Dracula
By Bram Stoker
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Chapter 1
Jonathan Harker's Journal
3 May. Bistritz. __Left Munich
at 8:35 P. M, on 1st May, arriving at Vienna
The impression I had was that we were
leaving the West and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges
over the Danube , which is here of noble width
and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.
We left in pretty good time, and came after
nightfall to Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I
had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper,
which was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the
waiter, and he said it was called "paprika hendl," and that, as it
was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.
I found my smattering of German very useful
here, indeed, I don't know how I should be able to get on without it.
Having had some time at my disposal when in
London , I had visited the British
Museum , and made search among the
books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania ;
it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to
have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.
I find that the district he named is in the
extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania,
Moldavia, and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the
wildest and least known portions of Europe.
I was not able to light on any map or work
giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this
country as yet to compare with our own Ordnance Survey Maps; but I found that
Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I
shall enter here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk
over my travels with Mina.
In the population of Transylvania
there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them
the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and
Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be
descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars
conquered the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in
it.
I read that every known superstition in the
world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the
centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting.
(Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)
I did not sleep well, though my bed was
comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog
howling all night under my window, which may have had something to do with it;
or it may have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my
carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the
continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly
then.
I had for breakfast more paprika, and a
sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was "mamaliga", and
egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call
"impletata". (Mem.,get recipe for this also.)
I had to hurry breakfast, for the train
started a little before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after
rushing to the station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an
hour before we began to move.
It seems to me that the further east you go
the more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China
All day long we seemed to dawdle through a
country which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns
or castles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes
we ran by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each
side of them to be subject of great floods. It takes a lot of water, and
running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.
At every station there were groups of
people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some of them were just
like the peasants at home or those I saw coming through France and Germany
The women looked pretty, except when you
got near them, but they were very clumsy about the waist. They had all full
white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot
of strips of something fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but
of course there were petticoats under them.
The strangest figures we saw were the
Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats,
great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy
leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore
high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair and
heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look
prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old Oriental
band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather
wanting in natural self-assertion.
It was on the dark side of twilight when we
got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on
the frontier—for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina —it
has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty
years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five
separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it
underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war
proper being assisted by famine and disease.
Count Dracula had directed me to go to the
Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly
old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the
country.
I was evidently expected, for when I got
near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant
dress—white undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured
stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed and
said, "The Herr Englishman?"
"Yes," I said, "Jonathan
Harker."
She smiled, and gave some message to an
elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door.
He went, but immediately returned with a
letter:
"My friend.—Welcome to the
Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three
tomorrow the diligence will start for Bukovina ;
a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass London
4 May—I found that my landlord had got a
letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for
me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and
pretended that he could not understand my German.
This could not be true, because up to then
he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as
if he did.
He and his wife, the old lady who had
received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out
that the money had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked
him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he
and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all,
simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had
no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means
comforting.
Just before I was leaving, the old lady
came up to my room and said in a hysterical way: "Must you go? Oh! Young
Herr, must you go?" She was in such an excited state that she seemed to
have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other
language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking
many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged
on important business, she asked again:
"Do you know what day it is?" I
answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:
"Oh, yes! I know that! I know that,
but do you know what day it is?"
On my saying that I did not understand, she
went on:
"It is the eve of St. George's
It was all very ridiculous but I did not
feel comfortable. However, there was business to be done, and I could allow
nothing to interfere with it.
I tried to raise her up, and said, as
gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I
must go.
She then rose and dried her eyes, and
taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me.
I did not know what to do, for, as an
English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such things as in some measure
idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so
well and in such a state of mind.
She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face,
for she put the rosary round my neck and said, "For your mother's
sake," and went out of the room.
I am writing up this part of the diary
whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix
is still round my neck.
Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the
many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know,
but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.
If this book should ever reach Mina before
I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the coach!
5 May. The Castle.—The gray of the morning
has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged,
whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things
and little are mixed.
I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be
called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes.
There are many odd things to put down, and,
lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let
me put down my dinner exactly.
I dined on what they called "robber
steak"—bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and
strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple style of the London
The wine was Golden Mediasch, which
produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.
I had only a couple of glasses of this, and
nothing else.
When I got on the coach, the driver had not
taken his seat, and I saw him talking to the landlady.
They were evidently talking of me, for
every now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting
on the bench outside the door—came and listened, and then looked at me, most of
them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for
there were many nationalities in the crowd, so I quietly got my polyglot
dictionary from my bag and looked them out.
I must say they were not cheering to me,
for amongst them were "Ordog"—Satan, "Pokol"—hell,
"stregoica"—witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both
mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that
is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem.,I must ask the Count about these
superstitions.)
When we started, the crowd round the inn
door, which had by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign
of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me.
With some difficulty, I got a fellow
passenger to tell me what they meant. He would not answer at first, but on
learning that I was English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against
the evil eye.
This was not very pleasant for me, just
starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man. But everyone seemed so
kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be
touched.
I shall never forget the last glimpse which
I had of the inn yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing
themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of rich
foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the centre of
the yard.
Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers
covered the whole front of the boxseat,—"gotza" they call
them—cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we
set off on our journey.
I soon lost sight and recollection of
ghostly fears in the beauty of the scene as we drove along, although had I
known the language, or rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were
speaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay
a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep
hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to
the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple, plum,
pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees
spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of what
they call here the "Mittel
Land
Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land
"Look! Isten szek!"—"God's
seat!"—and he crossed himself reverently.
As we wound on our endless way, and the sun
sank lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round
us. This was emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the
sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and there we
passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticed that goitre
was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses, and as we swept by,
my companions all crossed themselves. Here and there was a peasant man or woman
kneeling before a shrine, who did not even turn round as we approached, but
seemed in the self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the
outer world. There were many things new to me. For instance, hay-ricks in the
trees, and here and there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white
stems shining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves.
Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon—the
ordinary peasants's cart—with its long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit
the inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of
homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their
coloured sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long staves, with
axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold, and the growing
twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the gloom of the trees, oak,
beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of the
hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and there
against the background of latelying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut
through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us,
great masses of greyness which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a
peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim
fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into
strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind
ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep that,
despite our driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wished to get
down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it.
"No, no," he said. "You must not walk here. The dogs are too
fierce." And then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim
pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"And
you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep." The only stop
he would make was a moment's pause to light his lamps.
When it grew dark there seemed to be some
excitement amongst the passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the
other, as though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully
with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on to
further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of patch of
grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the hills. The
excitement of the passengers grew greater. The crazy coach rocked on its great
leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold
on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the mountains
seemed to come nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us. We were
entering on the Borgo
Pass.
"There is no carriage here. The Herr
is not expected after all. He will now come on to Bukovina ,
and return tomorrow or the next day, better the next day." Whilst he was
speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the
driver had to hold them up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants
and a universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove up
behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the
flash of our lamps as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black
and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard
and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see
the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as
he turned to us.
He said to the driver, "You are early
tonight, my friend."
The man stammered in reply, "The
English Herr was in a hurry."
To which the stranger replied, "That
is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina .
You cannot deceive me, my friend. I know too much, and my horses are
swift."
As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight
fell on a hardlooking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as
white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from
Burger's "Lenore".
"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell."
("For the dead travel fast.")
The strange driver evidently heard the
words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face
away, at the same time putting out his two fingers and crossing himself.
"Give me the Herr's luggage," said the driver, and with exceeding
alacrity my bags were handed out and put in the caleche. Then I descended from
the side of the coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver helping
me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel. His strength must have
been prodigious.
Without a word he shook his reins, the
horses turned, and we swept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back I
saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and
projected against it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves.
Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept
on their way to Bukovina . As they sank into
the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling come over me. But a
cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver
said in excellent German—
"The night is chill, mein Herr, and my
master the Count bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz
(the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should require
it."
I did not take any, but it was a comfort to
know it was there all the same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little
frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have taken it,
instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard
pace straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along another
straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same
ground again, and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was
so. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but I
really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any protest would
have had no effect in case there had been an intention to delay.
By-and-by, however, as I was curious to
know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my
watch. It was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock,
for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my
recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.
Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a
farmhouse far down the road, a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The
sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on
the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which
seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp
it through the gloom of the night.
At the first howl the horses began to
strain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted
down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway from sudden fright.
Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a
louder and a sharper howling, that of wolves, which affected both the horses
and myself in the same way. For I was minded to jump from the caleche and run,
whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that the driver had to use all
his great strength to keep them from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own
ears got accustomed to the sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the
driver was able to descend and to stand before them.
He petted and soothed them, and whispered
something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with
extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became quite manageable
again, though they still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and shaking
his reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after going to the far side
or the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow roadway which ran sharply to the
right.
Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in
places arched right over the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel. And
again great frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in
shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the
rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. It
grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall, so that
soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The keen wind
still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on
our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they
were closing round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the
horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least disturbed. He
kept turning his head to left and right, but I could not see anything through
the darkness.
Suddenly, away on our left I saw a faint flickering
blue flame. The driver saw it at the same moment. He at once checked the
horses, and, jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not
know what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer. But while I
wondered, the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat,
and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming
of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now looking back,
it is like a sort of awful nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near the road,
that even in the darkness around us I could watch the driver's motions. He went
rapidly to where the blue flame arose, it must have been very faint, for it did
not seem to illumine the place around it at all, and gathering a few stones,
formed them into some device.
Once there appeared a strange optical
effect. When he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I
could see its ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, but as the effect
was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining through the
darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped onwards
through the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they
were following in a moving circle.
At last there came a time when the driver
went further afield than he had yet gone, and during his absence, the horses
began to tremble worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could
not see any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether.
But just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the
jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I saw around us a
ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues, with long, sinewy
limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more terrible in the grim
silence which held them than even when they howled. For myself, I felt a sort
of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man feels himself face to face with
such horrors that he can understand their true import.
All at once the wolves began to howl as
though the moonlight had had some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped
about and reared, and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way
painful to see. But the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side,
and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come,
for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the
ring and to aid his approach, I shouted and beat the side of the caleche,
hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from the side, so as to give him a
chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his
voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw
him stand in the roadway. As he swept his long arms, as though brushing aside
some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell back and back further still. Just
then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so that we were again in
darkness.
When I could see again the driver was
climbing into the caleche, and the wolves disappeared. This was all so strange
and uncanny that a dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or
move. The time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost complete
darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon.
We kept on ascending, with occasional
periods of quick descent, but in the main always ascending. Suddenly, I became
conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses
in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no
ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the
sky.
Chapter 2
Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued
5 May.—I must have been asleep, for
certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a
remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and
as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed
bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.
When the caleche stopped, the driver jumped
down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice
his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could
have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my traps, and placed them on
the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with
large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see
even in the dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving
had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again
into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started forward, and trap and all
disappeared down one of the dark openings.
I stood in silence where I was, for I did
not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign. Through these
frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could
penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding
upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What
sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a customary
incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of
a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that.
Solicitor, for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was
successful, and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and
pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to
me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with
the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the
morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and
my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians.
All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of morning.
Just as I had come to this conclusion I
heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the
chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains
and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud
grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.
Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven
save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a
single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique
silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind,
throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open
door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture,
saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation.
"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and
of your own free will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but
stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.
The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved
impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength
which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it
seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he
said.
"Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go
safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!" The strength of
the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose
face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person
to whom I was speaking. So to make sure, I said interrogatively, "Count
Dracula?"
He bowed in a courtly was as he replied,
"I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in,
the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest."As he was
speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my
luggage. He had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested, but he
insisted.
"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is
late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort
myself."He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up a
great winding stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our
steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I
rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper,
and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, flamed
and flared.
The Count halted, putting down my bags,
closed the door, and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a
small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of
any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to
enter. It was a welcome sight. For here was a great bedroom well lighted and
warmed with another log fire, also added to but lately, for the top logs were
fresh, which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my
luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door.
"You will need, after your journey, to
refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish.
When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper
prepared."
The light and warmth and the Count's
courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having
then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half famished with
hunger. So making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.
I found supper already laid out. My host,
who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework,
made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said,
"I pray you, be seated and sup how you
please. You will I trust, excuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined
already, and I do not sup."
I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr.
Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a
charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave
me a thrill of pleasure.
"I must regret that an attack of gout,
from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling
on my part for some time to come. But I am happy to say I can send a sufficient
substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man,
full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He
is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be
ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your
instructions in all matters."
The count himself came forward and took off
the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This,
with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old tokay, of which I had two
glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many
question as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced.
By this time I had finished my supper, and
by my host's desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar
which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I
had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked
physiognomy.
His face was a strong, a very strong,
aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils,
with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but
profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the
nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth,
so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather
cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the
lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his
years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The
chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect
was one of extraordinary pallor.
Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his
hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather
white and fine. But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that
they were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were
hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a
sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not
repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible
feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.
The Count, evidently noticing it, drew
back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his
protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We
were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the
first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over
everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the
howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said.
"Listen to them, the children of the
night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my
face strange to him, he added,"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot
enter into the feelings of the hunter." Then he rose and said.
"But you must be tired. Your bedroom
is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be
away till the afternoon, so sleep well and dream well!" With a courteous
bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my
bedroom.
I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt. I
fear. I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep
me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!
7 May.—It is again early morning, but I
have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the
day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room
where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot
by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which
was written—
"I have to be absent for a while. Do
not wait for me. D." I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done,
I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know I had finished, but
I could not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house,
considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table
service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense
value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of
my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of
fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, though in
excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, but they were worn
and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is there a mirror.
There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to get the little shaving
glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet
seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of
wolves. Some time after I had finished my meal, I do not know whether to call
it breakfast of dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had it,
I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the castle
until I had asked the Count's permission. There was absolutely nothing in the
room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials, so I opened another door in
the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found
locked.
In the library I found, to my great
delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound
volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the center was littered with
English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date.
The books were of the most varied kind, history, geography, politics, political
economy, botany, geology, law, all relating to England and English life and
customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London
Directory, the "Red" and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac,
the Army and Navy Lists, and it somehow gladdened my heart to see it, the Law
List.
Whilst I was looking at the books, the door
opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I
had had a good night's rest. Then he went on.
"I am glad you found your way in here,
for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These companions," and
he laid his hand on some of the books, "have been good friends to me, and
for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given
me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great
England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded
streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of
humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what
it is. But alas! As yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my
friend, I look that I know it to speak."
"But, Count," I said, "You
know and speak English thoroughly!" He bowed gravely.
"I thank you, my friend, for your all
too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road
I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how
to speak them.
"Indeed," I said, "You speak
excellently."
"Not so," he answered.
"Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are
who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am
noble. I am a Boyar. The common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger
in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not
for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or
pauses in his speaking if he hears my words, `Ha, ha! A stranger!' I have been
so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should
be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins,
of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust,
rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English
intonation. And I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the
smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long today, but
you will, I know forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand."
Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come
into that room when I chose. He answered, "Yes, certainly," and
added.
"You may go anywhere you wish in the
castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to
go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my
eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand." I
said I was sure of this, and then he went on.
"We are in Transylvania, and
Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to
you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences
already, you know something of what strange things there may be."
This led to much conversation, and as it
was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him
many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within
my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by
pretending not to understand, but generally he answered all I asked most
frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of
some of the strange things of the preceding night, as for instance, why the
coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames. He then
explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the
year, last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked
sway, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed.
"That treasure has been hidden,"
he went on, "in the region through which you came last night, there can be
but little doubt. For it was the ground fought over for centuries by the
Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all
this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or
invaders. In the old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the
Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, men and
women, the aged and the children too, and waited their coming on the rocks
above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their
artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for
whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil."
"But how," said I, "can it
have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men
will but take the trouble to look? "The Count smiled, and as his lips ran
back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely. He
answered.
"Because your peasant is at heart a
coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night, and on that night no
man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear
sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that
you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look
in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able
to find these places again?"
"There you are right," I said.
"I know no more than the dead where even to look for them." Then we
drifted into other matters.
"Come," he said at last,
"tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me."
With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the papers
from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and
silver in the next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had
been cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The
lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the
sofa, reading, of all things in the world, and English Bradshaw's Guide. When I
came in he cleared the books and papers from the table, and with him I went
into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything,
and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. He
clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the
neighborhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When
I remarked this, he answered.
"Well, but, my friend, is it not
needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend
Harker Jonathan, nay, pardon me. I fall into my country's habit of putting your
patronymic first, my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct
and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the
law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!"
We went thoroughly into the business of the
purchase of the estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his
signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to
post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a
place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I
inscribe here.
"At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came
across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a
dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It was surrounded by a high
wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired
for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron,
all eaten with rust.
"The estate is called Carfax, no doubt
a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four sided, agreeing with
the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite
surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it,
which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small
lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a
fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should
say, to mediaeval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a
few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep,
and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the
key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my Kodak
views of it from various points. The house had been added to, but in a very
straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which
must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very
large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It
is not, however, visible from the grounds."
When I had finished, he said, "I am
glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new
house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day, and after all,
how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of
old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie
amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright
voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and
gay. I am no longer young, and my heart, through weary years of mourning over
the dead, is attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The
shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and
casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts
when I may." Somehow his words and his look did not seem to accord, or
else it was that his cast of face made his smile look malignant and saturnine.
Presently, with an excuse, he left me,
asking me to pull my papers together. He was some little time away, and I began
to look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened
naturally to England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I
found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed
that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was
situated. The other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.
It was the better part of an hour when the
Count returned. "Aha!" he said. "Still at your books? Good! But
you must not work always. Come! I am informed that your supper is ready."
He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent
supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out
on his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted
whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count
stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject,
hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say
anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in every way. I
was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me, but I could not
help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the coming of the dawn,
which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are
near death die generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide.
Anyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this
change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of
the cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air.
Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said,
"Why there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so
long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England
less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us," and with
a courtly bow, he quickly left me.
I went into my room and drew the curtains,
but there was little to notice. My window opened into the courtyard, all I
could see was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again,
and have written of this day.
