chapter 2 Part 3

                                                       Diary Of Seraphina Doran

                                                                                          Thursday 12th July 1888



   Today is a most inglorious twelfth. According to the Times, in the early hours of this morning
the capital was covered by a light dusting of snow! I was as a consequence keen to check on
both Dr.Griffiths and the Lowensteins. When I arrived I was very much relieved to see
everything was in order. Esther and Laszlo were breaking for lunch and invited me to join
them. I told them with much regret that I must decline their kind offer, but would be delighted
to join them another time. When I entered his rooms Dr.Griffiths was, to my astonishment
immaculately attired in a herringbone tweed suit. He was sitting by the fire and told me that
the prospect of an outing had so cheered him, he decided that this afternoon would be an
appropriate time. I told him that while I was happy to see him so animated, that in his fragile
state of health, an outing was perhaps inadvisable. He would have none of it.
 "I have precious few good days Miss Seraphina, I certainly don't intend to waste such an
opportunity. Now, are you going to accompany me or not?" I answered that I fully intended
to accompany him, if only to monitor his condition. We both then managed to raise a smile.
 He donned a heavy winter coat and a bowler hat. His tall stature is accentuated by his
emaciation, which combined with such an unhealthy pallor makes for a striking appearance.
 "Come along Madam, where are my dark glasses?" I reached inside my Gladstone and
presented him with a pair of blue lensed spectacles I had managed to procure from a friend
of my father's that same morning. "Thank you my dear, We must be off and hail a Hansom!
  We found one outside the hospital, which is but a short distance from his lodgings.
The fresh air seemed to have a genuinely invigorating effect on him. I wondered how he
would react to the large crowds and loud noises. Far from being overwhelmed, the greater
the throng of people the more he came alive, as if he were feeding off their energy.
Once inside, he instructed the cab man to drive up to the West End so he could peruse the
shops. First of all we drove into Chelsea to visit the curiosity shops. Form an art shop he bought
two small paintings in the style of Turner. One a brilliant sunset the other a blazing ship on
a stormy ocean. He also took a fancy to a 2ft figurine of female nude called 'The Bather
Surprised' made by Royal Worcester and designed by Sir Thomas Brock. he paid a handsome
sum for her, though refused to specify how much. "Only the vulgar discuss money, Miss
Seraphina. Besides, the comfort of having her on my bedside table, with her ample
curves and tumbling hair will be immeasurable." While I concur, she is a fine figure of a
woman, I find her overt sensuality a little unsettling and cannot help feeling like a spy
when I gaze upon her. As if I am stripping her of her human identity.
Which leaves nothing behind but a blank canvas on which to paint one's desires.
  Mr.Griffiths then insisted we visit a furniture shop, from which he ordered two
wickerwork chairs, a footstool and a bookcase. He then stopped at a clockmaker's after
he spotted a French ormolu clock he simply had to possess. It was a model from the 1820's
done in Egyptian style, a tall black obelisk, with a large gold dial, crowned with a Pharaoh in 
a gilded headdress seated between two reclining lions. I thought it rather opulent and a
little gaudy, but kept my opinion to myself, as he seemed very enamoured of his 'Ozymandias'.
 Finally, he ordered a pair of brass candlesticks and a pair of bookends from A.Loach and sons.
The candlesticks are of a beautiful design with a square base, long undulating body and
ovoid centre. They are ribbed all the way down and will compliment his new clock very
well. The bookends are sphinxes, in keeping with the Egyptian theme. They are so sublimely
calm and aloof, the fall of empires and the onslaught of time, a matter of sovereign indifference.
   Dr. Griffiths obsession with Egypt is something of a mystery to me, though he seems rather
knowledgeable about the subject. He told me he was very moved by the myth of Isis and
Osiris. Of his murder and dismemberment by his brother Set and the frantic search by Isis
for his disjecta membra. Of how, in the form of a falcon Isis restored Osiris' broken body
and revivified it before copulating with him and begetting the hawk-headed god Horus.
  All of this sounded rather disturbing to me, but Dr.Griffiths seemed rapt with awe as
he spoke: " Horus avenges Osiris and deposes Set as ruler of his Father's erstwhile kingdom,
thus restoring the balance of Maat or justice." And what of Osiris? I asked simultaneously
fascinated and repelled. "Osiris resurrection was all too brief and he returned to the abode
of the dead to rule as king. I find the Egyptians the most fascinating of all the ancients.
Bodily immortality was essential or else spiritual annihilation would follow." He smirked
to himself, as he contemplated the irony of his own predicament. " Quite unlike the
Christian approach. The body must suffer degradation and nullification, in order to come
to the fullness of life." I replied that my chief preoccupation was with mending the
broken bodies of the living. If  he wished to have a discussion of a philosophical or
theological nature then he ought to consult our family friend Fr.Ignazio Garcione.
He laughed at this suggestion and said if he were at a loose end one day he would do
precisely that. I would like to be a fly on the wall for that encounter, as I rather suspect
 that deep down Dr.Griffiths is, like Lord Byron, at least half a pagan. Though he denies
nothing, he doubts everything. The best part of this conversation occurred while we drove
home in hailstorm at around four o'clock this afternoon. He had arranged for everything
except the paintings to be delivered, as they were small and light.
  When we arrived back at 13b, Dr.Griffiths placed the parcels on top of a chest of drawers,
before collapsing on the bed, obviously exhausted. His countenance was even more pallid and
waxen than usual. I didn't like the look of him one bit. He insisted he would be fine but I
suspected otherwise. Sure enough, ten minutes later he was sweating and in agony.
I had to assist him disrobing and help him into his nightshirt. I was rather taken aback by
just how skeletal he is. I told him he ought to eat more or he'd die from malnutrition
before any complication of his porphyria. He made no reply, as I think I'd touched a raw
nerve. Then as he lay back onto his mound of pillows, sweating even more profusely,
he asked for a morphia injection. I took hold of his arm and as I did so, he grabbed my
hand and said : " I know I've probably exacerbated my condition by neglecting my body.
    I promise you Miss Seraphina, Cross my heart and hope to die, I shall eat more in
future." I smiled and nodded before proceeding with the injection. He is now resting in
the arms of Morpheus and looks peaceful enough, though I fear he will suffer for his
exertions. 

