Chapter 10
6 September
"My dear Art,
"My news today is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a bit. There is,
however, one good thing which has arisen from it. Mrs. Westenra was naturally anxious
concerning Lucy, and has consulted me professionally about her. I took advantage of
the opportunity, and told her that my old master, Van Helsing, the great specialist, was
coming to stay with me, and that I would put her in his charge conjointly with myself. So
now we can come and go without alarming her unduly, for a shock to her would mean
sudden death, and this, in Lucy's weak condition, might be disastrous to her. We are
hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor fellow, but, please God, we shall come
through them all right. If any need I shall write, so that, if you do not hear from me, take
it for granted that I am simply waiting for news, In haste,
"Yours ever,"
John Seward
7 September.--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at Liverpool Street
was, "Have you said anything to our young friend, to lover of her?" "No," I said. "I waited
till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that
you were coming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him know if
need be."
"Right, my friend," he said. "Quite right! Better he not know as yet. Perhaps he will
never know. I pray so, but if it be needed, then he shall know all. And, my good friend
John, let me caution you. You deal with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or
the other, and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God's
madmen too, the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen what you do nor why you
do it. You tell them not what you think. So you shall keep knowledge in its place, where
it may rest, where it may gather its kind around it and breed. You and I shall keep as yet
what we know here, and here." He touched me on the heart and on the forehead, and
then touched himself the same way. "I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I
shall unfold to you." "Why not now?" I asked. "It may do some good. We may arrive at
some decision."He looked at me and said, "My friend John, when the corn is grown,
even before it has ripened, while the milk of its mother earth is in him, and the sunshine
has not yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub
him between his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to you, 'Look!
He's good corn, he will make a good crop when the time comes.' "
I did not see the application and told him so. For reply he reached over and took my ear
in his hand and pulled it playfully, as he used long ago to do at lectures, and said, "The