8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this
book that I was getting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail
from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in
it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had
never come. It may be that this strange night existence is telling on me, but would
that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there
is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he— I fear I am myself the
only living soul within the place. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be. It
will help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does
I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand, or seem to.
I only slept a few hours when I went to
bed, and feeling that I could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving
glass by the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on
my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good
morning." I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the
reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut
myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the
Count's salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken.
This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see
him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The
whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man in it,
except myself.
This was startling, and coming on the top
of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of
uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I saw
the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over my chin. I laid
down the razor, turning as I did so half round to look for some sticking
plaster. When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac
fury, and he suddenly made a grab at my throat. I drew away and his hand
touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change
in him, for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was
ever there.
"Take care," he said, "take
care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous that you think in this
country." Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on, "And this is
the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's
vanity. Away with it!" And opening the window with one wrench of his
terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand
pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a
word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my
watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is fortunately of metal.
When I went into the dining room, breakfast
was prepared, but I could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone.
It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a
very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I
went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South.
The view was magnificent, and from where I
stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge
of a terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand
feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green
tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there
are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.
But I am not in heart to describe beauty,
for when I had seen the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors
everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the
castle walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison, and
I am a prisoner!
Chapter 3
Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued
When I found that I was a prisoner a sort
of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every
door and peering out of every window I could find, but after a little the
conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back
after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much
as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me that I
was helpless I sat down quietly, as quietly as I have ever done anything in my
life, and began to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still,
and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain.
That it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am
imprisoned, and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives
for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far
as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself,
and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own
fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be so, I need, and
shall need, all my brains to get through.
I had hardly come to this conclusion when I
heard the great door below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did
not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and
found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along
thought, that there are no servants in the house. When later I saw him through
the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining room, I was
assured of it. For if he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is
proof that there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count
himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a
terrible thought, for if so, what does it mean that he could control the
wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand for silence? How was it that all
the people at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for me? What
meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the
mountain ash?
Bless that good, good woman who hung the
crucifix round my neck! For it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I
touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with
disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of
help. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that
it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort?
Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind
about it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it
may help me to understand. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn the
conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake his
suspicion.
Midnight.—I have had a long talk with the
Count. I asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to
the subject wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially
of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he afterwards
explained by saying that to a Boyar the pride of his house and name is his own
pride, that their glory is his glory, that their fate is his fate. Whenever he
spoke of his house he always said "we", and spoke almost in the
plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he
said it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole
history of the country. He grew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room
pulling his great white moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his
hands as though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I
shall put down as nearly as I can, for it tells in its way the story of his
race.
"We Szekelys have a right to be proud,
for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion
fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe
bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin game them,
which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of
Europe, aye, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the
werewolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns,
whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying
peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who,
expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What
devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these
veins?" He held up his arms. "Is it a wonder that we were a
conquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the
Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove
them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through the
Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier, that the
Honfoglalas was completed there?And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward,
the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for
centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkeyland. Aye, and more
than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for as the Turks say, `water
sleeps, and the enemy is sleepless.' Who more gladly than we throughout the
Four Nations received the `bloody sword,' or at its warlike call flocked
quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of my
nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went
down beneath the Crescent?Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode
crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula
indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his
people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this
Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again
and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkeyland, who, when he
was beaten back, came again, and again, though he had to come alone from the
bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he
alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah!
What good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and
heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohacs, we threw off the
Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our
spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys, and
the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a
record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never
reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days
of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that
is told."
It was by this time close on morning, and
we went to bed. (Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the
"Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow, or
like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)
12 May.—Let me begin with facts, bare,
meager facts, verified by books and figures, and of which there can be no
doubt. I must not confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my
own observation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came from
his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on the doing of
certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over books, and, simply
to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the matters I had been examined in
at Lincoln's Inn. There was a certain method in the Count's inquiries, so I
shall try to put them down in sequence. The knowledge may somehow or some time
be useful to me.
First, he asked if a man in England might
have two solicitors or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but
that it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one
transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would be
certain to militate against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand,
and went on to ask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one man
to attend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in case local
help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I asked
to explain more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead him, so he
said,
"I shall illustrate. Your friend and
mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at
Exeter, which is far from London, buys for me through your good self my place
at London. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange
that I have sought the services of one so far off from London instead of some
one resident there, that my motive was that no local interest might be served
save my wish only, and as one of London residence might, perhaps, have some
purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent,
whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of
affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or
Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be done by consigning to
one in these ports?"
I answered that certainly it would be most
easy, but that we solicitors had a system of agency one for the other, so that
local work could be done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so that the
client, simply placing himself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes
carried out by him without further trouble.
"But," said he,"I could be
at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?"
"Of course, " I replied, and
"Such is often done by men of business, who do not like the whole of their
affairs to be known by any one person."
"Good!" he said, and then went on
to ask about the means of making consignments and the forms to be gone through,
and of all sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be
guarded against. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability,
and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a
wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee.
For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in
the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When he had
satisfied himself on these points of which he had spoken, and I had verified
all as well as I could by the books available, he suddenly stood up and said,
"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins,
or to any other?"
It was with some bitterness in my heart
that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of
sending letters to anybody.
"Then write now, my young
friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder, "write to our friend
and to any other, and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me
until a month from now."
"Do you wish me to stay so long?"
I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.
"I desire it much, nay I will take no
refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should
come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted.
I have not stinted. Is it not so?"
What could I do but bow acceptance? It was
Mr. Hawkins' interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself, and
besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in
his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished
it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery
in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own
smooth, resistless way.
"I pray you, my good young friend,
that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It
will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look
forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?" As he spoke he handed me
three sheets of note paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest
foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile,
with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well
as if he had spoken that I should be more careful what I wrote, for he would be
able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write
fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write
shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it. When I had written
my two letters I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the Count wrote several
notes, referring as he wrote them to some books on his table. Then he took up
my two and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after
which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at
the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing
so for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way
I could.
One of the letters was directed to Samuel
F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna. The
third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock &
Billreuth, bankers, Buda Pesht. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just
about to look at them when I saw the door handle move. I sank back in my seat,
having just had time to resume my book before the Count, holding still another
letter in his hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and
stamped them carefully, and then turning to me, said,
"I trust you will forgive me, but I
have much work to do in private this evening. You will, I hope, find all things
as you wish." At the door he turned, and after a moment's pause said,
"Let me advise you, my dear young friend. Nay, let me warn you with all
seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to
sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and
there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now
or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to
these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this
respect, then," He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned
with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite understood. My only doubt
was as to whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible
net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around me.
Later.—I endorse the last words written,
but this time there is no doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any
place where he is not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed, I
imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams, and there it shall remain.
When he left me I went to my room. After a
little while, not hearing any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to
where I could look out towards the South. There was some sense of freedom in
the vast expanse, inaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the narrow
darkness of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was indeed in
prison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, though it were of the
night. I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is
destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of
horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my terrible fear in
this accursed place!I looked out over the beautiful expanse, bathed in soft
yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as day. In the soft light the
distant hills became melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of
velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer me. There was peace and
comfort in every breath I drew. As I leaned from the window my eye was caught
by something moving a storey below me, and somewhat to my left, where I
imagined, from the order of the rooms, that the windows of the Count's own room
would look out. The window at which I stood was tall and deep, stone-mullioned,
and though weatherworn, was still complete. But it was evidently many a day
since the case had been there. I drew back behind the stonework, and looked
carefully out.
What I saw was the Count's head coming out
from the window. I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the
movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which
I had had some many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested and
somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interest and amuse
a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to repulsion and
terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to
crawl down the castle wall over the dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak
spreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not believe my
eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of
shadow, but I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and
toes grasp the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of
years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move downwards with
considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.
What manner of man is this, or what manner
of creature, is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible
place overpowering me. I am in fear, in awful fear, and there is no escape for
me. I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of.
15 May.—Once more I have seen the count go
out in his lizard fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred
feet down, and a good deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window.
When his head had disappeared, I leaned out to try and see more, but without
avail. The distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. I knew he
had left the castle now, and thought to use the opportunity to explore more
than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, and taking a lamp,
tried all the doors. They were all locked, as I had expected, and the locks
were comparatively new. But I went down the stone stairs to the hall where I
had entered originally. I found I could pull back the bolts easily enough and
unhook the great chains. But the door was locked, and the key was gone! That
key must be in the Count's room. I must watch should his door be unlocked, so
that I may get it and escape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the
various stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or
two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in them
except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At last, however, I found
one door at the top of the stairway which, though it seemed locked, gave a
little under pressure. I tried it harder, and found that it was not really
locked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen
somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which
I might not have again, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts forced it
back so that I could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle further to the
right than the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I could
see that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the windows
of the end room looking out both west and south. On the latter side, as well as
to the former, there was a great precipice. The castle was built on the corner
of a great rock, so that on three sides it was quite impregnable, and great
windows were placed here where sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach, and
consequently light and comfort, impossible to a position which had to be
guarded, were secured. To the west was a great valley, and then, rising far
away, great jagged mountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock
studded with mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crevices
and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion of the castle
occupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the furniture had more an air of
comfort than any I had seen.
The windows were curtainless, and the
yellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one to see
even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over all and
disguised in some measure the ravages of time and moth. My lamp seemed to be of
little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was glad to have it with me,
for there was a dread loneliness in the place which chilled my heart and made
my nerves tremble. Still, it was better than living alone in the rooms which I
had come to hate from the presence of the Count, and after trying a little to
school my nerves, I found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a
little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with
much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love letter, and writing in my
diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is the
nineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses
deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere
"modernity" cannot kill.
Later: The morning of 16 May.—God preserve
my sanity, for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are
things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for,
that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then
surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this
hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me, that to him alone I can
look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great
God! Merciful God, let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed. I
begin to get new lights on certain things which have puzzled me. Up to now I
never quite knew what Shakespeare meant when he made Hamlet say, "My
tablets! Quick, my tablets! `tis meet that I put it down," etc., For now,
feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which
must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering
accurately must help to soothe me.
The Count's mysterious warning frightened
me at the time. It frightens me more not when I think of it, for in the future
he has a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!
When I had written in my diary and had
fortunately replaced the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count's
warning came into my mind, but I took pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of
sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider.
The soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of
freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to return tonight to the
gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung
and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk
away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great couch out of its place
near the corner, so that as I lay, I could look at the lovely view to east and
south, and unthinking of and uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep.
I suppose I must have fallen asleep. I hope so, but I fear, for all that
followed was startlingly real, so real that now sitting here in the broad, full
sunlight of the morning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.
I was not alone. The room was the same,
unchanged in any way since I came into it. I could see along the floor, in the
brilliant moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long
accumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women,
ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming
when I saw them, they threw no shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and
looked at me for some time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had
high aquiline noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed
to be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was fair,
as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair and eyes like pale
sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with
some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where. All
three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of
their voluptuous lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some
longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked,
burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips.It is not good to
note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina's eyes and cause her pain,
but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they all three laughed,
such a silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have
come through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, tingling
sweetness of waterglasses when played on by a cunning hand. The fair girl shook
her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on.
One said, "Go on! You are first, and
we shall follow. Yours' is the right to begin."
The other added, "He is young and
strong. There are kisses for us all."
I lay quiet, looking out from under my
eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and
bent over me till I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was
in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her
voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one
smells in blood.
I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but
looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and
bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was
both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked
her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining
on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth.
Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and
chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the
churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel
the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one's
flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I
could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of
my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing
there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited, waited with beating
heart.
But at that instant, another sensation
swept through me as quick as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the
Count, and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened
involuntarily I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman
and with giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the
white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with passion.
But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of
the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as
if the flames of hell fire blazed behind them. His face was deathly pale, and
the lines of it were hard like drawn wires. The thick eyebrows that met over
the nose now seemed like a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep
of his arm, he hurled the woman from him, and then motioned to the others, as
though he were beating them back. It was the same imperious gesture that I had
seen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper
seemed to cut through the air and then ring in the room he said,
"How dare you touch him, any of you?
How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all!
This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal
with me."
The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald
coquetry, turned to answer him. "You yourself never loved. You never
love!" On this the other women joined, and such a mirthless,hard, soulless
laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear. It seemed
like the pleasure of fiends.
Then the Count turned, after looking at my
face attentively, and said in a soft whisper, "Yes, I too can love. You
yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you
that when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go! Go! I
must awaken him, for there is work to be done."
"Are we to have nothing
tonight?"said one of them, with a low laugh, as she pointed to the bag
which he had thrown upon the floor, and which moved as though there were some
living thing within it. For answer he nodded his head. One of the women jumped
forward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low
wail, as of a half smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast
with horror. But as I looked, they disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag.
There was no door near them, and they could not have passed me without my
noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of the moonlight and pass
out through the window, for I could see outside the dim, shadowy forms for a
moment before they entirely faded away.
Then the horror overcame me, and I sank
down unconscious.
Chapter 4
Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued
I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had
not dreamt, the Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on
the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure,
there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and
laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I
am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and
many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been
evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, for some cause or another, I had
certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad. If
it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have been
hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have
been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or
destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of
fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than
those awful women, who were, who are, waiting to suck my blood.
18 May.—I have been down to look at that
room again in daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at
the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against
the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of
the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. I fear it
was no dream, and must act on this surmise.
19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last
night the Count asked me in the sauvest tones to write three letters, one
saying that my work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home
within a few days, another that I was starting on the next morning from the
time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at
Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of
things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so
absolutely in his power. And to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to
arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest
I be dangerous to him. My only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something
may occur which will give ma a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of
that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from
him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing
now would ensure ease of mind to my friends. And he assured me with so much
impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held
over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my
stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore
pretended to fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the
letters.
He calculated a minute, and then said,
"The first should be June 12,the second June 19,and the third June
29."
I know now the span of my life. God help
me!
28 May.—There is a chance of escape, or at
any rate of being able to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the
castle, and are encamped in the courtyard. These are gipsies. I have notes of
them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though allied to
the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands of them in Hungary
and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law. They attach themselves as a
rule to some great noble or boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are
fearless and without religion, save superstition, and they talk only their own
varieties of the Romany tongue.
I shall write some letters home, and shall
try to get them to have them posted. I have already spoken to them through my
window to begin acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance
and many signs, which however, I could not understand any more than I could
their spoken language . . .
I have written the letters. Mina's is in
shorthand, and I simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have
explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It
would shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should
the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the
extent of my knowledge . . .
I have given the letters. I threw them
through the bars of my window with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to
have them posted. The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed,
and then put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study,
and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written here . . .
The Count has come. He sat down beside me,
and said in his smoothest voice as he opened two letters, "The Szgany has
given me these, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of
course, take care. See!"—He must have looked at it.—"One is from you,
and to my friend Peter Hawkins. The other,"—here he caught sight of the
strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into his
face, and his eyes blazed wickedly,—"The other is a vile thing, an outrage
upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! So it cannot matter to
us."And he calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till
they were consumed.
Then he went on, "The letter to
Hawkins, that I shall, of course send on, since it is yours. Your letters are
sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal.
Will you not cover it again?"He held out the letter to me, and with a
courteous bow handed me a clean envelope.
I could only redirect it and hand it to him
in silence. When he went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A
minute later I went over and tried it, and the door was locked.
When, an hour or two after, the Count came
quietly into the room, his coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the
sofa. He was very courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I
had been sleeping, he said, "So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed.
There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight, since
there are many labours to me, but you will sleep, I pray."
I passed to my room and went to bed, and,
strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms.
31 May.—This morning when I woke I thought
I would provide myself with some papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them
in my pocket, so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but
again a surprise, again a shock!
Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it
all my notes, my memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit,
in fact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat
and pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of
my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.
The suit in which I had travelled was gone,
and also my overcoat and rug. I could find no trace of them anywhere. This
looked like some new scheme of villainy . . .
17 June.—This morning, as I was sitting on
the edge of my bed cudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling of whips
and pounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the
courtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two
great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each
pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and
high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I ran to the door,
intending to descend and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought
that way might be opened for them. Again a shock, my door was fastened on the
outside.
Then I ran to the window and cried to them.
They looked up at me stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman"
of the Szgany came out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something,
at which they laughed.
Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous
cry or agonized entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely
turned away. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of
thick rope. These were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks
handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved.
When they were all unloaded and packed in a
great heap in one corner of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the
Szgany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head.
Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their whips die away in the
distance.
24 June.—Last night the Count left me
early, and locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the
winding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened South. I thought I
would watch for the Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are
quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of some kind. I know it,
for now and then, I hear a far-away muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and,
whatever it is, it must be the end of some ruthless villainy.
I had been at the window somewhat less than
half an hour, when I saw something coming out of the Count's window. I drew
back and watched carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to
me to find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst
travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen
the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb,
too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil, that he will allow others to see
me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in
the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he
may do shall by the local people be attributed to me.
It makes me rage to think that this can go
on, and whilst I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that
protection of the law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.
I thought I would watch for the Count's
return, and for a long time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice
that there were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the
moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round
and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense
of soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the embrasure
in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more fully the aerial
gambolling.
Something made me start up, a low, piteous
howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my
sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating moats of dust to
take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself
struggling to awake to some call of my instincts. Nay, my very soul was
struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the
call. I was becoming hypnotised!
Quicker and quicker danced the dust. The
moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom beyond.
More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And
then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran
screaming from the place.
The phantom shapes, which were becoming
gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those three ghostly women to
whom I was doomed.
I fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own
room, where there was no moonlight, and where the lamp was burning brightly.
When a couple of hours had passed I heard
something stirring in the Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly
suppressed. And then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me.
With a beating heart, I tried the door, but I was locked in my prison, and
could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.
As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard
without, the agonised cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it
up, peered between the bars.
There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled
hair, holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was
leaning against the corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window
she threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace,
"Monster, give me my child!"
She threw herself on her knees, and raising
up her hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore
her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of
extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and though I could not
see her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door.
Somewhere high overhead, probably on the
tower, I heard the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper.
His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves.
Before many minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when
liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard.
There was no cry from the woman, and the
howling of the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly,
licking their lips.
I could not pity her, for I knew now what
had become of her child, and she was better dead.
