Dr. Seward's Diary (continued)
For a while sheer anger mastered me. It was as if he had
during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard
and rose up as I said to him, "Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?"
He raised his head and looked at me, and somehow the
tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I were!" he
said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this.
Oh, my friend, whey, think you, did I go so far round, why take
so long to tell so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and
have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you
pain? Was it that I wanted, no so late, revenge for that time
when you saved my life, and from a fearful death? Ah no!"
"Forgive me," said I.
He went on, "My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle
in the breaking to you, for I know you have loved that so sweet
lady. But even yet I do not expect you to believe. It is so hard
to accept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt such to
be possible when we have always believed the `no' of it. It is
more hard still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and of such a
one as Miss Lucy. Tonight I go to prove it. Dare you come with
me?"
This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth,
Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.
"And prove the very truth he most abhorred."
He saw my hesitation, and spoke, "The logic is simple, no
madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock to tussock in a
misty bog. If it not be true, then proof will be relief. At
worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread.
Yet every dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of
belief. Come, I tell you what I propose. First, that we go off
now and see that child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the
North Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is a friend
of mine, and I think of yours since you were in class at
Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he will
not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we
wish to learn. And then . . ."
"And then?"
He took a key from his pocket and held it up. "And then we
spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies.
This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin man
to give to Arthur."
My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some
fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I
plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better
hasten, as the afternoon was passing.
We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some
food, and altogether was going on well. Dr, Vincent took the
bandage from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was
no mistaking the similarity to those which had been on Lucy's
throat. They were smaller, and the edges looked fresher, that
was all. We asked Vincent to what he attributed them, and he
replied that it must have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a
rat, but for his own part, he was inclined to think it was one
of the bats which are so numerous on the northern heights of
London. "Out of so many harmless ones," he said, "there may be
some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species.
Some sailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape,
or even from the Zoological Gardens a young one may have got
loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These things do
occur, you, know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and was, I
believe, traced up in this direction. For a week after, the
children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath
and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare
came along, since then it has been quite a gala time with them.
Even this poor little mite, when he woke up today, asked the
nurse if he might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to
go, he said he wanted to play with the 'bloofer lady'."
"I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are sending the
child home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch
over it. These fancies to stray are most dangerous, and if the
child were to remain out another night, it would probably be
fatal. But in any case I suppose you will not let it away for
some days?"
"Certainly not, not for a week at least, longer if the wound
is not healed."
Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned
on, and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing
saw how dark it was, he said,
"There is not hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come,
let us seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on
our way."
We dined at `Jack Straw's Castle' along with a little crowd
of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten
o'clock we started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the
scattered lamps made the darkness greater when we were once
outside their individual radius. The Professor had evidently
noted the road we were to go, for he went on unhesitatingly,
but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to locality. As we
went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at last we
were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse
police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the
wall of the churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little
difficulty, for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so
strange to us, we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took
the key, opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely,
but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was a
delicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness of giving
preference on such a ghastly occasion. My companion followed me
quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after carefully
ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring one.
In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he
fumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of
candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the daytime, and
when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome
enough, but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung
lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to
browns, when the spider and the beetle had resumed their
accustomed dominance, when the time-discolored stone, and
dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished
brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer
of a candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could
have been imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life,
animal life, was not the only thing which could pass away.
Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his
candle so that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding
it that the sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as
they touched the metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin.
Another search in his bag, and he took out a turnscrew.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced."
Straightway he began taking out the screws, and finally
lifted off the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The
sight was almost too much for me. It seemed to be as much an
affront to the dead as it would have been to have stripped off
her clothing in her sleep whilst living. I actually took hold of
his hand to stop him.
He only said, "You shall see," and again fumbling in his bag
took out a tiny fret saw. Striking the turnscrew through the
lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he made a
small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of
the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse.
We doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become
accustomed to such things, and I drew back towards the door. But
the Professor never stopped for a moment. He sawed down a couple
of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and then across, and
down the other side. Taking the edge of the loose flange, he
bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up the
candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.
I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty. It was
certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock,
but Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of
his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in his task."Are you
satisfied now, friend John?" he asked.
I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake
within me as I answered him, "I am satisfied that Lucy's body is
not in that coffin, but that only proves one thing."