                                                                   S.Doran

Chapter 2 part 2

 
                                                      Diary Of Seraphina Doran
                                                                    
                                                                                            Wednesday 11th July 1888

      Dr. Griffiths has now relocated to his new rooms in Mount st. He was hoping to acquire the
run of an entire house, though this being the East End he has been forced to confine himself to  the two upper floors of number thirteen, 13b. The people living directly beneath him in 13a are Mr.
and Mrs. Lowenstein. They are an elderly Jewish couple of Eastern European origin.
Mr. Lowenstein stopped me on the way in, when he learned of my profession his eyes lit up and
he asked if I could spare a few moments. I told him I would be happy to examine him if he wished.
Mr.Lowenstein invited me into his home and told me that thenceforth I was to address him as
Laszlo. He then introduced me to his wife who also preferred to be called by her forename, which
is Esther. They are a very nice couple, though not in the best financial circumstances. I therefore
declined any offer of payment. I proceeded to conduct a through examination of Laszlo's
respiratory system and found him to be suffering from a chronic lung disease. When he told me
his profession all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. His occupation as a tailor for over forty
years has led him to inhale lots of tiny fibres. These have undoubtedly accumulated over time
and begun to congest his alveoli. As with all forms of emphysema the damage is irreversible.
 I was uncertain how to inform him, that while I could help him manage his symptoms I
could not effect a total cure. I recommend he keep his diet light and nourishing and gave him
a bottle of Friar's Balsam and instructed him to add a little to a bowl of very hot water and inhale
the vapours daily. I also gave him a bottle of laudanum for when the pain becomes intolerable.
 He is otherwise very spry and it would be impossible to say how long it will take for him to
succumb to the disease. Laszlo listened with an attitude of perfect equanimity,
as I believe he had suspected something was amiss for quite a while,
 He had evidently taken steps to conceal the full extent of his illness from Esther.
She was heartbroken, not only distraught at the prospect of losing her
spouse, she is also terrified by the prospect of being a widow and even worse off economically.
 Esther is an accomplished seamstress, though failing eyesight and restricted movement in her
hands has limited the amount of work she can do. The whole situation is very sad, as they
were not blessed with children to care for them in their dotage. I told them I would look in
on them from time to time which cheered them a little.
  I ascended the rickety stairs and found Dr.Griffiths partially dressed, sat by the fire with a blanket
over his knees. He told me the move had been stressful though necessary, as he now felt a little
dignity had been restored to him. "Ah yes, Miss Seraphina, I am far more at ease now I have a
centre of operations, somewhere correspondence can reach me. A place where you can visit me
without fear of interruption". I was a little embarrassed by his final remark. There was {though
I'm sure unintentional} a hint of improper suggestion. He then made a rather unusual comment.
" The decor in here is rather Spartan. Although I can only view things in half-light most of the
time, I should like a few objet d'art dotted around the place. Would you be so good as to
purchase me a decent mantel clock, a pair of candlesticks and a couple of paintings? Or an
ornament perhaps?" I said I was flattered he trusted my judgement in such matters, but that it
was quite impossible to account for another person's taste. He smiled and said as the daughter
of an artist I ought to have an innate aesthetic sensibility, which naturally conformed to classical
ideals. I burst out laughing and suggested we take a trip out when the light was failing.