What shall I do? What can I do? How can I
escape from this dreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear?
25 June.—No man knows till he has suffered
from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When
the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great gateway
opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove
from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been a
vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth.
I must take action of some sort whilst the
courage of the day is upon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters went to
post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my
existence from the earth.
Let me not think of it. Action!
It has always been at night-time that I
have been molested or threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have
not yet seen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others
wake, that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his
room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.
Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take
it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself
crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window?
The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk
it. At the worst it can only be death, and a man's death is not a calf's, and
the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Goodbye,
Mina, if I fail. Goodbye, my faithful friend and second father. Goodbye, all,
and last of all Mina!
Same day, later.—I have made the effort,
and God helping me, have come safely back to this room. I must put down every
detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on
the south side, and at once got outside on this side. The stones are big and
roughly cut, and the mortar has by process of time been washed away between
them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down
once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would not
overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I know pretty well the
direction and distance of the Count's window, and made for it as well as I
could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy, I
suppose I was too excited, and the time seemed ridiculously short till I found
myself standing on the window sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was
filled with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in
through the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but with surprise and
gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished with
odd things, which seemed to have never been used.
The furniture was something the same style
as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key,
but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I
found was a great heap of gold in one corner, gold of all kinds, Roman, and
British, and Austrian, and Hungarian,and Greek and Turkish money, covered with
a film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I
noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were also chains and
ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old and stained.
At one corner of the room was a heavy door.
I tried it, for, since I could not find the key of the room or the key of the
outer door, which was the main object of my search, I must make further
examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a
stone passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down.
I descended, minding carefully where I went
for the stairs were dark, being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At
the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly,
sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage
the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which
stood ajar, and found myself in an old ruined chapel, which had evidently been
used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were steps leading
to vaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in
great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks.
There was nobody about, and I made a search
over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even
into the vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread
to my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments of
old coffins and piles of dust. In the third, however, I made a discovery.
There, in one of the great boxes, of which
there were fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was
either dead or asleep. I could not say which, for eyes were open and stony, but
without the glassiness of death, and the cheeks had the warmth of life through
all their pallor. The lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of
movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart.
I bent over him, and tried to find any sign
of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell
would have passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box was its cover,
pierced with holes here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but
when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them dead though they were,
such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from
the place, and leaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the
castle wall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried
to think.
29 June.—Today is the date of my last
letter, and the Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I
saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down
the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I
might destroy him. But I fear that no weapon wrought along by man's hand would
have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see
those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell
asleep.
I was awakened by the Count, who looked at
me as grimly as a man could look as he said,"Tomorrow, my friend, we must
part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such
an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched. Tomorrow I
shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come
the Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some
Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear
you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am
in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula."
I suspected him, and determined to test his
sincerity. Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in
connection with such a monster, so I asked him pointblank, "Why may I not
go tonight?"
"Because, dear sir, my coachman and
horses are away on a mission."
"But I would walk with pleasure. I
want to get away at once."
He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical
smile that I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness. He said,
"And your baggage?"
"I do not care about it. I can send
for it some other time."
The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet
courtesy which made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real, "You English have a
saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is that which rules our
boyars, `Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.' Come with me, my dear
young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though
sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire it. Come!" With a
stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the
hall. Suddenly he stopped. "Hark!"
Close at hand came the howling of many
wolves. It was almost as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just
as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton of the
conductor. After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the
door, drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to
draw it open.
To my intense astonishment I saw that it
was unlocked. Suspiciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of any
kind.
As the door began to open, the howling of
the wolves without grew louder and angrier. Their red jaws, with champing
teeth, and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the opening
door. I knew than that to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless.
With such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing.
But still the door continued slowly to
open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that
this might be the moment and means of my doom. I was to be given to the wolves,
and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great
enough for the Count, and as the last chance I cried out, "Shut the door!
I shall wait till morning." And I covered my face with my hands to hide my
tears of bitter disappointment.
With one sweep of his powerful arm, the
Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the
hall as they shot back into their places.
In silence we returned to the library, and
after a minute or two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula
was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with
a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.
When I was in my room and about to lie
down, I thought I heard a whispering at my door. I went to it softly and
listened. Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count.
"Back! Back to your own place! Your
time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! Tonight is mine. Tomorrow night is
yours!"
There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter,
and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw without the three terrible women
licking their lips. As I appeared, they all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran
away.
I came back to my room and threw myself on
my knees. It is then so near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lord, help me, and
those to whom I am dear!
30 June.—These may be the last words I ever
write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw
myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me
ready.
At last I felt that subtle change in the
air, and knew that the morning had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I
felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened the door and ran down the
hall. I had seen that the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me. With
hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and threw back the
massive bolts.
But the door would not move. Despair seized
me. I pulled and pulled at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it
rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I
left the Count.
Then a wild desire took me to obtain the
key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again, and
gain the Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier
choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled
down the wall, as before, into the Count's room. It was empty, but that was as
I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I
went through the door in the corner and down the winding stair and along the
dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well enough where to find the
monster I sought.
The great box was in the same place, close
against the wall, but the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the
nails ready in their places to be hammered home.
I knew I must reach the body for the key,
so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall. And then I saw
something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, but
looking as if his youth had been half restored. For the white hair and
moustache were changed to dark irongrey. The cheeks were fuller, and the white
skin seemed ruby-red underneath. The mouth was redder than ever, for on the
lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth
and ran down over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set
amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It
seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay
like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.
I shuddered as I bent over to touch him,
and every sense in me revolted at the contact, but I had to search, or I was
lost. The coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar war to
those horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the
key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the
bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to
transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its
teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and
ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.
The very thought drove me mad. A terrible
desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal
weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill
the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful
face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell upon me, with all
their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyze me, and the shovel
turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above
the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I pulled it
away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid which fell over again,
and hid the horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the
bloated face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have
held its own in the nethermost hell. I thought and thought what should be my
next move, but my brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling
growing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry
voices coming closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and
the cracking of whips. The Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken
were coming. With a last look around and at the box which contained the vile
body, I ran from the place and gained the Count's room, determined to rush out
at the moment the door should be opened. With strained ears, I listened, and
heard downstairs the grinding of the key in the great lock and the falling back
of the heavy door. There must have been some other means of entry, or some one
had a key for one of the locked doors.
Then there came the sound of many feet
tramping and dying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned
to run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance, but
at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door to the
winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying.
When I ran to push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a
prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a
sound of many tramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily,
doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There was a sound of
hammering. It is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet
tramping again along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.
The door is shut, the chains rattle. There
is a grinding of the key in the lock. I can hear the key withdrawn, then
another door opens and shuts. I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! In the courtyard and down the rocky
way the roll of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany
as they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those
horrible women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are
devils of the Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them. I shall
try to scale the castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take
some of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this
dreadful place.
And then away for home! Away to the
quickest and nearest train! Away from the cursed spot, from this cursed land,
where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God's mercy is better than that of
those monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may
sleep, as a man. Goodbye, all. Mina!
Chapter 5
LETTER FROM MISS MINA MURRAY TO MISS LUCY
WESTENRA
9 May.
My dearest Lucy,
Forgive my long delay in writing, but I
have been simply overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress
is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can
talk together freely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very
hard lately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan's studies, and I have been
practicing shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be able to
be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what
he wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the typewriter, at
which also I am practicing very hard.
He and I sometimes write letters in
shorthand, and he is keeping a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When
I am with you I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those
two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but a sort of
journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined.
I do not suppose there will be much of
interest to other people, but it is not intended for them. I may show it to
Jonathan some day if there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an
exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do, interviewing
and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that,
with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears
said during a day.
However, we shall see. I will tell you of
my little plans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan
from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I am
longing to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange countries. I
wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see them together. There is the
ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye. Your loving Mina
Tell me all the news when you write. You
have not told me anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a
tall, handsome, curly-haired man.???
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY
17, Chatham Street
Wednesday
My dearest Mina,
I must say you tax me very unfairly with
being a bad correspondent. I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last
letter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is
really nothing to interest you.
Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a
great deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the
tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last
Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales.
That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to
see us, and he and Mamma get on very well together, they have so many things to
talk about in common.
We met some time ago a man that would just
do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent
party, being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really
clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty, and he has an immense lunatic
asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called
here to see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men
I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can
fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious
habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts.
He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut
to crack. I know that from my glass.
Do you ever try to read your own face? I
do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than
you can well fancy if you have never tried it.
He say that I afford him a curious
psychological study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take
sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is
a bore. That is slang again, but never mind. Arthur says that every day.
There, it is all out, Mina, we have told
all our secrets to each other since we were children. We have slept together
and eaten together, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have
spoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him. I
am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me, he has not told me so
in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him. I love him! There, that does me good.
I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by
the fire undressing, as we used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I
feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or
I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell
you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it.
Mina, pray for my happiness.
Lucy
P. S.—I need not tell you this is a secret.
Goodnight again. L.
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY
24 May
My dearest Mina,
Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for
your sweet letter. It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your
sympathy. My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.
Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a proposal
till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three. Just fancy! Three
proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for
two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do
with myself. And three proposals! But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of
the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and
imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first day at home
they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear,
who are engaged and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married
women, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must
keep it a secret, dear, from every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will
tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A
woman ought to tell her husband everything. Don't you think so, dear? And I
must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair as
they are. And women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair as they should
be.
Well, my dear, number One came just before
lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the
strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous
all the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all sorts of little
things, and remembered them, but he almost managed to sit down on his silk hat,
which men don't generally do when they are cool, and then when he wanted to
appear at ease he kept playing with a lancet in a way that made me nearly
scream. He spoke to me, Mina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I
was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with
me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I
did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said he was a brute and would
not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him
in time, and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some
hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very
nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to
know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then,
Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told
him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave
as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If
I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.
Oh, Mina dear, I can't help crying, and you
must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice
and all that sort of thing, but it isn't at all a happy thing when you have to
see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going away and looking all
broken hearted, and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment, you
are passing out of his life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel so
miserable, though I am so happy.
Evening.
Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better
spirits than when I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day.
Well, my dear, number Two came after lunch.
He is such a nice fellow, and American from Texas, and he looks so young and so
fresh that it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places and
has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she had such a
stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose that we women are such
cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know
now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I
don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told
any, and yet . . .
My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincy
P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone.
No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all
I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you beforehand that Mr.
Morris doesn't always speak slang, that is to say, he never does so to
strangers or before them, for he is really well educated and has exquisite
manners, but he found out that it amused me to hear him talk American slang,
and whenever I was present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such
funny things. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for it fits
exactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way slang has. I do not
know myself if I shall ever speak slang. I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I
have never heard him use any as yet.
Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and
looked as happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was
very nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly . . .
"Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough
to regulate the fixin's of your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you
find a man that is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when
you quit. Won't you just hitch up along-side of me and let us go down the long
road together, driving in double harness?"
Well, he did look so hood humoured and so
jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward.
So I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and
that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in
a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so
grave, so momentous, and occasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did
look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn't help feeling a sort of
exultation that he was number Two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could
say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of lovemaking, laying his
very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never
again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is
merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he
suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved
him for if I had been free . . .
"Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl,
I know. I should not be here speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe
you clean grit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like
one good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care for? And if
there is I'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again, but will be, if you
will let me, a very faithful friend."
My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we
women are so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great
hearted, true gentleman. I burst into tears, I am afraid, my dear, you will
think this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one, and I really felt very badly.
Why can't they let a girl marry three men,
or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I
must not say it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to look
into Mr. Morris' brave eyes, and I told him out straight . . .
"Yes, there is some one I love, though
he has not told me yet that he even loves me." I was right to speak to him
so frankly, for quite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands
and took mine, I think I put them into his, and said in a hearty way . . .
"That's my brave girl. It's better
worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other
girl in the world. Don't cry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack,
and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his happiness,
well, he'd better look for it soon, or he'll have to deal with me. Little girl,
your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than a lover,
it's more selfish anyhow. My dear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk
between this and Kingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss? It'll be something
to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like, for that
other good fellow, or you could not love him, hasn't spoken yet."
That quite won me, Mina, for it was brave
and sweet of him, and noble too, to a rival, wasn't it? And he so sad, so I
leant over and kissed him.
He stood up with my two hands in his, and
as he looked down into my face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, he said,
"Little girl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these things
don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet honesty to
me, and goodbye." He wrung my hand, and taking up his hat, went straight
out of the room without looking back, without a tear or a quiver or a pause,
and I am crying like a baby.
Oh, why must a man like that be made
unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the very ground he
trod on? I know I would if I were free, only I don't want to be free My dear,
this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after
telling you of it, and I don't wish to tell of the number Three until it can be
all happy. Ever your loving . . . Lucy
P. S.—Oh, about number Three, I needn't
tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. It seemed
only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me,
and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done
to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful
to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a
husband, and such a friend.
Goodbye.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY (Kept in phonograph)
25 May.—Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot
eat, cannot rest, so diary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort
of empty feeling. Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be
worth the doing. As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was work,
I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of
much interest. He is so quaint that I am determined to understand him as well
as I can. Today I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his
mystery.
I questioned him more fully than I had ever
done, with a view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In
my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to
wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing which I avoid with the
patients as I would the mouth of hell.
(Mem., Under what circumstances would I not
avoid the pit of hell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! If there
be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards
accurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore . . .
R. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine
temperament, great physical strength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom,
ending in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine
temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished
finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish
men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I
think of on this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force
is balanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point,
the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a series of accidents can
balance it.
LETTER, QUINCEY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTHUR
HOLMOOD
25 May.
My dear Art,
We've told yarns by the campfire in the
prairies, and dressed one another's wounds after trying a landing at the
Marquesas, and drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to
be told, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won't
you let this be at my campfire tomorrow night? I have no hesitation in asking
you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner party, and that
you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack
Seward. He's coming, too, and we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine
cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the
wide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and best worth
winning. We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving greeting, and a health
as true as your own right hand. We shall both swear to leave you at home if you
drink too deep to a certain pair of eyes. Come!
Yours, as ever and always,
Quincey P. Morris
TELEGRAM FROM ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO QUINCEY P.
MORRIS
26 May
Count me in every time. I bear messages
which will make both your ears tingle. Art
Chapter 6
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL
24 July. Whitby.—Lucy met me at the
station, looking sweeter and lovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house
at the Crescent in which they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little
river, the Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near
the harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which the
view seems somehow further away than it really is. The valley is beautifully
green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high land on either side you
look right across it, unless you are near enough to see down. The houses of the
old town—the side away from us, are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over
the other anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is
the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene
of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the wall. It is
a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits.
There is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it
and the town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big
graveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to my mind the nicest spot in
Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the harbour and
all up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into the
sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen
away, and some of the graves have been destroyed.
In one place part of the stonework of the
graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with
seats beside them, through the churchyard, and people go and sit there all day
long looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze.
I shall come and sit here often myself and
work. Indeed, I am writing now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the
talk of three old men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all
day but sit here and talk.
The harbour lies below me, with, on the far
side, one long granite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards
at the end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy seawall runs
along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall makes an elbow crooked
inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a
narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens.
It is nice at high water, but when the tide
is out it shoals away to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk,
running between banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour
on this side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp of which
runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy
with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the
wind.
They have a legend here that when a ship is
lost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this. He is
coming this way . . .
He is a funny old man. He must be awfully
old, for his face is gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me
that he is nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing
fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical person,
for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady at the abbey he
said very brusquely,
"I wouldn't fash masel' about them,
miss. Them things be all wore out. Mind, I don't say that they never was, but I
do say that they wasn't in my time. They be all very well for comers and
trippers, an' the like, but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks
from York and Leeds that be always eatin'cured herrin's and drinkin' tea an'
lookin' out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel' who'd be
bothered tellin' lies to them, even the newspapers, which is full of
fool-talk."
I thought he would be a good person to
learn interesting things from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something
about the whale fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin
when the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said,
"I must gang ageeanwards home now,
miss. My granddaughter doesn't like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready,
for it takes me time to crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of `em,
and miss, I lack belly-timber sairly by the clock."
He hobbled away, and I could see him
hurrying, as well as he could, down the steps. The steps are a great feature on
the place. They lead from the town to the church, there are hundreds of them, I
do not know how many, and they wind up in a delicate curve. The slope is so
gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. I think they must
originally have had something to do with the abbey. I shall go home too. Lucy
went out, visiting with her mother, and as they were only duty calls, I did not
go.
1 August.—I came up here an hour ago with
Lucy, and we had a most interesting talk with my old friend and the two others
who always come and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I
should think must have been in his time a most dictatorial person.
He will not admit anything, and down faces
everybody. If he can't out-argue them he bullies them, and then takes their
silence for agreement with his views.
Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her
white lawn frock. She has got a beautiful colour since she has been here.
I noticed that the old men did not lose any
time in coming and sitting near her when we sat down. She is so sweet with old
people, I think they all fell in love with her on the spot. Even my old man
succumbed and did not contradict her, but gave me double share instead. I got
him on the subject of the legends , and he went off at once into a sort of
sermon. I must try to remember it and put it down.
"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and
barrel, that's what it be and nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts
an' bar-guests an' bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy
women a'belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs
an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome berk-bodies an' railway
touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do somethin' that
they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to think o' them. Why, it's
them that, not content with printin' lies on paper an' preachin' them out of
pulpits, does want to be cuttin' them on the tombstones. Look here all around
you in what airt ye will. All them steans, holdin' up their heads as well as
they can out of their pride, is acant, simply tumblin' down with the weight o'
the lies wrote on them, `Here lies the body' or `Sacred to the memory' wrote on
all of them, an' yet in nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all, an'
the memories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much less sacred.
Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another! My gog, but it'll be
a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their
death-sarks, all jouped together an' trying' to drag their tombsteans with them
to prove how good they was, some of them trimmlin' an' dithering, with their
hands that dozzened an' slippery from lyin' in the sea that they can't even
keep their gurp o' them."
I could see from the old fellow's
self-satisfied air and the way in which he looked round for the approval of his
cronies that he was "showing off," so I put in a word to keep him
going.
"Oh, Mr. Swales, you can't be serious.
Surely these tombstones are not all wrong?"
