Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.13-27
"It is like poor Lucy's." `
` `
` "And what do you make of it?" `
` `
` "Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that `
` injured her has injured them." I did not quite understand his answer. `
` `
` "That is true indirectly, but not directly." `
` `
` "How do you mean, Professor?" I asked. I was a little inclined to `
` take his seriousness lightly, for, after all, four days of rest and `
` freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to restore one's `
` spirits, but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the `
` midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern. `
` `
` "Tell me!" I said. "I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to `
` think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture." `
` `
` "Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to `
` what poor Lucy died of, not after all the hints given, not only by `
` events, but by me?" `
` `
` "Of nervous prostration following a great loss or waste of blood." `
` `
` "And how was the blood lost or wasted?" I shook my head. `
` `
` He stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on, "You are a clever `
` man, friend John. You reason well, and your wit is bold, but you are `
` too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and `
` that which is outside your daily life is not of account to you. Do `
` you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and `
` yet which are, that some people see things that others cannot? But `
` there are things old and new which must not be contemplated by men's `
` eyes, because they know, or think they know, some things which other `
` men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants `
` to explain all, and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing `
` to explain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new `
` beliefs, which think themselves new, and which are yet but the old, `
` which pretend to be young, like the fine ladies at the opera. I `
` suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in `
` materialization. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading `
` of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism . . ." `
` `
` "Yes," I said. "Charcot has proved that pretty well." `
` `
` He smiled as he went on, "Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And `
` of course then you understand how it act, and can follow the mind of `
` the great Charcot, alas that he is no more, into the very soul of the `
` patient that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it `
` that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to `
` conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me, for I am a student of the `
` brain, how you accept hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let `
` me tell you, my friend, that there are things done today in electrical `
` science which would have been deemed unholy by the very man who `
` discovered electricity, who would themselves not so long before been `
` burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it `
` that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred `
` and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her `
` poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more `
` day, we could save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and `
` death? Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say `
` wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? `
` Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one `
` great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish `
` church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil `
` of all the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and `
` elsewhere, there are bats that come out at night and open the veins of `
` cattle and horses and suck dry their veins, how in some islands of the `
` Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those `
` who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the `
` sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them `
` and then, and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even `
` Miss Lucy was?" `
` `
` "Good God, Professor!" I said, starting up. "Do you mean to tell me `
` that Lucy was bitten by such a bat, and that such a thing is here in `
` London in the nineteenth century?" `
` `
` He waved his hand for silence, and went on, "Can you tell me why the `
` tortoise lives more long than generations of men, why the elephant `
` goes on and on till he have sees dynasties, and why the parrot never `
` die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can you tell me `
` why men believe in all ages and places that there are men and women `
` who cannot die? We all know, because science has vouched for the `
` fact, that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of `
` years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of `
` the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to `
` die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, `
` and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and `
` then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the `
` Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as `
` before?" `
` `
` Here I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered. He so crowded on `
` my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and possible `
` impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim `
` idea that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to do in `
` his study at Amsterdam. But he used them to tell me the thing, so `
` that I could have the object of thought in mind all the time. But now `
` I was without his help, yet I wanted to follow him, so I said, `
` `
` "Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so `
` that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going `
` in my mind from point to point as a madman, and not a sane one, `
` follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a `
` midst, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to `
` move on without knowing where I am going." `
` `
` "That is a good image," he said. "Well, I shall tell you. My thesis `
` is this, I want you to believe." `
` `
` "To believe what?" `
` `
` "To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard `
` once of an American who so defined faith, 'that faculty which enables `
` us to believe things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I follow `
` that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a `
` little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth, like a small rock `
` does a railway truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep `
` him, and we value him, but all the same we must not let him think `
` himself all the truth in the universe." `
` `
` "Then you want me not to let some previous conviction inure the `
` receptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read `
` your lesson aright?" `
` `
` "Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now `
` that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to `
` understand. You think then that those so small holes in the `
` children's throats were made by the same that made the holes in Miss `
` Lucy?" `
` `
` "I suppose so." `
` `
` He stood up and said solemnly, "Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were `
` so! But alas! No. It is worse, far, far worse." `
` `
` "In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?" I cried. `
` `
` He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed `
` his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke. `
` `
` "They were made by Miss Lucy!" `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 15 `
` `
` `
` DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont. `
` `
` 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, why, 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, now 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 `