He seemed genuinely pleased and even dare I say it 'energised' by this suggestion, and readily
agreed. He then asked me to procure some dark lensed glasses, as his eyes were unaccustomed
to even the weakest daylight. Before I left I asked him if he required any sustenance. He declined
at which point I admonished him for neglecting the needs of an already weakened body. He
simply smiled and said that while he often thought of eating something more substantial, that
for the most part all his body seemed to tolerate was meat teas, warm milk and water biscuits.
The closest thing to a solid he consumed was an occasional treat of calf's foot jelly. I acceded
to his wishes and left him dozing by the fire. His landlord had evidently ensured he had sufficient fuel.
  
                                                                   S.Doran


                                          

Chapter 2

                                                The Diary of Seraphina Doran
                                                                
                                                                                         Tuesday July 10th 1888

  
     Today I visited Dr. Griffiths again. He seemed a little better, propped up on a mountain
of pillows, sipping beef tea and discussing his new lodgings. He has rented a house in Mount st
Whitechapel, adjacent to the Royal London Hospital.Which is where my father is a surgeon in
residence. He requested, in addition to me calling on him daily, that I continue his research.
 He handed me a large, brown, battered, Gladstone bag which contained all his previous findings.
I was very moved when he said he trusted me and that he thought me more than equal to the task
of carrying on where he left off. He then proceeded to ask me about my father.
  " Tell me, Miss Seraphina, how is your father these days?" I answered that he was very well
and highly respected at the hospital. A strange, wide grin appeared on his skull-like face which
momentarily disconcerted me. To see his blue tinged lips stretch, to reveal a set of splendid,
white teeth seemed rather incongruous. They are about the healthiest looking part of his
anatomy. Very even and undecayed, the only outstanding feature being a slight over-development
of the canine teeth. He continued: "Would your father be able to arrange it for you to gain access
to the laboratories? To analyse my samples and speak with the relevant authorities about mine
and other similar conditions?" I answered that while difficult, it was not impossible and I would
see what could be done. He then began to question me about my credentials and asked me where
I had studied. I told him I received my medical degree from The Catholic University in Dublin
and took my licence exams at The Royal Irish Collage Of Surgeons. He seemed impressed and
went on to inform me that female physicians were far more common on the continent. How
"Britannia for all her industrial development, is sadly behind the times when it comes to social
innovation". I found it quite refreshing to hear a fellow doctor not only speak in such
complimentary terms, but to see such sentiments translated into action. He has entrusted his professional legacy to me.
  I have arranged a meeting between Dr.Griffiths and my father. As he is eager to become
acquainted with him, also to discuss requirements of my research. Furthermore he wishes to
know about the facilities available, should his symptoms become unmanageable in a domestic
setting. He seemed satisfied with the outcome of our meeting and suggested that I should
find lodgings near by, for the purposes of attending him and to be in closer proximity to the
hospital while conducting my research. I told him I would give it due consideration, however,
my family home being but a modest distance from both Mount st and the hospital means I am
in no hurry to uproot myself. I am far to content with my home comforts, such as my Mother's
superior French cooking and my Father's vast medical library! I bade him farewell at around
eight o'clock this evening. He was propped up on his side, reading a Welsh volume which he informed me, was 'The Book Of Taliesin'.