"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few
not wrong, savin' where they make out the people too good, for there be folk
that do think a balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole
thing be only lies. Now look you here. You come here a stranger, an' you see
this kirkgarth."
I nodded, for I thought it better to
assent, though I did not quite understand his dialect. I knew it had something
to do with the church.
He went on, "And you consate that all
these steans be aboon folk that be haped here, snod an' snog?" I assented
again. "Then that be just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of
these laybeds that be toom as old Dun's `baccabox on Friday night."
He nudged one of his companions, and they
all laughed. "And, my gog! How could they be otherwise? Look at that one,
the aftest abaft the bier-bank, read it!"
I went over and read, "Edward
Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast of Andres, April,
1854, age 30." When I came back Mr. Swales went on,
"Who brought him home, I wonder, to
hap him here? Murdered off the coast of Andres! An' you consated his body lay
under! Why, I could name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas
above," he pointed northwards, "or where the currants may have drifted
them. There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the
small print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowery, I knew his father,
lost in the Lively off Greenland in `20, or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the
same seas in 1777, or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year later, or
old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of
Finland in `50. Do ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to
Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot it! I tell ye that
when they got here they'd be jommlin' and jostlin' one another that way that it
`ud be like a fight up on the ice in the old days, when we'd be at one another
from daylight to dark, an' tryin' to tie up our cuts by the aurora borealis."
This was evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and his
cronies joined in with gusto.
"But," I said, "surely you
are not quite correct, for you start on the assumption that all the poor
people, or their spirits, will have to take their tombstones with them on the
Day of Judgment. Do you think that will be really necessary?"
"Well, what else be they tombstones
for? Answer me that, miss!"
"To please their relatives, I
suppose."
"To please their relatives, you
suppose!" This he said with intense scorn. "How will it pleasure
their relatives to know that lies is wrote over them, and that everybody in the
place knows that they be lies?"
He pointed to a stone at our feet which had
been laid down as a slab, on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of
the cliff. "Read the lies on that thruff-stone," he said.
The letters were upside down to me from
where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant over and read,
"Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a glorious
resurrection, on July 29,1873,falling from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb
was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved son.`He was the only
son of his mother, and she was a widow.' Really, Mr. Swales, I don't see
anything very funny in that!" She spoke her comment very gravely and
somewhat severely.
"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha-ha! But
that's because ye don't gawm the sorrowin'mother was a hell-cat that hated him
because he was acrewk'd, a regular lamiter he was, an' he hated her so that he
committed suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she put on his
life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that they had for
scarin' crows with. `twarn't for crows then, for it brought the clegs and the
dowps to him. That's the way he fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a
glorious resurrection, I've often heard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to
hell, for his mother was so pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he
didn't want to addle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any rate,"he
hammered it with his stick as he spoke, "a pack of lies? And won't it make
Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' ut the grees with the tompstean
balanced on his hump, and asks to be took as evidence!"
I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned
the conversation as she said, rising up, "Oh, why did you tell us of this?
It is my favorite seat, and I cannot leave it, and now I find I must go on
sitting over the grave of a suicide."
"That won't harm ye, my pretty, an' it
may make poor Geordie gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That
won't hurt ye. Why, I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it
hasn't done me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that
doesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see
the tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field.
There's the clock, and'I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!" And off he
hobbled.
Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so
beautiful before us that we took hands as we sat, and she told me all over
again about Arthur and their coming marriage. That made me just a little
heart-sick, for I haven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.
The same day. I came up here alone, for I
am very sad. There was no letter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the
matter with Jonathan. The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights
scattered all over the town, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and
sometimes singly. They run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the
valley. To my left the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house
next to the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind
me, and there is a clatter of donkeys' hoofs up the paved road below. The band
on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further along the quay
there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street. Neither of the bands hears
the other, but up here I hear and see them both. I wonder where Jonathan is and
if he is thinking of me! I wish he were here.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
5 June.—The case of Renfield grows more
interesting the more I get to understand the man. He has certain qualities very
largely developed, selfishness, secrecy, and purpose.
I wish I could get at what is the object of
the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I
do not know. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has
such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel.
His pets are of odd sorts.
Just now his hobby is catching flies. He
has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my
astonishment, he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the
matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said, "May
I have three days? I shall clear them away." Of course, I said that would
do. I must watch him.
18 June.—He has turned his mind now to
spiders, and has got several very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them
his flies, and the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished,
although he has used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his
room.
1 July.—His spiders are now becoming as
great a nuisance as his flies, and today I told him that he must get rid of
them.
He looked very sad at this, so I said that
he must some of them, at all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I
gave him the same time as before for reduction.
He disgusted me much while with him, for
when a horrid blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he
caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb,
and before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it.
I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly
that it was very good and very wholesome, that it was life, strong life, and
gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must watch
how he gets rid of his spiders.
He has evidently some deep problem in his
mind, for he keeps a little notebook in which he is always jotting down
something. whole pages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally
single numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again,
as though he were focusing some account, as the auditors put it.
8 July.—There is a method in his madness,
and the rudimentary idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon,
and then, oh, unconscious cerebration, you will have to give the wall to your
conscious brother.
I kept away from my friend for a few days,
so that I might notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were
except that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one.
He has managed to get a sparrow, and has
already partially tamed it. His means of taming is simple, for already the
spiders have diminished Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he
still brings in the flies by tempting them with his food.
19 July—We are progressing. My friend has
now a whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost
obliterated. When I came in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great
favour, a very, very great favour. And as he spoke, he fawned on me like a dog.
I asked him what it was, and he said, with
a sort of rapture in his voice and bearing, "A kitten, a nice, little,
sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed, and feed, and
feed!"
I was not unprepared for this request, for
I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did
not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the
same manner as the flies and spiders. So I said I would see about it, and asked
him if he would not rather have a cat than a kitten.
His eagerness betrayed him as he answered,
"Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should
refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?"
I shook my head, and said that at present I
feared it would not be possible, but that I would see about it. His face fell,
and I could see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce,
sidelong look which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac.
I shall test him with his present craving and see how it will work out, then I
shall know more.
10 pm.—I have visited him again and found
him sitting in a corner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees
before me and implored me to let him have a cat, that his salvation depended
upon it.
I was firm, however, and told him that he
could not have it, whereupon he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his
fingers, in the corner where I had found him. I shall see him in the morning
early.
20 July.—Visited Renfield very early,
before attendant went his rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was
spreading out his sugar, which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly
beginning his fly catching again, and beginning it cheerfully and with a good
grace.
I looked around for his birds, and not
seeing them,asked him where they were. He replied, without turning round, that
they had all flown away. There were a few feathers about the room and on his
pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report
to me if there were anything odd about him during the day.
11 am.—The attendant has just been to see
me to say that Renfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of
feathers. "My belief is, doctor," he said, "that he has eaten
his birds, and that he just took and ate them raw!"
11 pm.—I gave Renfield a strong opiate
tonight, enough to make even him sleep, and took away his pocketbook to look at
it. The thought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and
the theory proved.
My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind.
I shall have to invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous
(life-eating) maniac. What he desires is to absorb as many lives as he can, and
he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. He gave many flies
to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then wanted a cat to eat the
many birds. What would have been his later steps?
It would almost be worth while to complete
the experiment. It might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men
sneered at vivisection, and yet look at its results today! Why not advance
science in its most difficult and vital aspect, the knowledge of the brain?
Had I even the secret of one such mind, did
I hold the key to the fancy of even one lunatic, I might advance my own branch
of science to a pitch compared with which Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or
Ferrier's brain knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient
cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted. A good cause
might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain,
congenitally?
How well the man reasoned. Lunatics always
do within their own scope. I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at
only one. He has closed the account most accurately, and today begun a new
record. How many of us begin a new record with each day of our lives?
To me it seems only yesterday that my whole
life ended with my new hope, and that truly I began a new record. So it shall
be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a
balance to profit or loss.
Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you,
nor can I be angry with my friend whose happiness is yours, but I must only
wait on hopeless and work. Work! Work!
If I could have as strong a cause as my
poor mad friend there, a good, unselfish cause to make me work, that would be
indeed happiness.
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL
26 July.—I am anxious, and it soothes me to
express myself here. It is like whispering to one's self and listening at the
same time. And there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes
it different from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I had
not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned, but yesterday
dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from him. I had written
asking him if he had heard, and he said the enclosed had just been received. It
is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is just starting for
home. That is not like Jonathan. I do not understand it, and it makes me
uneasy.
Then, too, Lucy , although she is so well,
has lately taken to her old habit of walking in her sleep. Her mother has
spoken to me about it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our
room every night.
Mrs. Westenra has got an idea that
sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs
and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes
all over the place.
Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about
Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy's father, had the same habit,
that he would get up in the night and dress himself and go out, if he were not
stopped.
Lucy is to be married in the autumn, and
she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is to be arranged. I
sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life
in a very simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends meet.
Mr. Holmwood, he is the Hon. Arthur
Holmwood, only son of Lord Godalming, is coming up here very shortly, as soon
as he can leave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is
counting the moments till he comes.
She wants to take him up in the seat on the
churchyard cliff and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting
which disturbs her. She will be all right when he arrives.
27 July.—No news from Jonathan. I am
getting quite uneasy about him, though why I should I do not know, but I do
wish that he would write, if it were only a single line.
Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I
am awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so hot
that she cannot get cold. But still, the anxiety and the perpetually being
awakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and wakeful
myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has been suddenly
called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriously ill. Lucy frets
at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch her looks. She is a
trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely rose-pink. She has lost the anemic
look which she had. I pray it will all last.
3 August.—Another week gone by, and no news
from Jonathan, not even to Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope
he is not ill. He surely would have written. I look at that last letter of his,
but somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it is
his writing. There is no mistake of that.
Lucy has not walked much in her sleep the
last week, but there is an odd concentration about her which I do not
understand, even in her sleep she seems to be watching me. She tries the door,
and finding it locked, goes about the room searching for the key.
6 August.—Another three days, and no news.
This suspense is getting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to
go to, I should feel easier. But no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that
last letter. I must only pray to God for patience.
Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is
otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we
are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and learn the weather signs.
Today is a gray day, and the sun as I write
is hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is gray except the
green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it, gray earthy rock, gray clouds,
tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the gray sea, into which
the sandpoints stretch like gray figures. The sea is tumbling in over the
shallows and the sandy flats with a roar, muffled in the sea-mists drifting
inland. The horizon is lost in a gray mist. All vastness, the clouds are piled
up like giant rocks, and there is a `brool' over the sea that sounds like some
passage of doom. Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half
shrouded in the mist, and seem `men like trees walking'. The fishing boats are
racing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep into the
harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making
straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to
talk.
I have been quite touched by the change in
the poor old man. When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way,
"I want to say something to you, miss."
I could see he was not at ease, so I took
his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak fully.
So he said, leaving his hand in mine,
"I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked
things I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past, but I
didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We aud folks
that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't altogether like
to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart of it, and that's why I've took
to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love
ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit, only I don't want to die if I can
help it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is
too much for any man to expect. And I'm so nigh it that the Aud Man is already
whettin' his scythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about it
all at once. The chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of
Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my
deary!"—for he saw that I was crying— "if he should come this very
night I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a waitin'
for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death be all that we can rightly
depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' to me, my deary, and comin' quick.
It may be comin' while we be lookin' and wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out
over the sea that's bringin' with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad
hearts. Look! Look!" he cried suddenly. "There's something in that
wind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells
like death. It's in the air. I feel it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful,
when my call comes!" He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His
mouth moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes' silence, he got up,
shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all
touched me, and upset me very much.
I was glad when the coastguard came along,
with his spyglass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does,
but all the time kept looking at a strange ship.
"I can't make her out," he said.
"She's a Russian, by the look of her. But she's knocking about in the
queerest way. She doesn't know her mind a bit. She seems to see the storm coming,
but can't decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look
there again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on
the wheel, changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before
this time tomorrow."
Chapter 7
CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH," 8
AUGUST
(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)
From a correspondent.
Whitby.
One of the greatest and suddenest storms on
record has just been experienced here, with results both strange and unique.
The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the
month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great
body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin
Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in the
neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and
down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of `tripping' both to and from
Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips
who frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding eminence watch
the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a
sudden show of `mares tails' high in the sky to the northwest. The wind was then
blowing from the southwest in the mild degree which in barometrical language is
ranked `No. 2, light breeze.'
The coastguard on duty at once made report,
and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on
weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of
a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand in its
masses of splendidly coloured clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the
walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun
dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western
sky, its downward was was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset colour,
flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold, with here and
there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of
shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost
on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the
Great Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.
More than one captain made up his mind then
and there that his `cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes
of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell
away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a
sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder,
affects persons of a sensitive nature.
There were but few lights in sight at sea,
for even the coasting steamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept
well to seaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail
noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going
westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme
for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her
to reduce sail in the face of her danger. Before the night shut down she was
seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the
sea.
"As idle as a painted ship upon a
painted ocean."
Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of
the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating
of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and
the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a dischord in the
great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound
from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint,
hollow booming.
Then without warning the tempest broke.
With a rapidity which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is
impossible to realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The
waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a very few
minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster.
Whitecrested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the shelving
cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns
of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.
The wind roared like thunder, and blew with
such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or
clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear
the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night
would have increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the
time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by
in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort
of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching
their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered
at the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.
At times the mist cleared, and the sea for
some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and
fast, followed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed
trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.
Some of the scenes thus revealed were of
immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains
high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the
tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and there a fishing
boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast, now and
again the white wings of a storm-tossed seabird. On the summit of the East
Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried.
The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of
onrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice its service
was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with gunwale under water, rushed
into the harbour, able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the
danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the
port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout
which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its
rush.
Before long the searchlight discovered some
distance away a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which
had been noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to
the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they
realized the terrible danger in which she now was.
Between her and the port lay the great flat
reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the
wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she
should fetch the entrance of the harbour.
It was now nearly the hour of high tide,
but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore
were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with
such speed that, in the words of one old salt, "she must fetch up
somewhere, if it was only in hell". Then came another rush of sea-fog,
greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all
things like a gray pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing,
for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of
the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The
rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the East
Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless.
The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast,
and the remnant of the sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu,
between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed,
swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the
safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through
all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which
swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be
seen on the deck at all.
A great awe came on all as they realised
that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the
hand of a dead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to write
these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched
herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many
storms into the southeast corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff,
known locally as Tate Hill Pier.
There was of course a considerable
concussion as the vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay
was strained, and some of the `top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest
of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on
deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped
from the bow on the sand.
Making straight for the steep cliff, where the
churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the
flat tombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in Whitby
vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff has fallen away,
it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus
of the searchlight.
It so happened that there was no one at the
moment on Tate Hill Pier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were
either in bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on
the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was
the first to climb aboard. The men working the searchlight, after scouring the
entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the light on the
derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the
wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some
sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a number of
people began to run.
It is a good way round from the West Cliff
by the Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good
runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found
already assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused
to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your
correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw
the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel.
It was no wonder that the coastguard was
surprised, or even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man
was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the
wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on
which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by
the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the
flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel
and had dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had
cut the flesh to the bone.
Accurate note was made of the state of
things, and a doctor, Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came
immediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must
have been dead for quite two days.
In his pocket was a bottle, carefully
corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum
to the log.
The coastguard said the man must have tied
up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a
coastguard was the first on board may save some complications later on, in the
Admiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of
the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues
are wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of
the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in
contravention of the statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if
not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.
It is needless to say that the dead
steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his
honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the
young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.
Already the sudden storm is passing, and
its fierceness is abating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is
beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds.
I shall send, in time for your next issue,
further details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into
harbour in the storm.
9 August.—The sequel to the strange arrival
of the derelict in the storm last night is almost more startling than the thing
itself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from Varna, and is called the
Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a small
amount of cargo, a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.
This cargo was consigned to a Whitby
solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went
aboard and took formal possession of the goods consigned to him.
The Russian consul, too, acting for the
charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour dues,
etc.
Nothing is talked about here today except
the strange coincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been most
exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with existing
regulations. As the matter is to be a `nine days wonder', they are evidently determined
that there shall be no cause of other complaint.
A good deal of interest was abroad
concerning the dog which landed when the ship struck, and more than a few of
the members of the S. P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to
befriend the animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be
found. It seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that it
was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is still hiding in
terror.
There are some who look with dread on such
a possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for it is
evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff
belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found dead in the
roadway opposite its master's yard. It had been fighting, and manifestly had
had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away, and its belly was slit
open as if with a savage claw.
Later.—By the kindness of the Board of
Trade inspector, I have been permitted to look over the log book of the
Demeter, which was in order up to within three days, but contained nothing of
special interest except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest,
however, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was today
produced at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than the two between them
unfold it has not been my lot to come across.
As there is no motive for concealment, I am
permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply omitting
technical details of seamanship and supercargo. It almost seems as though the
captain had been seized with some kind of mania before he had got well into
blue water, and that this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of
course my statement must be taken cum grano, since I am writing from the
dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time
being short.
LOG OF THE "DEMETER" Varna to
Whitby
Written 18 July, things so strange
happening, that I shall keep accurate note henceforth till we land.
On 6 July we finished taking in cargo,
silver sand and boxes of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five
hands . . . two mates, cook, and myself, (captain).
On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus.
Boarded by Turkish Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p.
m.
On 12 July through Dardanelles. More
Customs officers and flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of
officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.
On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew
dissatisfied about something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.
On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew.
Men all steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what
was wrong. They only told him there was SOMETHING, and crossed themselves. Mate
lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel,
but all was quiet.
On 16 July mate reported in the morning
that one of the crew, Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took
larboard watch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not go
to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the
kind, but would not say more than there was SOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very
impatient with them. Feared some trouble ahead.
On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men,
Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he
thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he
had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm, when he
saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the
companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear. He followed
cautiously, but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all
closed. He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may
spread. To allay it, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem
to stern.
Later in the day I got together the whole
crew, and told them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship,
we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and to
yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he would engage to
keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let him take the helm, while the
rest began a thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no
corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd
corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and went
back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing.
22 July.—Rough weather last three days, and
all hands busy with sails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten
their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work
in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well.
24 July.—There seems some doom over this
ship. Already a hand short, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather
ahead, and yet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he
came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent a
round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry.
Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence.
28 July.—Four days in hell, knocking about
in a sort of malestrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all
worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second
mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours sleep. Wind
abating, seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is steadier.
29 July.—Another tragedy. Had single watch
tonight, as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could
find no one except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough
search, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic.
Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.
30 July.—Last night. Rejoiced we are
nearing England. Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly,
awakened by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only
self and mate and two hands left to work ship.
1 August.—Two days of fog, and not a sail
sighted. Had hoped when in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or
get in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare
not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some
terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger
nature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,
working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian,
he Roumanian.
2 August, midnight.—Woke up from few
minutes sleep by hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in
fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but
no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be
past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland,
just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and
only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us, and God seems to
have deserted us.
3 August.—At midnight I went to relieve the
man at the wheel and when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady,
and as we ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted
for the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He
looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given way. He
came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though
fearing the very air might hear. "It is here. I know it now. On the watch
last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the
bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the knife
went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took the knife and
drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, "But It is here, and I'll
find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them
one by one and see. You work the helm." And with a warning look and his
finger on his lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I
could not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest
and lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving mad,
and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big boxes, they are
invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as he can do.
So here I stay and mind the helm, and write these notes. I can only trust in
God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with
the wind that is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for help . . .
It is nearly all over now. Just as I was
beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking
away at something in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the
hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the
deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and
his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! Save me!" he cried, and then
looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a
steady voice he said,"You had better come too, captain, before it is too
late. He is there! I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it
is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize
him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I
suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the
men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me! How am I to
account for all these horrors when I get to port? When I get to port! Will that
ever be?
4 August.—Still fog, which the sunrise
cannot pierce, I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know
not. I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I
stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive me, but the
mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man. To die like
a sailor in blue water, no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not
leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my
hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall
tie that which He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I
shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the
night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to
act . . .If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those who find
it may understand. If not . . . well, then all men shall know that I have been
true to my trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor
ignorant soul trying to do his duty . . .
Of course the verdict was an open one.
There is no evidence to adduce, and whether or not the man himself committed
the murders there is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally
that the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral.
Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up
the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey
steps, for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners of
more than a hundred boats have already given in their names as wishing to
follow him to the grave.
No trace has ever been found of the great
dog, at which there is much mourning, for, with public opinion in its present
state, he would, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the
funeral, and so will end this one more `mystery of the sea'.
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL
8 August.—Lucy was very restless all night,
and I too, could not sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly
among the chimney pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to
be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake, but she got up
twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and managed
to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very
strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any
physical way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields herself
almost exactly to the routine of her life.
Early in the morning we both got up and
went down to the harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. There
were very few people about, and though the sun was bright, and the air clear
and fresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the
foam that topped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the mouth of
the harbour, like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow I felt glad
that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on
land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If
I only knew what to do, and could do anything!
10 August.—The funeral of the poor sea
captain today was most touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there,
and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to
the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst
the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down again. We
had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way. The poor fellow
was laid to rest near our seat so that we stood on it, when the time came and
saw everything.
Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was
restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at
night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to
me that there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, she does not
understand it herself.
There is an additional cause in that poor
Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He
had evidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort of
fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that the men said
made them shudder. Poor dear old man!
Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she
feels influences more acutely than other people do. Just now she was quite
upset by a little thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very fond
of animals.
One of the men who came up here often to
look for the boats was followed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They
are both quiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark.
During the service the dog would not come to its master, who was on the seat
with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it
gently, and then harshly, and then angrily. But it would neither come nor cease
to make a noise. It was in a fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair
bristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war path.
Finally the man too got angry, and jumped
down and kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half
dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The
moment it touched the stone the poor thing began to tremble. It did not try to
get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable
state of terror that I tried, though without effect, to comfort it.
Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not
attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I
greatly fear that she is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the
world without trouble. She will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure. The
whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a dead man, his
attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads, the touching funeral,
the dog, now furious and now in terror, will all afford material for her
dreams.
I think it will be best for her to go to
bed tired out physically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to
Robin Hood's Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination for
sleep-walking then.
Chapter 8
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL
Same day, 11 o'clock p. m..—Oh, but I am
tired! If it were not that I had made my diary a duty I should not open it
tonight. We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing,
I think, to some dear cows who came nosing towards us in a field close to the
lighthouse, and frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot everything,
except of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe the slate clean and give
us a fresh start. We had a capital `severe tea' at Robin Hood's Bay in a sweet
little oldfashioned inn, with a bow window right over the seaweedcovered rocks
of the strand. I believe we should have shocked the `New Woman' with our
appetites. Men are more tolerant, bless them! Then we walked home with some, or
rather many, stoppages to rest, and with our hearts full of a constant dread of
wild bulls.
Lucy was really tired, and we intended to
creep off to bed as soon as we could. The young curate came in, however, and
Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay for supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it
with the dusty miller. I know it was a hard fight on my part, and I am quite
heroic. I think that some day the bishops must get together and see about
breeding up a new class of curates, who don't take supper, no matter how hard
they may be pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired.
Lucy is asleep and breathing softly. She
has more color in her cheeks than usual, and looks, oh so sweet. If Mr.
Holmwood fell in love with her seeing her only in the drawing room, I wonder
what he would say if he saw her now. Some of the `New Women' writers will some
day start an idea that men and women should be allowed to see each other asleep
before proposing or accepting. But I suppose the `New Woman' won't condescend
in future to accept. She will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will
make of it too! There's some consolation in that. I am so happy tonight,
because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned the corner, and
that we are over her troubles with dreaming. I should be quite happy if I only
knew if Jonathan . . . God bless and keep him.
11 August.—Diary again. No sleep now, so I
may as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure,
such an agonizing experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary .
. .Suddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear
upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I
could not see Lucy's bed. I stole across and felt for her. The bed was empty. I
lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The door was shut, but not
locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother, who has been more than
usually ill lately, so threw on some clothes and got ready to look for her. As
I was leaving the room it struck me that the clothes she wore might give me
some clue to her dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house, dress
outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places. "Thank
God," I said to myself, "she cannot be far, as she is only in her
nightdress."
I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting
room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other rooms of the house, with an
ever-growing fear chilling my heart. Finally, I came to the hall door and found
it open. It was not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The
people of the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that
Lucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what might
happen. A vague over-mastering fear obscured all details.
I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The
clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in
sight. I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure
which I expected. At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across
the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear, I don't know which, of
seeing Lucy in our favorite seat.
There was a bright full moon, with heavy
black, driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of
light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see nothing,
as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church and all around it. Then as
the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view, and as
the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the
church and churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it
was not disappointed, for there, on our favorite seat, the silver light of the
moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was
too quick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost immediately,
but it seemed to me as though something dark stood behind the seat where the
white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I
could not tell.
I did not wait to catch another glance, but
flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-market to the
bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as
dead, for not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no
witness of poor Lucy's condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my
knees trembled and my breath came laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to
the abbey. I must have gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were
weighted with lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty.
When I got almost to the top I could see
the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it
even through the spells of shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and
black, bending over the half-reclining white figure. I called in fright,
"Lucy! Lucy!" and something raised a head, and from where I was I
could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes.
Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the
entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the
seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the
cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucy
half reclining with her head lying over the back of the seat. She was quite
alone, and there was not a sign of any living thing about.
When I bent over her I could see that she
was still asleep. Her lips were parted, and she was breathing, not softly as
usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs
full at every breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and
pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her, as though she felt the
cold. I flung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges tight around her
neck, for I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air,
unclad as she was. I feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to have my
hands free to help her, I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety
pin. But I must have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with
it, for by-and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to her
throat again and moaned. When I had her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on
her feet, and then began very gently to wake her.
At first she did not respond, but gradually
she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally.
At last, as time was passing fast, and for many other reasons, I wished to get
her home at once, I shook her forcibly, till finally she opened her eyes and
awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, she did not realize
all at once where she was.
Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at
such a time,when her body must have been chilled with cold, and her mind
somewhat appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose
her grace. She trembled a little, and clung to me. When I told her to come at
once with me home, she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As
we passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me wince. She
stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes, but I would not. However,
when we got to the pathway outside the chruchyard, where there was a puddle of
water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with mud, using each foot in
turn on the other, so that as we went home, no one, in case we should meet any
one, should notice my bare feet.
Fortune favoured us, and we got home
without meeting a soul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing
along a street in front of us. But we hid in a door till he had disappeared up
an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or `wynds', as they
call them in Scotland. My heart beat so loud all the time sometimes I thought I
should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for her health,
lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation in case the
story should get wind. When we got in, and had washed our feet, and had said a
prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into bed. Before falling asleep
she asked, even implored, me not to say a word to any one, even her mother,
about her sleepwalking adventure.
I hesitated at first, to promise, but on
thinking of the state of her mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a
thing would fret her, and think too, of how such a story might become
distorted, nay, infallibly would, in case it should leak out, I thought it
wiser to do so. I hope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied
to my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping
soundly. The reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea . . .
Same day, noon.—All goes well. Lucy slept
till I woke her and seemed not to have even changed her side. The adventure of
the night does not seem to have harmed her, on the contrary, it has benefited
her, for she looks better this morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry
to notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might
have been serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. I must have pinched
up a piece of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there are two little red
points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a drop of blood.
When I apologised and was concerned about it, she laughed and petted me, and
said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it cannot leave a scar, as it is so
tiny.
Same day, night.—We passed a happy day. The
air was clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our
lunch to Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I
walking by the cliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad
myself, for I could not but feel how absolutely happy it would have been had
Jonathan been with me. But there! I must only be patient. In the evening we
strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohr and
Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she has been for
some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and secure the key
the same as before, though I do not expect any trouble tonight.
12 August.—My expectations were wrong, for
twice during the night I was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed,
even in her sleep, to be a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went
back to bed under a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard the birds
chirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and I was glad to see, was even
better than on the previous morning. All her old gaiety of manner seemed to
have come back, and she came and snuggled in beside me and told me all about
Arthur. I told her how anxious I was about Jonathan, and then she tried to
comfort me. Well, she succeeded somewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter
facts, it can make them more bearable.
13 August.—Another quiet day, and to bed
with the key on my wrist as before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy
sitting up in bed, still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and
pulling aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the soft
effect of the light over the sea and sky, merged together in one great silent
mystery, was beautiful beyond words. Between me and the moonlight flitted a
great bat, coming and going in great whirling circles. Once or twice it came
quite close, but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away
across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back from the window Lucy had
lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. She did not stir again all night.
14 August.—On the East Cliff, reading and
writing all day. Lucy seems to have become as much in love with the spot as I
am, and it is hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for
lunch or tea or dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming
home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and
stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun, low down in
the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness. The red light was thrown over on
the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe everything in a beautiful
rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to
herself . . .
"His red eyes again! They are just the
same." It was such an odd expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it
quite startled me. I slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without
seeming to stare at her, and saw that she was in a half dreamy state, with an
odd look on her face that I could not quite make out, so I said nothing, but
followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat, whereon was
a dark figure seated alone. I was quite a little startled myself, for it seemed
for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes like burning flames, but a
second look dispelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows
of St. Mary's Church behind our seat, and as the sun dipped there was just
sufficient change in the refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the
light moved. I called Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect, and she became
herself with a start, but she looked sad all the same. It may have been that
she was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it, so I
said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early to
bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself.
I walked along the cliffs to the westward,
and was full of sweet sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming
home, it was then bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our
part of the Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen, I threw a
glance up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I opened my
handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever.
Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the light
fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up against
the side of the window sill and her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and by her,
seated on the window sill, was something that looked like a good-sized bird. I
was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the
room she was moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily. She
was holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect if from the cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up
warmly. I have taken care that the door is locked and the window securely
fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she
is paler than is her wont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes
which I do not like. I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could
find out what it is.
15 August.—Rose later than usual. Lucy was
languid and tired, and slept on after we had been called. We had a happy
surprise at breakfast. Arthur's father is better, and wants the marriage to
come off soon. Lucy is full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at
once. Later on in the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy as
her very own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have some one to protect
her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She confided to me that she has got her death
warrant. She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy. Her doctor told
her that within a few months, at most, she must die, for her heart is
weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would be almost sure to kill
her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair of the dreadful night of
Lucy's sleep-walking.
17 August.—No diary for two whole days. I
have not had the heart to write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming
over our happiness. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker,
whilst her mother's hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy's
fading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys the
fresh air, but all the time the roses in her cheeks are fading, and she gets
weaker and more languid day by day. At night I hear her gasping as if for air.
I keep the key of our door always fastened
to my wrist at night, but she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the
open window. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I
tried to wake her I could not.
She was in a faint. When I managed to
restore her, she was weak as water, and cried silently between long, painful
struggles for breath. When I asked her how she came to be at the window she
shook her head and turned away.
I trust her feeling ill may not be from
that unlucky prick of the safety-pin. I looked at her throat just now as she
lay asleep, and the tiny wounds seem not to have healed. They are still open,
and, if anything, larger than before, and the edges of them are faintly white.
They are like little white dots with red centres. Unless they heal within a day
or two, I shall insist on the doctor seeing about them.
LETTER, SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON,
SOLICITORS WHITBY, TO MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON.
17 August
"Dear Sirs, —
"Herewith please receive invoice of
goods sent by Great Northern Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near
Purfleet, immediately on receipt at goods station King's Cross. The house is at
present empty, but enclosed please find keys, all of which are labelled.
"You will please deposit the boxes,
fifty in number, which form the consignment, in the partially ruined building
forming part of the house and marked `A' on rough diagrams enclosed. Your agent
will easily recognize the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion.
The goods leave by the train at 9:30 tonight, and will be due at King's Cross
at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. As our client wishes the delivery made as soon as
possible, we shall be obliged by your having teams ready at King's Cross at the
time named and forthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to
obviate any delays possible through any routine requirements as to payment in
your departments, we enclose cheque herewith for ten pounds, receipt of which please
acknowledge. Should the charge be less than this amount, you can return
balance, if greater, we shall at once send cheque for difference on hearing
from you. You are to leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the
house, where the proprietor may get them on his entering the house by means of
his duplicate key.
"Pray do not take us as exceeding the
bounds of business courtesy in pressing you in all ways to use the utmost
expedition. "We are, dear Sirs, "Faithfully yours, "SAMUEL F.
BILLINGTON & SON"
LETTER, MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO.,
LONDON, TO MESSRS. BILLINGTON & SON, WHITBY.
21 August.
"Dear Sirs,—
"We beg to acknowledge 10 pounds
received and to return cheque of 1 pound, 17s, 9d, amount of overplus, as shown
in receipted account herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance with
instructions, and keys left in parcel in main hall, as directed. "We are,
dear Sirs, "Yours respectfully, "Pro CARTER, PATERSON & CO."
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL.
18 August.—I am happy today, and write sitting
on the seat in the churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she
slept well all night, and did not disturb me once.
The roses seem coming back already to her
cheeks, though she is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If she were in any way
anemic I could understand it, but she is not. She is in gay spirits and full of
life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence seems to have passed from her,
and she has just reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of that night, and
that it was here, on this very seat, I found her asleep.
As she told me she tapped playfully with
the heel of her boot on the stone slab and said,
"My poor little feet didn't make much
noise then! I daresay poor old Mr. Swales would have told me that it was
because I didn't want to wake up Geordie."
As she was in such a communicative humour,
I asked her if she had dreamed at all that night.
Before she answered, that sweet, puckered
look came into her forehead, which Arthur, I call him Arthur from her habit,
says he loves, and indeed, I don't wonder that he does. Then she went on in a
half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to herself.
"I didn't quite dream, but it all
seemed to be real. I only wanted to be here in this spot. I don't know why, for
I was afraid of something, I don't know what. I remember, though I suppose I
was asleep, passing through the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I
went by, and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling.
The whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once, as I
went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long and dark with
red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something very sweet and very
bitter all around me at once. And then I seemed sinking into deep green water,
and there was a singing in my ears, as I have heard there is to drowning men,
and then everything seemed passing away from me. My soul seemed to go out from
my body and float about the air. I seem to remember that once the West
Lighthouse was right under me, and then there was a sort of agonizing feeling,
as if I were in an earthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I
saw you do it before I felt you."
Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little
uncanny to me, and I listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and
thought it better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to
another subject, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home the
fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more rosy. Her
mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a very happy evening
together.
19 August.—Joy, joy, joy! Although not all
joy. At last, news of Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill, that is why he
did not write. I am not afraid to think it or to say it, now that I know. Mr.
Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh so kindly. I am to leave
in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary,
and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a bad thing if we were
to be married out there. I have cried over the good Sister's letter till I can
feel it wet against my bosom, where it lies. It is of Jonathan, and must be
near my heart, for he is in my heart. My journey is all mapped out, and my
luggage ready. I am only taking one change of dress. Lucy will bring my trunk
to London and keep it till I send for it, for it may be that . . . I must write
no more. I must keep it to say to Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has
seen and touched must comfort me till we meet.
LETTER, SISTER AGATHA, HOSPITAL OF ST.
JOSEPH AND STE. MARY BUDA-PESTH, TO MISS WILLHELMINA MURRAY
12 August,
"Dear Madam.
"I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan
Harker, who is himself not strong enough to write, though progressing well,
thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for
nearly six weeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey
his love, and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins,
Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry for his delay, and
that all of his work is completed. He will require some few weeks' rest in our
sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He wishes me to say that he has
not sufficient money with him, and that he would like to pay for his staying
here, so that others who need shall not be wanting for belp.
Believe me,
Yours, with sympathy
and all blessings. Sister Agatha"
"P. S.—My patient being asleep, I open
this to let you know something more. He has told me all about you, and that you
are shortly to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful
shock, so says our doctor, and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful,
of wolves and poison and blood, of ghosts and demons, and I fear to say of
what. Be careful of him always that there may be nothing to excite him of this
kind for a long time to come. The traces of such an illness as his do not
lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but we knew nothing of his
friends, and there was nothing on him, nothing that anyone could understand. He
came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the station
master there that he rushed into the station shouting for a ticket for home.
Seeing from his violent demeanor that he was English, they gave him a ticket
for the furthest station on the way thither that the train reached.
"Be assured that he is well cared for.
