Interview with the Vampire

“Well, Babette thought this to be a stroke of genius. ‘I don’t know what you are, and you will not tell me,’ she said. (This was true, I would not.) ‘But I can only think that you are an angel.’ And she begged to see my face. That is, she begged in the ma

“Oh, no,” said the boy, who had meant to hide it.

“But you mustn’t be afraid to ask me anything. If I held something too close…” And when the vampire said this his face darkened for an instant. He frowned, and as his brows drew together a small well appeared in the flesh of his forehead over his left brow, as though someone had pressed it with a finger. It gave him a peculiar look of deep distress. “If I held something too close for you to ask about it, I would not bring it up in the first place,” he said.

The boy found himself staring at the vampire’s eyes, at the eyelashes which were fine black wires in the tender flesh of the lids.

“Ask me,” he said to the boy.

“Babette, the way you speak of her,” said the boy. “As if your feeling was special.”

“Did I give you the impression I could not feel?” asked the vampire.

“No, not at all. Obviously you felt for the old man. You stayed to comfort him when you were in danger. And what you felt for young Freniere when Lestat wanted to kill him… all this you explained. But I was wondering… did you have a special feeling for Babette? Was it feeling for Babette all along that caused you to protect Freniere?”

“You mean love,” said the vampire. “Why do you hesitate to say it?”

“Because you spoke of detachment,” said the boy.

“ Do you think that angels are detached?” asked the vampire.

The boy thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said.

“But aren’t angels capable of love?” asked the vampire. “Don’t angels gaze upon the face of God with complete love?”

The boy thought for a moment. “Love or adoration,” he said.

“What is the difference?” asked the vampire thoughtfully. “What is the difference?” It was clearly not a riddle for the boy. He was asking himself. “Angels feel love, and pride… the pride of The Fall… and hatred. The strong overpowering emotions of detached persons in whom emotion and will are one,” he said finally. He stared at the table now, as though he were thinking this over, was not entirely satisfied with it. “I had for Babette… a strong feeling. It is not the strongest I’ve ever known for a human being.” He looked up at the boy. “But it was very strong. Babette was to me in her own way an ideal human being.”

He shifted in his chair, the cape moving softly about him, and turned his face to the windows. The boy bent forward and checked the tape. Then he took another cassette from his brief case and, begging the vampire’s pardon, fitted it into place, “I’m afraid I did ask something too personal. I didn’t mean…” he said anxiously to the vampire.

“You asked nothing of the sort,” said the vampire, looking at him suddenly. “It is a question right to the point. I feel love, and I felt some measure of love for Babette, though not the greatest love I’ve ever felt. It was foreshadowed in Babette.

“To return to my story, Babette’s charity ball was a success and her re-entry in social life assured by it. Her money generously underwrote any doubts in the minds of her suitors’ families, and she married. On summer nights, I used to visit her, never letting her see me or know that I was there. I came to see that she was happy, and seeing her happy I felt a happiness as the result.

“And to Babette I came now with Lestat. He would have killed the Frenieres long ago if I hadn’t stopped him, and he thought now that was what I meant to do. ‘And what peace would that bring?’ I asked. ‘You call me the idiot, and you’ve been the idiot all along. Do you think I don’t know why you made me a vampire? You couldn’t live by yourself, you couldn’t manage even the simplest things. For years now, I’ve managed everything while you sat about making a pretense of superiority. There’s nothing left for you to tell me about life. I have no need of you and no use for you. It’s you who need me, and if you touch but one of the Freniere slaves, I’ll get rid of you. It will be a battle between us, and I needn’t point out to you I have more wit to fare better in my little finger than you in your entire frame. Do as I say.’

“Well, this startled him, though it shouldn’t have; and he protested he had much to tell me, of things and types of people I might kill who would cause sudden death and places in the world I must never go and so forth and so on, nonsense that I could hardly endure. But I had no time for him. The overseer’s lights were lit at Freniere; he was trying to quell the excitement of the runaway slaves and his own. And the fire of Pointe du Lac could be seen still against the sky. Babette was dressed and attending to business, having sent carriages to Pointe du Lac and slaves to help fight the blaze. The frightened runaways were kept away from the others, and at that point no one regarded their stories as any more than slave foolishness. Babette knew something dreadful had happened and suspected murder, never the supernatural. She was in the study making a note of the fire in the plantation diary when I found her. It was almost morning. I had only a few minutes to convince her she must help. I spoke to her at first, refusing to let her turn around, and calmly she listened. I told her I must have a room for the night, to rest. ‘I’ve never brought you harm. I ask you now for a key, and your promise that no one will try to enter that room until tonight. Then I’ll tell you all.’ I was nearly desperate now. The sky was paling. Lestat was yards off in the orchard with the coffins. ‘But why have you come to me tonight?’ she asked. ‘And why not to you?’ I replied. ‘Did I not help you at the very moment when you most needed guidance, when you alone stood strong among those who are dependent and weak? Did I not twice offer you good counsel? And haven’t I watched over your happiness ever since?’ I could see the figure of Lestat at the window. He was in a panic. ‘Give me the key to a room. Let no one come near it till nightfall. I swear to you I would never bring you harm.’ ‘And if I don’t… if I believe you come from the devil!’ she said now, and meant to turn her head. I reached for the candle and put it out. She saw me standing with my back to the graying windows. ‘If you don’t, and if you believe me to be the devil, I shall die.’ I said. ‘Give me the key. I could kill you now if I chose, do you see?’ And now I moved close to her and showed myself to her more completely, so that she gasped and drew back, holding to the arm of her chair. ‘But I would not. I would die rather than kill you. I will die if you don’t give me such a key as I ask.’

“It was accomplished. What she thought, I don’t know. But she gave me one of the ground-floor storage rooms where wine was aged, and I am sure she saw Lestat and me bringing the coffins. I not only locked the door but barricaded it.

“Lestat was up the next evening when I awoke.”

“Then she kept her word.”

“Yes. Only she had gone a step further. She had not only respected our locked door; she had locked it again from without.”

“And the stories of the slaves… she’d heard them.”

“Yes, she had. Lestat was the first to discover we were locked in, however. He became furious. He had pla

“ ‘Now I won’t put up with anything from you, I warn you.’ He didn’t even wish to turn his back on me. I sat there straining to hear voices in the rooms above, wishing that he would shut up, not wishing to confide for a moment my feeling for Babette or my hopes.