                                                              S. Doran

Chapter 1

                                                  Journal Of Seraphina Doran
                                       
                                                                                                  Friday July 6th 1888



The light dimmed gold to grey and my heart knew an uneasy peace. I am at last a real physician,
although as yet inexperienced. As a female I am not the most desirable prospect, viewed at worst
 as second rate or at best as a curiosity. Today at the recommendation of my celebrated father's
{ Dr. Joseph Patrick Doran} esteemed colleague, Dr. Henry Saunders,
 I had entrusted to my care a most unusual invalid.
 One Thomas David Griffiths, himself a physician, now confined to his bed by a rare and terrifying
malady. A very 'long' fellow as my father would say, at least 6'2 and emaciated. His etiolated
body presents very little by way of healthy flesh. What remains presents signs of atrophy.
 He wore a serene, listless expression upon his waxen, pallid face. His cadaverous countenance
was enlivened by penetrating, blue eyes, which looked even more outstanding, as the inner membranes were clearly inflamed and encircled by deep black rings. His head was crowned by a thatching of over-long limp blonde hair. Throughout the course of our conversation he used his tapered white hands to punctuate his erudite speech. As elegant as some of these dramatic flourishes were, I was transfixed by the lattice work of swollen, blue veins which protruded from their backs. He spoke of his travels in Europe, of his time in the Low Countries and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Of how he had been studying in Amsterdam when he became ill for a second time. He has a wonderful, melodious Welsh accent which transforms speech into song.
 So he began: " You see Miss Seraphina, I went out to Holland with the intention of discovering the root of my discomfort. In the hope of eliminating most, if not all of my symptoms.
 I am as you find me, as a consequence of undiscriminating heredity."
 At which point he gave a hollow throaty laugh, which soon turned into a full blown
coughing fit. Doubtless attributable to irritation of the mucous membranes. When sufficiently
recovered he continued: My illness is cruel and progressively debilitating. It is characterised
by periods of activity and remission, I am at present in the latter stages of an attack. I insist upon
the curtains being drawn at all times, on no account do I wish to be exposed to natural
daylight. All I require is an oil lamp to read by. This because the sun causes my skin to blister
and scar. During the more violent phases you can expect to see me writhing in agony, owing
to extreme abdominal discomfort. My guts tend to bloat and harden, at first my bowels are
congested, which gives way to bloody diarrhoea. My pulse becomes very rapid and causes my
blood pressure to rise. During these phases the urine in my chamber pot turns purplish on
exposure to sunlight."
  After he had finished delivering a truly horrifying litany of symptoms, he turned, looked
me straight in the eye and addressed a very direct question to me.
 " Miss Seraphina, what I have told you so far is only one half of the story. I have, thus far only
presented to you the physical manifestations of my disorder. Far more distressing to me than
any malfunctioning of the body, are the mental, in modern parlance, psychological disturbances
concomitant with my condition. I am subject to disturbances of perception and occasional
hallucinations.I am also prone to bouts of somnambulism and night terrors. While it is very distressing for me, it may be a traumatic experience for any doctor attending me. I have
been entirely candid as to the pathology of my condition, now you are possessed of all the facts
do you still wish to attend me?"
I answered an unhesitating yes. With which he was satisfied. I was eager to hear more about
the initial onset of the disease, as well as his travels on the continent. I asked him about his first
ever episode, he seemed momentarily upset, before collecting himself, I assured him it would
 keep for another time, but he insisted he was alright to continue.
  " I refer to this disease as 'the family curse'. Having administered treatment to my own
father I understand all too well the progress of the disease. Several male antecedents in my
Paternal line have fallen prey to curse, many more succumbed than escaped it.
  Shortly after completing my studies and starting up in general practice, I nursed my father