He has won all hearts by his sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on
well, and I have no doubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of
him for safety's sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste.Mary, many,
many, happy years for you both."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
19 Agust.—Strange and sudden change in
Renfield last night. About eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff
about as a dog does when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and
knowing my interest in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to
the attendant and at times servile, but tonight, the man tells me, he was quite
haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all.
All he would say was, "I don't want to
talk to you. You don't count now. The master is at hand."
The attendant thinks it is some sudden form
of religious mania which has seized him. If so, we must look out for squalls,
for a strong man with homicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous.
The combination is a dreadful one.
At Nine o'clock I visited him myself. His
attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant. In his sublime
selffeeling the difference between myself and the attendant seemed to him as
nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that he himself
is God.
These infinitesimal distinctions between
man and man are too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give
themselves away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall. But the God
created from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow.
Oh, if men only knew!
For half an hour or more Renfield kept
getting excited in greater and greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching
him, but I kept strict observation all the same. All at once that shifty look
came into his eyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea, and
with it the shifty movement of the head and back which asylum attendants come
to know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and sat on the edge of his bed
resignedly, and looked into space with lack-luster eyes.
I thought I would find out if his apathy
were real or only assumed, and tried to lead him to talk of his pets, a theme
which had never failed to excite his attention.
At first he made no reply, but at length
said testily, "Bother them all! I don't care a pin about them."
"What" I said. "You don't
mean to tell me you don't care about spiders?" (Spiders at present are his
hobby and the notebook is filling up with columns of small figures.)
To this he answered enigmatically,
"The Bride maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride. But
when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes that are
filled."
He would not explain himself, but remained
obstinately seated on his bed all the time I remained with him.
I am weary tonight and low in spirits. I
cannot but think of Lucy, and how different things might have been. If I don't
sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus! I must be careful not to let it
grow into a habit. No, I shall take none tonight! I have thought of Lucy, and I
shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need by, tonight shall be
sleepless.
Later.—Glad I made the resolution, gladder
that I kept to it. I had lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike
only twice, when the night watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say
that Renfield had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once. My
patient is too dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his might
work out dangerously with strangers.
The attendant was waiting for me. He said
he had seen him not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in his bed, when he
had looked through the observation trap in the door. His attention was called
by the sound of the window being wrenched out. He ran back and saw his feet
disappear through the window, and had at once sent up for me. He was only in his
night gear, and cannot be far off.
The attendant thought it would be more
useful to watch where he should go than to follow him, as he might lose sight
of him whilst getting out of the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and
couldn't get through the window.
I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but
feet foremost, and as we were only a few feet above ground landed unhurt.
The attendant told me the patient had gone
to the left, and had taken a straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As
I got through the belt of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which
separates our grounds from those of the deserted house.
I ran back at once, told the watchman to
get three or four men immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in
case our friend might be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the
wall, dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield's figure just
disappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On the far side
of the house I found him pressed close against the old ironbound oak door of
the chapel.
He was talking, apparently to some one, but
I was afraid to go near enough to hear what he was saying, les t I might
frighten him, and he should run off.
Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing
to following a naked lunatic, when the fit of escaping is upon him! After a few
minutes, however, I could see that he did not take note of anything around him,
and so ventured to draw nearer to him, the more so as my men had now crossed
the wall and were closing him in. I heard him say . . .
"I am here to do your bidding, Master.
I am your slave, and you will reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have
worshipped you long and afar off. Now that you are near, I await your commands,
and you will not pass me by, will you, dear Master, in your distribution of
good things?"
He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He
thinks of the loaves and fishes even when he believes his is in a real
Presence. His manias make a startling combination. When we closed in on him he
fought like a tiger. He is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast
than a man.
I never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of
rage before, and I hope I shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out
his strength and his danger in good time. With strength and determination like
his, he might have done wild work before he was caged.
He is safe now, at any rate. Jack Sheppard
himself couldn't get free from the strait waistcoat that keeps him restrained,
and he's chained to the wall in the padded room.
His cries are at times awful, but the
silences that follow are more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn
and movement.
Just now he spoke coherent words for the
first time. "I shall be patient, Master. It is coming, coming,
coming!"
So I took the hint, and came too. I was too
excited to sleep, but this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some
sleep tonight.
Chapter 9
LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA
Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest Lucy,
"I know you will be anxious to hear
all that has happened since we parted at the railway station at Whitby.
"Well, my dear, I got to Hull all
right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I feel that
I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was coming to
Jonathan, and that as I should have to do some nursing, I had better get all
the sleep I could. I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weaklooking.
All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which
I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he
does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At
least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.
"He has had some terrible shock, and I
fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha,
who is a good creature and a born nurse, tells me that he wanted her to tell me
what they were, but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell.
That the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse
through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her trust..
"She is a sweet, good soul, and the
next day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject my poor dear
raved about, added, `I can tell you this much, my dear. That it was not about
anything which he has done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to be, have no
cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His
fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.'
"I do believe the dear soul thought I
might be jealous lest my poor dear should have fallen in love with any other
girl. The idea of my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me
whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was
a cause for trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his face
while he sleeps. He is waking!
"When he woke he asked me for his
coat, as he wanted to get something from the pocket. I asked Sister Agatha, and
she brought all his things. I saw amongst them was his notebook, and was was
going to ask him to let me look at it, for I knew that I might find some clue
to his trouble, but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sent
me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment.
"Then he called me back, and he said
to me very solemnly, `Wilhelmina', I knew then that he was in deadly earnest,
for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him, `You
know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife. There should be no
secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of
what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was real of the
dreaming of a madman. You know I had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The
secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here,
with our marriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the
formalities are complete. `Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance?
Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will,but never let me
know unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the
bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted,
and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. have asked Sister Agatha
to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting her
reply . . ."
"She has come and told me that the
Chaplain of the English mission church has been sent for. We are to be married
in an hour, or as soon after as Jonathan awakes."
"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I
feel very solemn, but very, very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour,
and all was ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered
his `I will' firmly and strong. I could hardly speak. My heart was so full that
even those words seemed to choke me.
"The dear sisters were so kind.
Please, God, I shall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities
I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the chaplain
and the sisters had left me alone with my husband—oh, Lucy, it is the first
time I have written the words `my husband'—left me alone with my husband, I
took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied
it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it
over the knot with sealing wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I
kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so,
and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we
trusted each other, that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear
sake or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh,
Lucy, it was the first time he took his wifes' hand, and said that it was the
dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all the past
again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to have said a part of the past,
but he cannot think of time yet, and I shall not wonder if at first he mixes up
not only the month, but the year.
"Well, my dear, could I say? I could
only tell him that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I
had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with
these went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he
kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a solemn
pledge between us.
"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you
all this? It is not only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have
been, and are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide
when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you
to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me, so
that in your own married life you too may be all happy, as I am. My dear,
please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises, a long day of sunshine,
with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no
pain, for that can never be, but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am
now. Goodbye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and perhaps, write you very
soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking. I must attend my husband!
"Your ever-loving "Mina Harker."
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA HARKER.
Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest Mina,
"Oceans of love and millions of
kisses, and may you soon be in your own home with your husband. I wish you were
coming home soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore
Jonathan. It has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am
full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given
up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a week,
that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the
way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives,
and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing together, and I love him more
than ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at first he
told me that he couldn't love me more than he did then. But this is nonsense.
There he is, calling to me. So no more just at present from your loving,
"Lucy.
"P. S.—Mother sends her love. She
seems better, poor dear.
"P. P.S.—We are to be married on 28
September."
DR. SEWARDS DIARY
20 August.—The case of Renfield grows even
more interesting. He has now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation
from his passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually
violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept
murmuring to himself. "Now I can wait. Now I can wait."
The attendant came to tell me, so I ran
down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the strait waistcoat and in
the padded room, but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had
something of their old pleading. I might almost say, cringing, softness. I was
satisfied with his present condition, and directed him to be relieved. The
attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my wishes without protest.
It was a strange thing that the patient had
humour enough to see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a
whisper, all the while looking furtively at them, "They think I could hurt
you! Fancy me hurting you! The fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings
to find myself disassociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the
others, but all the same I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I
have anything in common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand
together. Or has he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well being
is needful to Him? I must find out later on. Tonight he will not speak. Even
the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him.
He will only say, "I don't take any
stock in cats. I have more to think of now, and I can wait. I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant
tells me that he was quiet until just before dawn, and that then he began to
get uneasy, and at length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which
exhausted him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
. . . Three nights has the same thing
happened, violent all day then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could
get some clue to the cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence
which came and went. Happy thought! We shall tonight play sane wits against mad
ones. He escaped before without our help. Tonight he shall escape with it. We
shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case they are
required.
23 August.—"The expected always
happens." How well Disraeli knew life. Our bird when he found the cage
open would not fly, so all our subtle arrangements were for nought. At any
rate, we have proved one thing, that the spells of quietness last a reasonable
time. We shall in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I
have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room,
when once he is quiet, until the hour before sunrise. The poor soul's body will
enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected
again! I am called. The patient has once more escaped.
Later.—Another night adventure. Renfield
artfully waited until the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he
dashed out past him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants
to follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found
him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw me he
became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, he would have
tried to kill me. As we sere holding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly
redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew calm. I looked round
instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and
followed it, but could trace nothing as it looked into the moonlight sky,
except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west.
Bats usually wheel about, but this one seemed to go straight on, as if it knew
where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.
The patient grew calmer every instant, and
presently said, "You needn't tie me. I shall go quietly!" Without
trouble, we came back to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his
calm, and shall not forget this night.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
Hillingham, 24 August.—I must imitate Mina,
and keep writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I
wonder when it will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy.
Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is
the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, for
I can remember nothing. But I am full of vague fear, and I feel so weak and
worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and
I hadn't the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in
mother's room tonight. I shall make an excuse to try.
25 August.—Another bad night. Mother did
not seem to take to my proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless
she fears to worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while, but
when the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been
falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but I
did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must have fallen
asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. This morning I am horribly
weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something
wrong with my lungs, for I don't seem to be getting air enough. I shall try to
cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.
LETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August "My
dear Jack,
"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is
ill, that is she has no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting
worse every day. I have asked her if there is any cause, I not dare to ask her
mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter in her present
state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom
is spoken, disease of the heart, though poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am
sure that there is something preying on my dear girl's mind. I am almost
distracted when I think of her. To look at her gives me a pang. I told her I
should ask you to see her, and though she demurred at first, I know why, old
fellow, she finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old
friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you to act.
You are to come to lunch at Hillingham tomorrow, two o'clock, so as not to
arouse any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity
of being alone with you. I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you
alone as soon as I can after you have seen her. Do not fail!
"Arthur." TELEGRAM, ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD
1 September
"Am summoned to see my father, who is
worse. Am writing. Write me fully by tonight's post to Ring. Wire me if
necessary."
LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
2 September
"My dear old fellow,
"With regard to Miss Westenra's health
I hasten to let you know at once that in my opinion there is not any functal
disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any
means satisfied with her appearance. She is woefully different from what she
was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have
full opportunity of examination such as I should wish. Our very friendship
makes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom can bridge
over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a
measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose
doing.
"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly
gay spirits. Her mother was present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind
that she was trying all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from
being anxious. I have no doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of
caution there is.
"We lunched alone, and as we all
exerted ourselves to be cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our
labours, some real cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down,
and Lucy was left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her
gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and going.
"As soon as the door was closed,
however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chair with a
great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her high spirits
had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis.
"She said to me very sweetly, `I
cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded her that a doctor's
confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about her. She
caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word. `Tell
Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but for him!' So I am
quite free.
"I could easily see that she was
somewhat bloodless, but I could not see the usual anemic signs, and by the
chance ,I was able to test the actual quality of her blood, for in opening a
window which was stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken
glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and
I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them.
"The qualitative analysis give a quite
normal condition, and shows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health.
In other physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for
anxiety, but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion
that it must be something mental.
"She complains of difficulty breathing
satisfactorily at times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that
frighten her, but regarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a
child, she used to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came
back, and that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where
Miss Murray found her. But she assures me that of late the habit has not
returned.
"I am in doubt, and so have done the
best thing I know of. I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van
Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in
the world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all things
were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your
relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience to your
wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can for her.
"Van Helsing would, I know, do
anything for me for a personal reason, so no matter on what ground he comes, we
must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, this is because he
knows what he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopher
and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day, and he
has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of
the ice-brook, and indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted
from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats, these
form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for mankind, work both
in theory and practice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing
sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence
in him. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenra tomorrow
again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by
too early a repetition of my call.
"Yours always."
John Seward
LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D.
LiT, ETC, ETC, TO DR. SEWARD
2 September.
"My good Friend,
"When I received your letter I am
already coming to you. By good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong
to any of those who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for
those who have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he
holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so
swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our other friend, too
nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants my aids and you call for
them than all his great fortune could do. But it is pleasure added to do for
him, your friend, it is to you that I come. Have near at hand, and please it so
arrange that we may see the young lady not too late on tomorrow, for it is
likely that I may have to return here that night. But if need be I shall come
again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till then goodbye, my friend
John.
"Van Helsing."
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
3 September
"My dear Art,
"Van Helsing has come and gone. He
came on with me to Hillingham, and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother
was lunching out, so that we were alone with her.
"Van Helsing made a very careful
examination of the patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for
of course I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned, but
says he must think. When I told him of our friendship and how you trust to me
in the matter, he said, `You must tell him all you think. Tell him him what I
think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am not jesting. This is no
jest, but life and death, perhaps more.' I asked what he meant by that, for he
was very serious. This was when we had come back to town, and he was having a
cup of tea before starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any
further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because his very reticence
means that all his brains are working for her good. He will speak plainly
enough when the time comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write an
account of our visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for
THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts of
London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I
am to get his report tomorrow if he can possibly make it. In any case I am to
have a letter.
"Well, as to the visit, Lucy was more
cheerful than on the day I first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had
lost something of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was
normal. She was very sweet to the Professor (as she always is),and tried to
make him feel at ease, though I could see the poor girl was making a hard
struggle for it.
"I believe Van Helsing saw it, too,
for I saw the quick look under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he
began to chat of all things except ourselves and diseases and with such an
infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's pretense of animation merge
into reality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the conversation
gently round to his visit, and sauvely said,
"`My dear young miss, I have the so
great pleasure because you are so much beloved. That is much, my dear, even
were there that which I do not see. They told me you were down in the spirit,
and that you were of a ghastly pale. To them I say "Pouf!" ' And he
snapped his fingers at me and went on. `But you and I shall show them how wrong
they are. How can he', and he pointed at me with the same look and gesture as
that with which he pointed me out in his class, on, or rather after, a
particular occasion which he never fails to remind me of, `know anything of a
young ladies? He has his madmen to play with, and to bring them back to
happiness, and to those that love them. It is much to do, and, oh, but there
are rewards in that we can bestow such happiness. But the young ladies! He has
no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but to
the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes of them. So, my
dear, we will send him away to smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you
and I have little talk all to ourselves.' I took the hint, and strolled about,
and presently the professor came to the window and called me in. He looked
grave, but said, ` I have made careful examination, but there is no functional
cause. With you I agree that there has been much blood lost, it has been but is
not. But the conditions of her are in no way anemic. I have asked her to send
me her maid, that I may ask just one or two questions, that so I may not chance
to miss nothing. I know well what she will say. And yet there is cause. There
is always cause for everything. I must go back home and think. You must send me
the telegram every day, and if there be cause I shall come again. The disease,
for not to be well is a disease, interest me, and the sweet, young dear, she
interest me too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.'
"As I tell you, he would not say a
word more, even when we were alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I
shall keep stern watch. I trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a
terrible thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position
between two people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to
your father, and you are right to stick to it. But if need be, I shall send you
word to come at once to Lucy, so do not be over-anxious unless you hear from
me."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
4 September.—Zoophagous patient still keeps
up our interest in him. He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an
unusual time. Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The
attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came
at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became so violent
that it took all their strength to hold him. In about five minutes, however, he
began to get more quiet,and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which
state he has remained up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst
in the paroxysm were really appalling. I found my hands full when I got in, attending
to some of the other patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quite
understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I was some
distance away. It is now after the dinner hour of the asylum, and as yet my
patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-begone look in his
face, which seems rather to indicate than to show something directly. I cannot
quite understand it.
Later.—Another change in my patient. At
five o'clock I looked in on him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented
as he used to be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note
of his capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges
of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologized for his bad conduct,
and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to his own room, and
to have his notebook again. I thought it well to humour him, so he is back in
his room with the window open. He has the sugar of his tea spread out on the
window sill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating
them, but putting them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the
corners of his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past
few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me, but he
would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of
far away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me.
"All over! All over! He has deserted
me. No hope for me now unless I do it myself!" Then suddenly turning to me
in a resolute way, he said,"Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let
me have a little more sugar? I think it would be very good for me."
"And the flies?" I said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I
like the flies, therefore I like it."And there are people who know so
little as to think that madmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply,
and left him as happy a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could
fathom his mind.
Midnight.—Another change in him. I had been
to see Miss Westenra, whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was
standing at our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him
yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than
in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of
a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the
marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realize
all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of
breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him
just as the sun was going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As
it sank he became less and less frenzied, and just as it dipped he slid from
the hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however,
what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he
stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not
to hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straight over
to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar. Then he took his fly box,
and emptied it outside, and threw away the box. Then he shut the window, and
crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked
him,"Are you going to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he. "I am sick of
all that rubbish!" He certainly is a wonderfully interesting study. I wish
I could get some glimpse of his mind or of the cause of his sudden passion.
Stop. There may be a clue after all, if we can find why today his paroxysms
came on at high noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence
of the sun at periods which affects certain natures, as at times the moon does
others? We shall see.
TELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING,
AMSTERDAM
"4 September.—Patient still better
today."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING,
AMSTERDAM
"5 September.—Patient greatly
improved. Good appetite, sleeps naturally, good spirits, color coming
back."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING,
AMSTERDAM
"6 September.—Terrible change for the
worse. Come at once. Do not lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till
have seen you."
