Diary of An Immortal Woman (3)

1888

October 3:

The audacity of researchers has never been so extravagant.

I reflect on this as I begin my medical studies. I am eager to autopsy an actual human corpse, searching out our differences. But this requires that I murder one of my clan too, if only for the medical knowledge. I hesitate. Mother or sister? Or my idiot of a brother-and-law ?

The period lends itself to all discoveries, all fulgurances.

For me born in the late seventeenth century, despite this hypocritical Victorian puritanism, I recognize the extraordinary vitality that grabs us all in these beginnings of the Industrial revolution.

Electricity, the telegraph, the remarkable inventions of Edison, the advances in medicine… the train!

Running with wolves is an unutterable happiness, but how exciting to feel the vibration of the railcar, its very speed penetrating my body.

Whitechapel has become the land of all rumours and unspeakable horrors.

Newspapers and onlookers speak only about of this Jack the Ripper; and his pitiful way to mutilate his victims. Why does he not bring an artistic touch?

No actual suspect, only an extravagant sum of gossip and of speculation that lead nowhere and even less to the murderer. He attacks women, especially prostitutes, and I feel a strong aversion to this criminal discrimination. I give him two days to leave London or be arrested, otherwise I will intervene personally. With my legendary sophistication, I can stage this.

At Oscar Wilde’s home this morning, I met a young Polish doctor, whose thirst for science and progress shows a dark obsession with immortality. Poor little mortal man who thrills not to know what are night, shadow and fog! However, I expect to see him again, and pursue my investigations.

I know the reasons for my immortal nature, but I cannot explain them. I am made of flesh and blood like this newborn doctor already at the threshold of old age. Each second brings him closer to death, each second condemns his cells, thickens his blood, slows his breathing and intellectual faculties. Each second, my life expectancy increases and strengthens me.

And while we were talking passionately, I felt that Oscar was staring at me with an unusual intensity. Would he have any suspicion?

To be continued…

Jack The Ripper © Wikipedia