through the final stages of the disease. Not long after he died, I began accruing all the information
I could on the subject of this horrible affliction. The trail led me to Berlin and the work of
Felix Hoppe-Seyler, whom I understand identified the biological agents of the malady
'hematoporphyrins in 1871. I visited in 1873 at the age of 30, and listened intently to his
lectures on blood and its properties. Later I studied under Schultz and in 1874 I heard him
give a name to my condition 'Porphyria'. From the Greek meaning 'purple pigment', a rather
pretty name for such an awful disease. I spent the last  14 years travelling on the continent,
to Prague, Vienna and latterly to Amsterdam. Where I was engaged in studying the latest
findings of Barend Joseph Stokvis, a Dutch professor of physiology and pharmacology
who noticed a correlation between violent reactions in certain patients to a new hypnotic drug
called Sulfonal {Sulfonmethane} and changes in body chemistry. He described the drug
as being 'porphyrogenic'. I was abroad when I was seized once again by the
porphyry sphinx, just as I was about to solve her riddle.
  When I was well enough I sailed home. When I say 'home' I refer to Great Britain. I have been
staying here at the house of Dr.Saunders for the past fortnight."
  I was perplexed, as to how he'd managed to continue his travels and conduct his research,
all the while at the mercy of this terrible disease. He continued:
  "when I was 28, just after my father died and before I began my quest, I had a day of respite.
It was a hot glorious day, the sort I adored as a child, though Da never accompanied us.
He Inhabited the same tenebrous, twilight world I myself am doomed to wander. I had decided
to work in the garden of my family home just outside St.Asaph in Denbighshire. I rather naively
assumed having reached my late 20's without experiencing an attack, that I was unlikely to
develop the disease. Da's episodes had begun in his early teens and the disease had made similar
progress in the case of most of my other relatives. I digress. I loved the bright shades of the
coleus plants {flame nettles} with their vivid two tone leaves. Also the succulent ornamental
brassicas, the gorgeous cousin of the humble table cabbage, which can compete with any rose
for sheer aesthetic charm. I spent an entire afternoon grafting in the baking heat. At around
3 o'clock I decided to have a break and drink a bottle of beer I'd been cooling in the stream
which ran through the bottom of the garden. Almost as soon as I'd drained the bottle, I
began to feel queasy. I assured myself it was probably heatstroke. I had after all been without
my hat for half of the afternoon. I promptly retired to bed and thought as little of it as possible.
what ensued was a full blown attack which lasted six weeks. The first fortnight was very intense,
followed by four weeks of intermittent, abating symptoms.
  During the first phase of the illness, I became delirious and fancied I saw my late father at the
foot of my bed. He looked stern and told me to beware, that I was in grave moral and physical
danger. That I was to resist the purple devil's promptings and be patient in my illness.
I was of course completely insane at this juncture. My Mother and Aunt had to nurse me
through my convalescence. When I was well enough I wrote to Dr.Saunders who came at
once and examined me. He confirmed my worst imaginings.
   When I was sufficiently recovered, I resolved to follow a few simple rules for a sane existence.
1. Travel by night and attend only evening lectures.
2. Eat only simple foods and avoid alcohol as my digestion is very delicate.
3. Do not over work.
I was as a consequence, forced to give up my practice and earn a living by providing private
medical care. Often, to some of the more unsavoury elements in society.  When I had sufficient funds I decided to travel, as extensively as I could on a quest for life.
  While it is true, the purple devil and I have had several subsequent bouts, they were neither as
severe or as long lasting as the initial episode. Nor have they been as frequent as I feared.
I have been lucky thus far, though I know what awaits me and how my health will only
deteriorate in the years to come. If indeed, I have years.
   So, there you have it, Miss Seraphina, the pitiful case history of a porphyriac doctor!"
I didn't wish to press him any further, as he was now deeply distressed. I proceeded to offer
him an injection of morphia, which he gladly accepted. I left him quietly reposing, beneath an
enormous cream eiderdown. He looked as if he were drowning in a bath of milk. It is now half
past two in the morning and I am very tired.