Chapter 10
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
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
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
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 good
husbandman tell you so then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not
find the good husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow. That is for
the children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as of the
work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn, and Nature
has her work to do in making it sprout, if he sprout at all, there's some
promise, and I wait till the ear begins to swell." He broke off, for he
evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on gravely, "You were always
a careful student, and your case book was ever more full than the rest. And I
trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, that knowledge is
stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. Even if you have not
kept the good practice, let me tell you that this case of our dear miss is one
that may be, mind, I say may be, of such interest to us and others that all the
rest may not make him kick the beam, as your people say. Take then good note of
it. Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts
and surmises. Hereafter it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess.
We learn from failure, not from success!"
When I described Lucy's symptoms, the same
as before, but infinitely more marked, he looked very grave, but said nothing.
He took with him a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, "the
ghastly paraphernalia of our beneficial trade," as he once called, in one
of his lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing craft.
When we were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met
us. She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature
in one of her beneficient moods has ordained that even death has some antidote
to its own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may prove fatal, matters
are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things not personal, even
the terrible change in her daughter to whom she is so attached, do not seem to
reach her. It is something like the way dame Nature gathers round a foreign
body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that
which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness,
then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism, for
there may be deeper root for its causes than we have knowledge of.
I used my knowledge of this phase of
spiritual pathology, and set down a rule that she should not be present with
Lucy, or think of her illness more than was absolutely required. She assented
readily, so readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van
Helsing and I were shown up to Lucy's room. If I was shocked when I saw her
yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her today.
She was ghastly, chalkily pale. The red
seemed to have gone even from her lips and gums, and the bones of her face
stood out prominently. Her breathing was painful to see or hear. Van Helsing's
face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows converged till they almost touched
over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not seem to have strength to speak,
so for a while we were all silent. Then Van Helsing beckoned to me, and we went
gently out of the room. The instant we had closed the door he stepped quickly
along the passage to the next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly
in with him and closed the door. "My god!" he said. "This is
dreadful. There is not time to be lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to
keep the heart's action as it should be. There must be a transfusion of blood
at once. Is it you or me?"
"I am younger and stronger, Professor.
It must be me."
"Then get ready at once. I will bring
up my bag. I am prepared."
I went downstairs with him, and as we were
going there was a knock at the hall door. When we reached the hall, the maid
had just opened the door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to
me, saying in an eager whisper,
"Jack, I was so anxious. I read
between the lines of your letter, and have been in an agony. The dad was
better, so I ran down here to see for myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van
Helsing? I am so thankful to you, sir, for coming."
When first the Professor's eye had lit upon
him, he had been angry at his interruption at such a time, but now, as he took
in his stalwart proportions and recognized the strong young manhood which
seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to him as
he held out his hand,
"Sir, you have come in time. You are
the lover of our dear miss. She is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not
go like that."For he suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost
fainting. "You are to help her. You can do more than any that live, and
your courage is your best help."
"What can I do?" asked Arthur
hoarsely. "Tell me, and I shall do it. My life is hers' and I would give
the last drop of blood in my body for her."
The Professor has a strongly humorous side,
and I could from old knowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer.
"My young sir, I do not ask so much as
that, not the last!"
"What shall I do?" There was fire
in his eyes, and his open nostrils quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped
him on the shoulder.
"Come!" he said. "You are a
man, and it is a man we want. You are better than me, better than my friend
John." Arthur looked bewildered, and the Professor went on by explaining
in a kindly way.
"Young miss is bad, very bad. She
wants blood, and blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have
consulted, and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood, to
transfer from full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was
to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me."—Here
Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence.—"But now you are here,
you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought.
Our nerves are not so calm and our blood so bright than yours!"
Arthur turned to him and said, "If you
only knew how gladly I would die for her you would understand . . ." He
stopped with a sort of choke in his voice.
"Good boy!" said Van Helsing.
"In the not-so-far-off you will be happy that you have done all for her
you love. Come now and be silent. You shall kiss her once before it is done,
but then you must go, and you must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame. You
know how it is with her. There must be no shock, any knowledge of this would be
one. Come!"
We all went up to Lucy's room. Arthur by
direction remained outside. Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said
nothing. She was not asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort.
Her eyes spoke to us, that was all.
Van Helsing took some things from his bag and
laid them on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and coming
over to the bed, said cheerily, "Now, little miss, here is your medicine.
Drink it off, like a good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy.
Yes." She had made the effort with success.
It astonished me how long the drug took to
act. This, in fact, marked the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless
until sleep began to flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic
began to manifest its potency, and she fell into a deep sleep. When the
Professor was satisfied, he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off
his coat. Then he added, "You may take that one little kiss whiles I bring
over the table. Friend John, help to me!" So neither of us looked whilst
he bent over her.
Van Helsing, turning to me, said, "He
is so young and strong, and of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate
it."
Then with swiftness, but with absolute
method, Van Helsing performed the operation. As the transfusion went on,
something like life seemed to come back to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through
Arthur's growing pallor the joy of his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a
bit I began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur,
strong man as he was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucy's
system must have undergone that what weakened Arthur only partially restored
her.
But the Professor's face was set, and he
stood watch in hand, and with his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on
Arthur. I could hear my own heart beat. Presently, he said in a soft voice,
"Do not stir an instant. It is enough. You attend him. I will look to
her."
When all was over, I could see how much
Arthur was weakened. I dressed the wound and took his arm to bring him away,
when Van Helsing spoke without turning round, the man seems to have eyes in the
back of his head,"The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he
shall have presently." And as he had now finished his operation, he
adjusted the pillow to the patient's head. As he did so the narrow black velvet
band which she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an old
diamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up, and
showed a red mark on her throat.
Arthur did not notice it, but I could hear
the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying
emotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying, "Now
take down our brave young lover, give him of the port wine, and let him lie
down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that he
may be recruited of what he has so given to his love. He must not stay here.
Hold a moment! I may take it, sir, that you are anxious of result. Then bring
it with you, that in all ways the operation is successful. You have saved her
life this time, and you can go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be
is. I shall tell her all when she is well. She shall love you none the less for
what you have done. Goodbye."
When Arthur had gone I went back to the
room. Lucy was sleeping gently, but her breathing was stronger. I could see the
counterpane move as her breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking
at her intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor
in a whisper, "What do you make of that mark on her throat?"
"What do you make of it?"
"I have not examined it yet," I
answered, and then and there proceeded to loose the band. Just over the
external jugular vein there were two punctures, not large, but not wholesome
looking. There was no sign of disease, but the edges were white and worn
looking, as if by some trituration. It at once occurred to me that that this
wound, or whatever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood.
But I abandoned the idea as soon as it formed, for such a thing could not be.
The whole bed would have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the
girl must have lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion.
"Well?" said Van Helsing.
"Well," said I. "I can make
nothing of it."
The Professor stood up. "I must go
back to Amsterdam tonight," he said "There are books and things there
which I want. You must remain here all night, and you must not let your sight
pass from her."
"Shall I have a nurse?" I asked.
"We are the best nurses, you and I.
You keep watch all night. See that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs
her. You must not sleep all the night.Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall
be back as soon as possible. And then we may begin."
"May begin?" I said. "What
on earth do you mean?"
"We shall see!" he answered, as
he hurried out. He came back a moment later and put his head inside the door
and said with a warning finger held up, "Remember, she is your charge. If
you leave her, and harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!"
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY—CONTINUED
8 September.—I sat up all night with Lucy.
The opiate worked itself off towards dusk, and she waked naturally. She looked
a different being from what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even
were good, and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of
the absolute prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. Westenra
that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit up with her, she almost
pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her daughter's renewed strength and
excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and made preparations for my long
vigil. When her maid had prepared her for the night I came in, having in the
meantime had supper, and took a seat by the bedside.
She did not in any way make objection, but
looked at me gratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she
seemed sinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together
and shook it off. It was apparent that she did not want to sleep, so I tackled
the subject at once.
"You do not want to sleep?"
"No. I am afraid."
"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is
the boon we all crave for."
"Ah, not if you were like me, if sleep
was to you a presage of horror!"
"A presage of horror! What on earth do
you mean?"
"I don't know. Oh, I don't know. And
that is what is so terrible. All this weakness comes to me in sleep, until I
dread the very thought."
"But, my dear girl, you may sleep
tonight. I am here watching you, and I can promise that nothing will
happen."
"Ah, I can trust you!" she said.
I seized the opportunity, and said, "I
promise that if I see any evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once."
"You will? Oh, will you really? How
good you are to me. Then I will sleep!" And almost at the word she gave a
deep sigh of relief, and sank back, asleep.
All night long I watched by her. She never
stirred, but slept on and on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, healthgiving
sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the
regularity of a pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident
that no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.
In the early morning her maid came, and I
left her in her care and took myself back home, for I was anxious about many
things. I sent a short wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the
excellent result of the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took
me all day to clear off. It was dark when I was able to inquire about my
zoophagous patient. The report was good. He had been quite quiet for the past
day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilst I was at
dinner, suggesting that I should be at Hillingham tonight, as it might be well
to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by the night mail and would join
me early in the morning.
9 September.—I was pretty tired and worn
out when I got to Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep,
and my brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral
exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook hands with me
she looked sharply in my face and said,
"No sitting up tonight for you. You
are worn out. I am quite well again. Indeed, I am, and if there is to be any
sitting up, it is I who will sit up with you."
I would not argue the point, but went and
had my supper. Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I
made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than excellent port.
Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next her own, where a cozy
fire was burning.
"Now," she said. "You must
stay here. I shall leave this door open and my door too. You can lie on the
sofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to bed
whilst there is a patient above the horizon. If I want anything I shall call
out, and you can come to me at once."
I could not but acquiesce, for I was dog
tired, and could not have sat up had I tried. So, on her renewing her promise
to call me if she should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about
everything.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
9 September.—I feel so happy tonight. I
have been so miserably weak, that to be able to think and move about is like
feeling sunshine after a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky. Somehow
Arthur feels very, very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me.
I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our
inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give love
rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I know where my
thoughts are. If only Arthur knew! My dear, my dear, your ears must tingle as
you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of last night! How I slept,
with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me. And tonight I shall not fear to
sleep, since he is close at hand and within call. Thank everybody for being so
good to me. Thank God! Goodnight Arthur.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
10 September.—I was conscious of the
Professor's hand on my head, and started awake all in a second. That is one of
the things that we learn in an asylum, at any rate.
"And how is our patient?"
"Well, when I left her, or rather when
she left me," I answered.
"Come, let us see," he said. And
together we went into the room.
The blind was down, and I went over to
raise it gently, whilst Van Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread,
over to the bed.
As I raised the blind, and the morning
sunlight flooded the room, I heard the Professor's low hiss of inspiration, and
knowing its rarity, a deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he
moved back, and his exclamation of horror, "Gott in Himmel!" needed
no enforcement from his agonized face. He raised his hand and pointed to the
bed, and his iron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to
tremble.
There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay
poor Lucy, more horribly white and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were
white, and the gums seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we
sometimes see in a corpse after a prolonged illness.
Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp in
anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habit stood to
him, and he put it down again softly.
"Quick!" he said. "Bring the
brandy."
I flew to the dining room, and returned
with the decanter. He wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we
rubbed palm and wrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of
agonizing suspense said,
"It is not too late. It beats, though
but feebly. All our work is undone. We must begin again. There is no young
Arthur here now. I have to call on you yourself this time, friend John."
As he spoke, he was dipping into his bag, and producing the instruments of
transfusion. I had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt sleeve. There was
no possibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one. and so,
without a moment's delay, we began the operation.
After a time, it did not seem a short time
either, for the draining away of one's blood, no matter how willingly it be
given, is a terrible feeling, Van Helsing held up a warning finger. "Do
not stir," he said. "But I fear that with growing strength she may
wake, and that would make danger, oh, so much danger. But I shall precaution
take. I shall give hypodermic injection of morphia." He proceeded then,
swiftly and deftly, to carry out his intent.
The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the
faint seemed to merge subtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of
personal pride that I could see a faint tinge of color steal back into the
pallid cheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to
feel his own lifeblood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.
The Professor watched me critically. "That
will do," he said. "Already?" I remonstrated. "You took a
great deal more from Art." To which he smiled a sad sort of smile as he
replied,
"He is her lover, her fiance. You have
work, much work to do for her and for others, and the present will suffice.
When we stopped the operation, he attended
to Lucy, whilst I applied digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down,
while I waited his leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick.
By and by he bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine
for myself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and half whispered.
"Mind, nothing must be said of this.
If our young lover should turn up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It
would at once frighten him and enjealous him, too. There must be none.
So!"
When I came back he looked at me carefully,
and then said, "You are not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on
your sofa, and rest awhile, then have much breakfast and come here to me."
I followed out his orders, for I knew how
right and wise they were. I had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep
up my strength. I felt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of the
amazement at what had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering
over and over again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and how she
could have been drained of so much blood with no sign any where to show for it.
I think I must have continued my wonder in my dreams, for, sleeping and waking
my thoughts always came back to the little punctures in her throat and the
ragged, exhausted appearance of their edges, tiny though they were.
Lucy slept well into the day, and when she
woke she was fairly well and strong, though not nearly so much so as the day
before. When Van Helsing had seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in
charge, with strict injunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I
could hear his voice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph
office.
Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed
quite unconscious that anything had happened. I tried to keep her amused and
interested. When her mother came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any
change whatever, but said to me gratefully,
"We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for
all you have done, but you really must now take care not to overwork yourself.
You are looking pale yourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a
bit, that you do!" As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only
momentarily, for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long an unwonted
drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as she turned
imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my finger on my lips. With
a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows. Van Helsing returned in a couple of
hours, and presently said to me. "Now you go home, and eat much and drink
enough. Make yourself strong. I stay here tonight, and I shall sit up with
little miss myself. You and I must watch the case, and we must have none other
to know. I have grave reasons. No, do not ask the. Think what you will. Do not
fear to think even the most not-improbable. Goodnight."
In the hall two of the maids came to me,
and asked if they or either of them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They
implored me to let them, and when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that
either he or I should sit up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with
the`foreign gentleman'. I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is
because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on Lucy's account,
that their devotion was manifested. For over and over again have I seen similar
instances of woman's kindness. I got back here in time for a late dinner, went
my rounds, all well, and set this down whilst waiting for sleep. It is coming.
11 September.—This afternoon I went over to
Hillingham. Found Van Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better.
Shortly after I had arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor.
He opened it with much impressment, assumed, of course, and showed a great
bundle of white flowers.
"These are for you, Miss Lucy,"
he said.
"For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!"
"Yes, my dear, but not for you to play
with. These are medicines." Here Lucy made a wry face. "Nay, but they
are not to take in a decoction or in nauseous form, so you need not snub that
so charming nose, or I shall point out to my friend Arthur what woes he may
have to endure in seeing so much beauty that he so loves so much distort. Aha,
my pretty miss, that bring the so nice nose all straight again. This is
medicinal, but you do not know how. I put him in your window, I make pretty
wreath, and hang him round your neck, so you sleep well. Oh, yes! They, like
the lotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the waters of
Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores sought for in the
Floridas, and find him all too late."
Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been
examining the flowers and smelling them. Now she threw them down saying, with
half laughter, and half disgust,
"Oh, Professor, I believe you are only
putting up a joke on me. Why, these flowers are only common garlic."
To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and
said with all his sternness, his iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting,
"No trifling with me! I never jest!
There is grim purpose in what I do, and I warn you that you do not thwart me.
Take care, for the sake of others if not for your own." Then seeing poor
Lucy scared, as she might well be, he went on more gently, "Oh, little
miss, my dear, do not fear me. I only do for your good, but there is much
virtue to you in those so common flowers. See, I place them myself in your
room. I make myself the wreath that you are to wear. But hush! No telling to
others that make so inquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence is a part
of obedience, and obedience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms
that wait for you. Now sit still a while. Come with me, friend John, and you
shall help me deck the room with my garlic, which is all the war from Haarlem,
where my friend Vanderpool raise herb in his glass houses all the year. I had
to telegraph yesterday, or they would not have been here."
We went into the room, taking the flowers
with us. The Professor's actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any
pharmacopeia that I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched
them securely. Next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all over
the sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might get in would
be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp he rubbed all over the jamb
of the door, above, below, and at each side, and round the fireplace in the
same way. It all seemed grotesque to me, and presently I said, "Well,
Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but this certainly
puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here, or he would say that you were
working some spell to keep out an evil spirit."
"Perhaps I am!" He answered
quietly as he began to make the wreath which Lucy was to wear round her neck.
We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet
for the night, and when she was in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of
garlic round her neck. The last words he said to her were,
"Take care you do not disturb it, and
even if the room feel close, do not tonight open the window or the door."
"I promise," said Lucy. "And
thank you both a thousand times for all your kindness to me! Oh, what have I
done to be blessed with such friends?"
As we left the house in my fly, which was
waiting, Van Helsing said,"Tonight I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want,
two nights of travel, much reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the
day to follow, and a night to sit up, without to wink. Tomorrow in the morning
early you call for me, and we come together to see our pretty miss, so much
more strong for my `spell' which I have work. Ho, ho!"
He seemed so confident that I, remembering
my own confidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and
vague terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to
my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
Chapter 11
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
12 September.—How good they all are to me.
I quite love that dear Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about
these flowers. He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must
have been right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread
being alone tonight, and I can go to sleep without fear. I shall not mind any
flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against
sleep so often of late, the pain of sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of
sleep, and with such unknown horrors as it has for me! How blessed are some
people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that
comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am tonight,
hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with`virgin crants and
maiden strewments.' I never liked garlic before, but tonight it is delightful!
There is peace in its smell. I feel sleep coming already. Goodnight, everybody.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
13 September.—Called at the Berkeley and
found Van Helsing, as usual, up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel
was waiting. The Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him now.
Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing
and I arrived at Hillingham at eight o'clock. It was a lovely morning. The
bright sunshine and all the fresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the
completion of nature's annual work. The leaves were turning to all kinds of
beautiful colors, but had not yet begun to drop from the trees. When we entered
we met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She is always an early
riser. She greeted us warmly and said,
"You will be glad to know that Lucy is
better. The dear child is still asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but
did not go in, lest I should disturb her." The Professor smiled, and
looked quite jubilant. He rubbed his hands together, and said, "Aha! I
thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working."
To which she replied, "You must not
take all the credit to yourself, doctor. Lucy's state this morning is due in
part to me."