"And what is that, friend John?"
"That it is not there."
"That is good logic," he said, "so far as it goes. But how do
you, how can you, account for it not being there?"
"Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the
undertaker's people may have stolen it." I felt that I was
speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I could
suggest.
The Professor sighed. "Ah well!" he said," we must have more
proof. Come with me."
He put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all his things
and placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the
candle also in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind
us he closed the door and locked it. He handed me the key,
saying, "Will you keep it? You had better be assured."
I laughed, it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am bound to
say, as I motioned him to keep it. "A key is nothing," I said,
"thee are many duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to
pick a lock of this kind."
He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he told
me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch
at the other.
I took up my place behind a yew tree, and I saw his dark
figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it
from my sight. It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my
place I heard a distant clock strike twelve, and in time came
one and two. I was chilled and unnerved, and angry with the
Professor for taking me on such an errand and with myself for
coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly observant,
and not sleepy enough to betray my trust, so altogether I had a
dreary, miserable time.
Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a
white streak, moving between two dark yew trees at the side of
the churchyard farthest from the tomb. At the same time a dark
mass moved from the Professor's side of the ground, and
hurriedly went towards it. Then I too moved, but I had to go
round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over
graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an early
cock crew. A little ways off, beyond a line of scattered juniper
trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white dim
figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was
hidden by trees, and I could not see where the figure had
disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I had
first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the
Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he
held it out to me, and said, "Are you satisfied now?"
"No," I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.
"Do you not see the child?"
"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it
wounded?"
"We shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we
took our way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping
child.
When we had got some little distance away, we went into a
clump of trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's
throat. It was without a scratch or scar of any kind.
"Was I right?" I asked triumphantly.
"We were just in time," said the Professor thankfully.
We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and
so consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police station
we should have to give some account of our movements during the
night. At least, we should have had to make some statement as to
how we had come to find the child. So finally we decided that we
would take it to the Heath, and when we heard a policeman
coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find it. We
would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell
out well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's
heavy tramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and
watched until he saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We
heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then we went away
silently. By good chance we got a cab near the "Spaniards," and
drove to town.
I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a
few hours' sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He
insists that I go with him on another expedition.
27 September.—It was two o'clock before we found a suitable
opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all
completed, and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken
themselves lazily away, when, looking carefully from behind a
clump of alder trees, we saw the sexton lock the gate after him.
We knew that we were safe till morning did we desire it, but the
Professor told me that we should not want more than an hour at
most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the reality of things,
in which any effort of imagination seemed out of place, and I
realized distinctly the perils of the law which we were
incurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so
useless. Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if
a woman dead nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the
height of folly to open the tomb again, when we knew, from the
evidence of our own eyesight, that the coffin was empty. I
shrugged my shoulders, however, and rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road, no matter who
remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again
courteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so
gruesome as last night, but oh, how unutterably mean looking
when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's
coffin, and I followed. He bent over and again forced back the
leaden flange, and a shock of surprise and dismay shot through
me.
There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night
before her funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly
beautiful than ever, and I could not believe that she was dead.
The lips were red, nay redder than before, and on the cheeks was
a delicate bloom.
"Is this a juggle?" I said to him.
"Are you convinced now?" said the Professor, in response, and
as he spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that made me
shudder, pulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth.
"See," he went on, "they are even sharper than before. With this
and this," and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below
it, "the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now,
friend John?"
Once more argumentative hostility woke within me. I could not
accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested. So, with an
attempt to argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I
said, "She may have been placed here since last night."
"Indeed? That is so, and by whom?"
"I do not know. Someone has done it."
"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that
time would not look so."
I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not
seem to notice my silence. At any rate, he showed neither
chagrin nor triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the
dead woman, raising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and
once more opening the lips and examining the teeth. Then he
turned to me and said,
"Here, there is one thing which is different from all
recorded. Here is some dual life that is not as the common. She
was bitten by the vampire when she was in a trance,
sleep-walking, oh, you start. You do not know that, friend John,
but you shall know it later, and in trance could he best come to
take more blood. In trance she dies, and in trance she is
Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually
when the Un-Dead sleep at home," as he spoke he made a
comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampire
was `home', "their face show what they are, but this so sweet
that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to the nothings of the
common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard
that I must kill her in her sleep."