                                                          S. Doran

Chapter 1: Intro

     An Account Of The Whitechapel Murders

Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Fr. Ignazio Garcione. I am a Jesuit priest and scholar.
I was born in Sicily on 15 August 1829. My family moved to London when I was a small boy
in 1834. I retain a few precious memories of my country of origin. The most pervasive are those
of sapphire seas, azure skies and uncommonly sweet lemons. I have been here for so many years, I'm now accustomed to grey skies, biting cold and suffocating smog.
  So long have I dwelt in her belly, this Jonah now loves his leviathan. Love her as I do
I sometimes like to revisit the Mediterranean. I have travelled to Rome on several occasions.
The last time was in 1874, when the head of my order assigned me to a special unit,
one with a particular interest in occult phenomena. We are charged with investigating unusual
occurrences, particularly those of a demonic nature.
I am not at liberty to name the head of our department. Suffice it to say he is an eminent scholar
and experienced exorcist. For the duration of my report I will refer to him simply as X.L, infer
from that what you will.
  My story starts in July 1888 and relies heavily upon excerpts from the journal of a remarkable
young woman. She was directly involved with these unholy occurrences.
 I have been acquainted with the Doran family for many years. I met her father Joseph, a respected Irish surgeon in the 1850's at an exhibition of his wife's paintings. His wife Brigitte is from Brittany, originally an actress, she retired from the stage when she married Joseph and turned her hand to painting. Seraphina, their daughter is the lady whose involvement brought the case to my attention.
 She is a rather singular woman. Tall and angular, with intense amber eyes and auburn hair. Her features are those of a classical Venus and yet, she is far more at home at a dissection than a
debutante's ball. Having inherited not only her father's analytical brain but also his strong stomach,
she decided to follow in his footsteps and is now a doctor herself. Because of her gender she has
encountered many obstacles, though she has persevered with characteristic determination.
Undeterred by her dreadful experiences last autumn she has chosen to devote the rest of her life
to the study of obscure diseases. At just 27 years of age I envisage a promising career ahead.
Rather than continuing to extol her virtues, shall for the moment, be silent and allow the lady
to speak for herself.

Chapter 1: Opening

                                                                                                                  February 2nd 1889

 To His Eminence Cardinal John Henry Newman,

My Most Reverend Prince, I trust this letter finds you in as good health as can be expected in one
of your advanced years. I am writing in strictest confidence as to the true and diabolical nature

of the events in Whitechapel last autumn. The information I am about to impart is highly sensitive. while it is certainly of interest to the secular authorities they would doubtless, scorn and dismiss the  enclosed explanation as a fanciful jest. I implore your Eminence to assimilate the accounts provided and draw your own conclusion. I understand at some point in the future, it may be necessary to make certain sympathetic persons, in high authority aware of the contents of this manuscript. A man of your discretion may do so with my blessing. One can only hope that the dreadful facts herein, will end speculation as to what happened to those unfortunate women. If not now then some time hence. There is after all, no time in eternity. Ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

                                                           Ignazio Garcione SJ

 

                     

CHAPTER ONE COMING DECEMBER 2012


    In Autumn 1888 a young female doctor by the name of Seraphina Doran is asked to
oversee the care of a mysterious invalid, Mr. Thomas Griffiths. Himself a doctor, now
stricken by a degenerative as yet, unidentified malady. A terrifying illness which has blighted the erudite and mysterious figure along with several previous generations of his family, all of whom fell prey to 'the family curse.'