Are you afraid, dearest?”

“I should be very much if I fancied there was any real danger of my being attacked as those poor people were.”

“You are afraid to die?”

“Yes, every one is.”

“But to die as lovers may—to die together, so that they may live together. Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes; but in the meantime there are grubs and larvae, don’t you see— each with their peculiar propensities, necessities and structure. So says Monsieur Buffon, in his big book, in the next room.”

I quote this because it's necessary to quote most of it to give context to the "lovers" line. Do note, however, that Carmilla is calling Laura "dearest", and Laura doesn't have one of her 'I don't know what you're talking about' moments over that. *raises an eyebrow* (Laura, in case you're wondering, only calls Carmilla "dear".)

The dirty part of my mind, meanwhile, is tempted to remark that, given the "die as lovers may", perhaps Carmilla is using "die" in quite a different sense than "become dead". Of course, I know better - she wants Laura to "die" by changing into a vampire, thus making her a beautiful butterfly. (I'm not sure even that will drag her out of her tsundere cocoon, but you're the expert on these matters, Carmilla.) Still, I can't help wondering if Sheridan Le Fanu was pulling a double entendre there. 'You are afraid to "die"? Don't worry, dearest, I'll be gentle.'

The chapter then wraps up with the doctor visiting and Laura's father being rather amused/bemused at his (implied) suggestion that a mythical creature has something to do with this illness. Fortunately for the plot, the local mythical creature isn't present at that moment, and the chapter ends.

Okay. This one was a big one (and important one), and so I've covered it in depth. As a review, it has established:
*Carmilla's lesbian/vampiric overtures towards Laura;
*Laura's obliviousness and tsundere responses;
*Carmilla's "langour" and odd habits;
*Her aversion to religion;
*Her uncharacteristic fits of temper and callousness;
*Her unusual dental features;
*The illness affecting the peasants;
*Carmilla's prior "suffering" of that illness;
*And a possible supernatural cause to the illness.

I actually can't think of anything I've glossed over or failed to properly cover. It's entirely possible I have, because this is a detail-packed chapter, so I advise reading it yourself (if you haven't already). I hope you enjoyed this, and Chapter 5 will go up soon!