This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn upon me that
I was accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if she were really
dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing her?
He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face,
for he said almost joyously, "Ah, you believe now?"
I answered, "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am
willing to accept. How will you do this bloody work?"
"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and
I shall drive a stake through her body."
It made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the
woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as
I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the
presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing called it,
and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or
all objective?
I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he
stood as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of
his bag with a snap, and said,
"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is
best. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at
this moment, what is to be done. But there are other things to
follow, and things that are thousand times more difficult in
that them we do not know. This is simple. She have yet no life
taken, though that is of time, and to act now would be to take
danger from her forever. But then we may have to want Arthur,
and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the wounds on
Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at
the hospital, if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and
full today with a woman who have not change only to be more rose
and more beautiful in a whole week, after she die, if you know
of this and know of the white figure last night that brought the
child to the churchyard, and yet of your own senses you did not
believe, how then, can I expect Arthur, who know none of those
things, to believe?
"He doubted me when I took him from her kiss when she was
dying. I know he has forgiven me because in some mistaken idea I
have done things that prevent him say goodbye as he ought, and
he may think that in some more mistaken idea this woman was
buried alive, and that in most mistake of all we have killed
her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that
have killed her by our ideas, and so he will be much unhappy
always. Yet he never can be sure, and that is the worst of all.
And he will sometimes think that she he loved was buried alive,
and that will paint his dreams with horrors of what she must
have suffered, and again, he will think that we may be right,
and that his so beloved was, after all, an Un-Dead. No! I told
him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since I know it is
all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he must
pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor
fellow, must have one hour that will make the very face of
heaven grow black to him, then we can act for good all round and
send him peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return home
for tonight to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for me,
I shall spend the night here in this churchyard in my own way.
Tomorrow night you will come to me to the Berkeley Hotel at ten
of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too, and also that
so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we shall
all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and
there dine, for I must be back here before the sun set."
So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of
the churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to
Piccadilly.
Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau,
Berkeley Hotel, directed to John Seward, M. D.
(Not Delivered)
"27 September.
"Friend John,
"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to
watch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss
Lucy, shall not leave tonight, that so on the morrow night she
may be more eager. Therefore I shall fix some things she like
not, garlic and a crucifix, and so seal up the door of the tomb.
She is young as Un-Dead, and will heed. Moreover, these are only
to prevent her coming out. They may not prevail on her wanting
to get in, for then the Un-Dead is desperate, and must find the
line of least resistance, whatsoever it may be. I shall be at
hand all the night from sunset till after sunrise, and if there
be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss Lucy or
from her, I have no fear, but that other to whom is there that
she is Un-Dead, he have not the power to seek her tomb and find
shelter. He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the
way that all along he have fooled us when he played with us for
Miss Lucy's life, and we lost, and in many ways the Un-Dead are
strong. He have always the strength in his hand of twenty men,
even we four who gave our strength to Miss Lucy it also is all
to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and I know not what. So
if it be that he came thither on this night he shall find me.
But none other shall, until it be too late. But it may be that
he will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should.
His hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard
where the Un-Dead woman sleeps, and the one old man watch.
"Therefore I write this in case . . . Take the papers that
are with this, the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read
them, and then find this great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and
burn his heart or drive a stake through it, so that the world
may rest from him.
"If it be so, farewell.
"Van Helsing."
Dr. Seward's Diary
28 September.—It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will
do for one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous ideas, but now they seem to start out lurid
before me as outrages on common sense. I have no doubt that he
believes it all. I wonder if his mind can have become in any way
unhinged. Surely there must be some rational explanation of all
these mysterious things. Is it possible that the Professor can
have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that if he went
off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to some
fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loathe to think it, and
indeed it would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find
that Van Helsing was mad, but anyhow I shall watch him
carefully. I may get some light on the mystery.
29 September.—Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,
Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room. He told us all
what he wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to
Arthur, as if all our wills were centered in his. He began by
saying that he hoped we would all come with him too, "for," he
said, "there is a grave duty to be done there. You were
doubtless surprised at my letter?" This query was directly
addressed to Lord Godalming. "I was. It rather upset me for a
bit. There has been so much trouble around my house of late that
I could do without any more. I have been curious, too, as to
what you mean.
"Quincey and I talked it over, but the more we talked, the
more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm
about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."