`
` `
` "And what do you make of it?" `
` `
` "Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that `
` injured her has injured them." I did not quite understand his answer. `
` `
` "That is true indirectly, but not directly." `
` `
` "How do you mean, Professor?" I asked. I was a little inclined to `
` take his seriousness lightly, for, after all, four days of rest and `
` freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to restore one's `
` spirits, but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the `
` midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern. `
` `
` "Tell me!" I said. "I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to `
` think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture." `
` `
` "Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to `
` what poor Lucy died of, not after all the hints given, not only by `
` events, but by me?" `
` `
` "Of nervous prostration following a great loss or waste of blood." `
` `
` "And how was the blood lost or wasted?" I shook my head. `
` `
` He stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on, "You are a clever `
` man, friend John. You reason well, and your wit is bold, but you are `
` too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and `
` that which is outside your daily life is not of account to you. Do `
` you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and `
` yet which are, that some people see things that others cannot? But `
` there are things old and new which must not be contemplated by men's `
` eyes, because they know, or think they know, some things which other `
` men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants `
` to explain all, and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing `
` to explain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new `
` beliefs, which think themselves new, and which are yet but the old, `
` which pretend to be young, like the fine ladies at the opera. I `
` suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in `
` materialization. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading `
` of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism . . ." `
` `
` "Yes," I said. "Charcot has proved that pretty well." `
` `
` He smiled as he went on, "Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And `
` of course then you understand how it act, and can follow the mind of `
` the great Charcot, alas that he is no more, into the very soul of the `
` patient that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it `
` that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to `
` conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me, for I am a student of the `
` brain, how you accept hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let `
` me tell you, my friend, that there are things done today in electrical `
` science which would have been deemed unholy by the very man who `
` discovered electricity, who would themselves not so long before been `
` burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it `
` that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred `
` and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her `
` poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more `
` day, we could save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and `
` death? Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say `
` wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? `
` Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one `
` great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish `
` church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil `
` of all the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and `
` elsewhere, there are bats that come out at night and open the veins of `
` cattle and horses and suck dry their veins, how in some islands of the `
` Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those `
` who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the `
` sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them `
` and then, and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even `
` Miss Lucy was?" `
` `
` "Good God, Professor!" I said, starting up. "Do you mean to tell me `
` that Lucy was bitten by such a bat, and that such a thing is here in `
` London in the nineteenth century?" `
` `
` He waved his hand for silence, and went on, "Can you tell me why the `
` tortoise lives more long than generations of men, why the elephant `
` goes on and on till he have sees dynasties, and why the parrot never `
` die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can you tell me `
` why men believe in all ages and places that there are men and women `
` who cannot die? We all know, because science has vouched for the `
` fact, that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of `
` years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of `
` the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to `
` die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, `
` and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and `
` then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the `
` Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as `
` before?" `
` `
` Here I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered. He so crowded on `
` my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and possible `
` impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim `
` idea that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to do in `
` his study at Amsterdam. But he used them to tell me the thing, so `
` that I could have the object of thought in mind all the time. But now `
` I was without his help, yet I wanted to follow him, so I said, `
` `
` "Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so `
` that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going `
` in my mind from point to point as a madman, and not a sane one, `
` follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a `
` midst, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to `
` move on without knowing where I am going." `
` `
` "That is a good image," he said. "Well, I shall tell you. My thesis `
` is this, I want you to believe." `
` `
` "To believe what?" `
` `
` "To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard `
` once of an American who so defined faith, 'that faculty which enables `
` us to believe things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I follow `
` that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a `
` little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth, like a small rock `
` does a railway truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep `
` him, and we value him, but all the same we must not let him think `
` himself all the truth in the universe." `
` `
` "Then you want me not to let some previous conviction inure the `
` receptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read `
` your lesson aright?" `
` `
` "Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now `
` that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to `
` understand. You think then that those so small holes in the `
` children's throats were made by the same that made the holes in Miss `
` Lucy?" `
` `
` "I suppose so." `
` `
` He stood up and said solemnly, "Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were `
` so! But alas! No. It is worse, far, far worse." `
` `
` "In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?" I cried. `
` `
` He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed `
` his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke. `
` `
` "They were made by Miss Lucy!" `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 15 `
` `
` `
` DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont. `
` `
` 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, why, 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, now 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 `
`