was more than the mind could endure, were it described in even vague detail.
But even if everything I possessed I gave to this endeavor, what would I have accomplished in the final analysis
How could I even know that modern medicine in a jungle village was better than the old way How could I know that the education given a jungle child spelt happiness for it How could I know that any of this was worth the loss of myself How could I make myself care whether it was or not! That was the horror.
I didn't care. I could weep for any individual soul who suffered, yes, but about sacrificing my life to the nameless millions of the world, I couldn't care! In fact, it filled me with dread, terrible dark dread. It was sad beyond sad. It seemed no life at all. It seemed the very opposite of transcendence.
I shook my head. In a low stammering voice I explained to her why this vision frightened me so much.
Centuries ago, when I first stood on the little boulevard stage in Paris-when I saw the happy faces, when I heard applause-I felt as if my body and soul had found their destiny; I felt as if every promise in my birth and childhood had begun its fulfillment at last.
Oh, there were other actors, worse and better; other singers; other clowns; there have been a million since and a million will come after this moment. But each of us shines with his own inimitable power; each of us comes alive in his own unique and dazzling moment; each of us has his chance to vanquish the others forever in the mind of the beholder, and that is the only kind of accomplishment I can really understand: the kind of accomplishment in which the self-this self, if you will-is utterly whole and triumphant.
Yes, I could have been a saint, you are right, but I would have had to found a religious order or lead an army into battle; I would have had to work miracles of such scope that the whole world would have been brought to its knees. I am one who must dare even if I'm wrong-completely wrong. Gretchen, God gave me an individual soul and I cannot bury it.
I was amazed to see that she was still smiling at me, softly and unquestioningly, and that her face was full of calm wonder.
Better to reign in hell, she asked carefully, than to serve in heaven?
Oh, no. I would make heaven on earth if I could. But I must raise my voice; I must shine; and I must reach for the very ecstasy that you've denied-the very intensity from which you fled! That to me is transcendence! When I made Claudia, blundering error that it was-yes, it was transcendence. When I made Gabrielle, wicked as it seemed, yes, it was transcendence. It was a single, powerful, and horrifying act, which wrung from me all my unique power and daring. They shall not die, I said, yes, perhaps the very words you use to the village children.
But it was to bring them into my unnatural world that I uttered these words. The goal was not merely to save, but to make of them what I was-a unique and terrible being. It was to confer upon them the very individuality I cherished. We shall live, even in this state called living death, we shall love, we shall feel, we shall defy those who would judge us and destroy us. That was my transcendence. And self-sacrifice and redemption had no part in it.
Oh, how frustrating it was that I could not communicate it to her, I could not make her believe it in literal terms. Don't you see, I survived all that has happened to me because I am who I am. My strength, my will, my refusal to give up-those are the only components of my heart and soul which I can truly identify. This ego, if you wish to call it that, is my strength. I am the Vampire Lestat, and nothing . .. not even this mortal body ... is going to defeat me.
I was amazed to see her nod, to see her totally accepting expression.
And if you came with me, she said gently, the Vampire Lestat would perish-wouldn't he-in his own redemption.
Yes, he would. He would die slowly and horribly among the small and thankless tasks, caring for the never-ending hordes of the nameless, the faceless, the eternally needy.