"Me too," said Quincey Morris laconically.
"Oh," said the Professor, "then you are nearer the beginning,
both of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way
back before he can even get so far as to begin."
It was evident that he recognized my return to my old
doubting frame of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning
to the other two, he said with intense gravity,
"I want your permission to do what I think good this night.
It is, I know, much to ask, and when you know what it is I
propose to do you will know, and only then how much. Therefore
may I ask that you promise me in the dark, so that afterwards,
though you may be angry with me for a time, I must not disguise
from myself the possibility that such may be, you shall not
blame yourselves for anything."
"That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the
Professor. I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest,
and that's good enough for me."
"I thank you, Sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done
myself the honor of counting you one trusting friend, and such
endorsement is dear to me." He held out a hand, which Quincey
took.
Then Arthur spoke out, "Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like
to 'buy a pig in a poke', as they say in Scotland, and if it be
anything in which my honour as a gentleman or my faith as a
Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise. If you can
assure me that what you intend does not violate either of these
two, then I give my consent at once, though for the life of me,
I cannot understand what you are driving at."
"I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask
of you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of
mine, you will first consider it well and be satisfied that it
does not violate your reservations."
"Agreed!" said Arthur. "That is only fair. And now that the
pourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?"
"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the
churchyard at Kingstead."
Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way,
"Where poor Lucy is buried?"
The Professor bowed.
Arthur went on, "And when there?"
"To enter the tomb!"
Arthur stood up. "Professor, are you in earnest, or is it
some monstrous joke? Pardon me, I see that you are in earnest."
He sat down again, but I could see that he sat firmly and
proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was silence until
he asked again, "And when in the tomb?"
"To open the coffin."
"This is too much!" he said, angrily rising again. "I am
willing to be patient in all things that are reasonable, but in
this, this desecration of the grave, of one who . . ." He fairly
choked with indignation.
The Professor looked pityingly at him."If I could spare you
one pang, my poor friend," he said, "God knows I would. But this
night our feet must tread in thorny paths, or later, and for
ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!"
Arthur looked up with set white face and said, "Take care,
sir, take care!"
"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?" said Van
Helsing. "And then you will at least know the limit of my
purpose. Shall I go on?"
"That's fair enough," broke in Morris.
After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort,
"Miss Lucy is dead, is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no
wrong to her. But if she be not dead. . ."
Arthur jumped to his feet, "Good God!" he cried. "What do you
mean? Has there been any mistake, has she been buried alive?"He
groaned in anguish that not even hope could soften.
"I did not say she was alive, my child. I did not think it. I
go no further than to say that she might be Un-Dead."
"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a
nightmare, or what is it?"
"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age
by age they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on
the verge of one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of
dead Miss Lucy?"
"Heavens and earth, no!" cried Arthur in a storm of passion.
"Not for the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her
dead body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done
to you that you should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet
girl do that you should want to cast such dishonor on her grave?
Are you mad, that you speak of such things, or am I mad to
listen to them? Don't dare think more of such a desecration. I
shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a duty to
do in protecting her grave from outrage, and by God, I shall do
it!"
Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been
seated, and said, gravely and sternly, "My Lord Godalming, I
too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty to you, a duty
to the dead, and by God, I shall do it! All I ask you now is
that you come with me, that you look and listen, and if when
later I make the same request you do not be more eager for its
fulfillment even than I am, then, I shall do my duty, whatever
it may seem to me. And then, to follow your Lordship's wishes I
shall hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you,
when and where you will." His voice broke a little, and he went
on with a voice full of pity.
"But I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a
long life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which
sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task
as now. Believe me that if the time comes for you to change your
mind towards me, one look from you will wipe away all this so
sad hour, for I would do what a man can to save you from sorrow.
Just think. For why should I give myself so much labor and so
much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land to do what I
can of good, at the first to please my friend John, and then to
help a sweet young lady, whom too, I come to love. For her, I am
ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness, I gave what
you gave, the blood of my veins. I gave it, I who was not, like
you, her lover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave
her my nights and days, before death, after death, and if my
death can do her good even now, when she is the dead Un-Dead,
she shall have it freely." He said this with a very grave, sweet
pride, and Arthur was much affected by it.
He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice, "Oh,
it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand, but at least
I shall go with you and wait."