"How do you mean, ma'am?" asked
the Professor.
"Well, I was anxious about the dear
child in the night, and went into her room. She was sleeping soundly, so
soundly that even my coming did not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy.
There were a lot of those horrible, strongsmelling flowers about everywhere, and
she had actually a bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the heavy odor
would be too much for the dear child in her weak state, so I took them all away
and opened a bit of the window to let in a little fresh air. You will be
pleased with her, I am sure."
She moved off into her boudoir, where she
usually breakfasted early. As she had spoken, I watched the Professor's face,
and saw it turn ashen gray. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst
the poor lady was present, for he knew her state and how mischievous a shock
would be. He actually smiled on her as he held open the door for her to pass
into her room. But the instant she had disappeared he pulled me, suddenly and
forcibly, into the dining room and closed the door.
Then, for the first time in my life, I saw
Van Helsing break down. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute
despair, and then beat his palms together in a helpless way. Finally he sat
down on a chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud,
dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart.
Then he raised his arms again, as though
appealing to the whole universe. "God! God! God!" he said. "What
have we done, what has this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is
there fate amongst us still, send down from the pagan world of old, that such
things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing, and all for
the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter body and soul, and
we must not tell her, we must not even warn her, or she die, then both die. Oh,
how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!"
Suddenly he jumped to his feet.
"Come," he said."come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils,
or all the devils at once, it matters not. We must fight him all the
same." He went to the hall door for his bag, and together we went up to
Lucy's room.
Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van
Helsing went towards the bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the
poor face with the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern
sadness and infinite pity.
"As I expected," he murmured,
with that hissing inspiration of his which meant so much. Without a word he
went and locked the door, and then began to set out on the little table the
instruments for yet another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago
recognized the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with
a warning hand. "No!" he said. "Today you must operate. I shall
provide. You are weakened already." As he spoke he took off his coat and
rolled up his shirtsleeve.
Again the operation. Again the narcotic.
Again some return of color to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of
healthy sleep. This time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and
rested.
Presently he took an opportunity of telling
Mrs. Westenra that she must not remove anything from Lucy's room without
consulting him. That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the
breathing of their odor was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the
care of the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and the next,
and would send me word when to come.
After another hour Lucy waked from her
sleep, fresh and bright and seemingly not much the worse for her terrible
ordeal.
What does it all mean? I am beginning to
wonder if my long habit of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my
own brain.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
17 September.—Four days and nights of
peace. I am getting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I
had passed through some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the
beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a
dim half remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing, darkness in
which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress more
poignant. And then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a
diver coming up through a great press of water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing
has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems to have passed away. The noises
that used to frighten me out of my wits, the flapping against the windows, the
distant voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I
know not where and commanded me to do I know not what, have all ceased. I go to
bed now without any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have
grown quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day from
Haarlem. Tonight Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a day in
Amsterdam. But I need not be watched. I am well enough to be left alone.
Thank God for Mother's sake, and dear
Arthur's, and for all our friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel
the change, for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the
time. I found him asleep twice when I awoke. But I did not fear to go to sleep
again, although the boughs or bats or something flapped almost angrily against
the window panes.
THE PALL MALL GAZETTE 18 September.
THE ESCAPED WOLF PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR
INTERVIEWER
INTERVIEW WITH THE KEEPER IN THE ZOOLOGICAL
GARDENS
After many inquiries and almost as many
refusals, and perpetually using the words `PALL MALL GAZETTE ' as a sort of
talisman, I managed to find the keeper of the section of the Zoological Gardens
in which the wold department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the
cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant house, and was just sitting down
to his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk, elderly,
and without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their hospitality be of
the average kind, their lives must be pretty comfortable. The keeper would not
enter on what he called business until the supper was over, and we were all
satisfied. Then when the table was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said,
"Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me
what you want. You'll excoose me refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjucts
afore meals. I gives the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our
section their tea afore I begins to arsk them questions."
"How do you mean, ask them
questions?" I queried, wishful to get him into a talkative humor.
" `Ittin' of them over the `ead with a
pole is one way. Scratchin' of their ears in another, when gents as is flush
wants a bit of a show-orf to their gals. I don't so much mind the fust, the
`ittin of the pole part afore I chucks in their dinner, but I waits till
they've `ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak,afore I tries on with the ear
scratchin'. Mind you," he added philosophically, "there's a deal of
the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here's you a-comin' and
arskin' of me questions about my business, and I that grump-like that only for
your bloomin' `arf-quid I'd `a' seen you blowed fust `fore I'd answer. Not even
when you arsked me sarcastic like if I'd like you to arsk the Superintendent if
you might arsk me questions. Without offence did I tell yer to go to
`ell?"
"You did."
"An' when you said you'd report me for
usin' obscene language that was `ittin' me over the `ead. But the `arfquid made
that all right. I weren't a-goin' to fight, so I waited for the food, and did
with my `owl as the wolves and lions and tigers does. But, lor' love yer `art,
now that the old `ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, an' rinsed me
out with her bloomin' old teapot, and I've lit hup, you may scratch my ears for
all you're worth, and won't even get a growl out of me. Drive along with your
questions. I know what yer a-comin' at, that `ere escaped wolf."
"Exactly. I want you to give me your
view of it. Just tell me how it happened, and when I know the facts I'll get
you to say what you consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole
affair will end."
"All right, guv'nor. This `ere is
about the `ole story. That`ere wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three
gray ones that came from Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought off him four
years ago. He was a nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk
of. I'm more surprised at `im for wantin' to get out nor any other animile in
the place. But, there, you can't trust wolves no more nor women."
"Don't you mind him, Sir!" broke
in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery laugh. " `E's got mindin' the animiles so long
that blest if he ain't like a old wolf `isself! But there ain't no `arm in
`im."
"Well, Sir, it was about two hours
after feedin' yesterday when I first hear my disturbance. I was makin' up a
litter in the monkey house for a young puma which is ill. But when I heard the
yelpin' and `owlin' I kem away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin' like a
mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn't much people
about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a
`ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin' through it. He
had a `ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it
seemed as if it was `im as they was hirritated at. He `ad white kid gloves on
`is `ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says, `Keeper, these
wolves seem upset at something.'
"`Maybe it's you,' says I, for I did
not like the airs as he give `isself. He didn't get angry, as I `oped he would,
but he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp
teeth. `Oh no, they wouldn't like me,' `e says.
" `Ow yes, they would,' says I,
a-imitatin'of him.`They always like a bone or two to clean their teeth on about
tea time, which you `as a bagful.'
"Well, it was a odd thing, but when
the animiles see us a-talkin' they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker
he let me stroke his ears same as ever. That there man kem over, and blessed
but if he didn't put in his hand and stroke the old wolf's ears too!
" `Tyke care,' says I. `Bersicker is
quick.'
" `Never mind,' he says. I'm used to
`em!'
" `Are you in the business
yourself?"I says, tyking off my `at, for a man what trades in wolves,
anceterer, is a good friend to keepers.
" `Nom' says he, `not exactly in the
business, but I `ave made pets of several.' and with that he lifts his `at as
perlite as a lord, and walks away. Old Bersicker kep' a-lookin' arter `im till
`e was out of sight, and then went and lay down in a corner and wouldn't come
hout the `ole hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon was hup, the
wolves here all began a-`owling. There warn't nothing for them to `owl at.
There warn't no one near, except some one that was evidently a-callin' a dog
somewheres out back of the gardings in the Park road. Once or twice I went out
to see that all was right, and it was, and then the `owling stopped. Just
before twelve o'clock I just took a look round afore turnin' in, an', bust me,
but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker's cage I see the rails broken and
twisted about and the cage empty. And that's all I know for certing."
"Did any one else see anything?"
"One of our gard`ners was a-comin'
`ome about that time from a `armony, when he sees a big gray dog comin' out
through the garding `edges. At least, so he says, but I don't give much for it
myself, for if he did `e never said a word about it to his missis when `e got
`ome, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had
been up all night a-huntin' of the Park for Bersicker, that he remembered
seein' anything. My own belief was that the `armony `ad got into his
`ead."
"Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in
any way for the escape of the wolf?"
"Well, Sir,"he said, with a
suspicious sort of modesty, "I think I can, but I don't know as `ow you'd
be satisfied with the theory."
"Certainly I shall. If a man like you,
who knows the animals from experience, can't hazard a good guess at any rate,
who is even to try?"
"well then, Sir, I accounts for it
this way. It seems to me that `ere wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get
out."
From the hearty way that both Thomas and
his wife laughed at the joke I could see that it had done service before, and
that the whole explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn't cope in
badinage with the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart,
so I said,"Now, Mr. Bilder, we'll consider that first half-sovereign
worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to be claimed when you've told
me what you think will happen."
"Right y`are, Sir," he said
briskly. "Ye`ll excoose me, I know, for a-chaffin' of ye, but the old
woman her winked at me, which was as much as telling me to go on."
"Well, I never!" said the old
lady.
"My opinion is this. That `ere wolf is
a`idin' of, somewheres. The gard`ner wot didn't remember said he was
a-gallopin' northward faster than a horse could go, but I don't believe him,
for, yer see, Sir, wolves don't gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein'
built that way. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when they
gets in packs and does be chivyin' somethin' that's more afeared than they is
they can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, whatever it is. But, Lor'
bless you, in real life a wolf is only a low creature, not half so clever or
bold as a good dog, and not half a quarter so much fight in `im. This one ain't
been used to fightin' or even to providin' for hisself, and more like he's
somewhere round the Park a'hidin' an' a'shiverin' of, and if he thinks at all,
wonderin' where he is to get his breakfast from. Or maybe he's got down some
area and is in a coal cellar. My eye, won't some cook get a rum start when she
sees his green eyes a-shinin' at her out of the dark! If he can't get food he's
bound to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher's shop in
time. If he doesn't, and some nursemaid goes out walkin' or orf with a soldier,
leavin' of the hinfant in the perambulator—well, then I shouldn't be surprised
if the census is one babby the less. That's all."
I was handing him the half-sovereign, when
something came bobbing up against the window, and Mr. Bilder's face doubled its
natural length with surprise.
"God bless me!" he said. "If
there ain't old Bersicker come back by `isself!"
He went to the door and opened it, a most
unnecessary proceeding it seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild
animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is
between us. A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that
idea.
After all, however, there is nothing like
custom, for neither Bilder nor his wife thought any more of the wolf than I
should of a dog. The animal itself was a peaceful and well-behaved as that
father of all picture-wolves, Red Riding Hood's quondam friend, whilst moving
her confidence in masquerade.
The whole scene was a unutterable mixture
of comedy and pathos. The wicked wolf that for a half a day had paralyzed
London and set all the children in town shivering in their shoes, was there in
a sort of penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine
prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most tender solicitude, and
when he had finished with his penitent said,
"There, I knew the poor old chap would
get into some kind of trouble. Didn't I say it all along? Here's his head all
cut and full of broken glass. `E's been a-gettin' over some bloomin' wall or
other. It's a shyme that people are allowed to top their walls with broken
bottles. This `ere's what comes of it. Come along, Bersicker."
He took the wolf and locked him up in a
cage, with a piece of meat that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the
elementary conditions of the fatted calf, and went off to report.
I came off too, to report the only
exclusive information that is given today regarding the strange escapade at the
Zoo.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
17 September.—I was engaged after dinner in
my study posting up my books, which, through press of other work and the many
visits to Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst open,
and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was
thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord into the
Superintendent's study is almost unknown.
Without an instant's notice he made
straight at me. He had a dinner knife in his hand, and as I saw he was
dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was too quick and too
strong for me, however, for before I could get my balance he had struck at me
and cut my left wrist rather severely.
Before he could strike again, however, I
got in my right hand and he was sprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist
bled freely, and quite a little pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw that my
friend was not intent on further effort, and occupied myself binding up my
wrist, keeping a wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When the
attendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his employment
positively sickened me. He was lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like
a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured,
and to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, simply repeating
over and over again, "The blood is the life! The blood is the life!"
I cannot afford to lose blood just at
present. I have lost too much of late for my physical good, and then the
prolonged strain of Lucy's illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I
am over excited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has
not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight I could not well do
without it.
TELEGRAM, VAN HELSING, ANTWERP, TO SEWARD,
CARFAX
(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county
given, delivered late by twenty-two hours.)
17 September.—Do not fail to be at
Hilllingham tonight. If not watching all the time, frequently visit and see
that flowers are as placed, very important, do not fail. Shall be with you as
soon as possible after arrival.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
18 September.—Just off train to London. The
arrival of Van Helsing's telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost,
and I know by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it is
possible that all may be well, but what may have happened? Surely there is some
horrible doom hanging over us that every possible accident should thwart us in
all we try to do. I shall take this cylinder with me, and then I can complete
my entry on Lucy's phonograph. MEMORANDUM LEFT BY LUCY WESTENRA
17 September, Night.—I write this and leave
it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me.
This is an exact record of what took place tonight. I feel I am dying of
weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in
the doing.
I went to bed as usual, taking care that
the flowers were placed as Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.
I was waked by the flapping at the window,
which had begun after that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved
me, and which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr.
Seward was in the next room, as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be, so that I
might have called him. I tried to sleep, but I could not. Then there came to me
the old fear of sleep, and I determined to keep awake. Perversely sleep would
try to come then when I did not want it. So, as I feared to be alone, I opened
my door and called out. "Is there anybody there?" There was no
answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my door again. Then outside
in the shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog's, but more fierce and
deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing, except a
big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against the window. So I
went back to bed again, but determined not to go to sleep. Presently the door
opened, and mother looked in. Seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, she
came in and sat by me. She said to me even more sweetly and softly than her
wont,
"I was uneasy about you, darling, and
came in to see that you were all right."
I feared she might catch cold sitting
there, and asked her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and
lay down beside me. She did not take off her dressing gown, for she said she
would only stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my
arms, and I in hers the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She
was startled and a little frightened, and cried out, "What is that?"
I tried to pacify her, and at last
succeeded, and she lay quiet. But I could hear her poor dear heart still
beating terribly. After a while there was the howl again out in the shrubbery,
and shortly after there was a crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass
was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed
in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great,
gaunt gray wolf.
Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled
up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her.
Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing
insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or
two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible
gurgling in her throat. Then she fell over, as if struck with lightning, and
her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two.
The room and all round seemed to spin
round. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and
a whole myriad of little specks seems to come blowing in through the broken
window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers
describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was
some spell upon me, and dear Mother's poor body, which seemed to grow cold
already, for her dear heart had ceased to beat, weighed me down, and I
remembered no more for a while.
The time did not seem long, but very, very
awful, till I recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was
tolling. The dogs all round the neighborhood were howling, and in our
shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and
stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the nightingale
seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to comfort me. The sounds
seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I could hear their bare feet
pattering outside my door. I called to them, and they came in, and when they
saw what had happened, and what it was that lay over me on the bed, they
screamed out. The wind rushed in through the broken window, and the door
slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother, and laid her, covered
up with a sheet, on the bed after I had got up. They were all so frightened and
nervous that I directed them to go to the dining room and each have a glass of
wine. The door flew open for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked,
and then went in a body to the dining room, and I laid what flowers I had on my
dear mother's breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing
had told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and besides, I would have some
of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the maids did not
come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went to the dining room to
look for them.
My heart sank when I saw what had happened.
They all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of
sherry was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I
was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on
the sideboard, I found that the bottle which Mother's doctor uses for her—oh!
did use—was empty. What am I to do? What am I to do? I am back in the room with
Mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants,
whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can
hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.
The air seems full of specks, floating and
circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What
am I to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my
breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother
gone! It is time that I go too. Goodbye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive
this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!
Chapter 12
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
18 September.—I drove at once to Hillingham
and arrived early. Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue alone. I
knocked gently and rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy or
her mother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door. After a while,
finding no response, I knocked and rang again, still no answer. I cursed the
laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such an hour, for it was
now ten o'clock, and so rang and knocked again, but more impatiently, but still
without response. Hitherto I had blamed only the servants, but now a terrible
fear began to assail me. Was this desolation but another link in the chain of
doom which seemed drawing tight round us? Was it indeed a house of death to
which I had come, too late? I know that minutes, even seconds of delay, might
mean hours of danger to Lucy, if she had had again one of those frightful
relapses, and I went round the house to try if I could find by chance an entry
anywhere. I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened
and locked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I heard the rapid
pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse's feet. They stopped at the gate, and a few
seconds later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue. When he saw me, he
gasped out, "Then it was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too
late? Did you not get my telegram?"
I answered as quickly and coherently as I
could that I had only got his telegram early in the morning, and had not a
minute in coming here, and that I could not make any one in the house hear me.
He paused and raised his hat as he said solemnly, "Then I fear we are too
late. God's will be done!"
With his usual recuperative energy, he went
on, "Come. If there be no way open to get in, we must make one. Time is
all in all to us now."
We went round to the back of the house,
where there was a kitchen window. The Professor took a small surgical saw from
his case, and handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the
window. I attacked them at once and had very soon cut through three of them.
Then with a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the sashes and
opened the window. I helped the Professor in, and followed him. There was no
one in the kitchen or in the servants' rooms, which were close at hand. We
tried all the rooms as we went along, and in the dining room, dimly lit by rays
of light through the shutters, found four servant women lying on the floor.
There was no need to think them dead, for their stertorous breathing and the
acrid smell of laudanum in the room left no doubt as to their condition.
Van Helsing and I looked at each other, and
as we moved away he said, "We can attend to them later."Then we
ascended to Lucy's room. For an instant or two we paused at the door to listen,
but there was no sound that we could hear. With white faces and trembling
hands, we opened the door gently, and entered the room.
How shall I describe what we saw? On the
bed lay two women, Lucy and her mother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was
covered with a white sheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the
drought through the broken window, showing the drawn, white, face, with a look
of terror fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white and still more
drawn. The flowers which had been round her neck we found upon her mother's
bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the two little wounds which we had
noticed before, but looking horribly white and mangled. Without a word the
Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touching poor Lucy's breast. Then
he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one who listens, and leaping to his
feet, he cried out to me, "It is not yet too late! Quick! Quick! Bring the
brandy!"
I flew downstairs and returned with it,
taking care to smell and taste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter
of sherry which I found on the table. The maids were still breathing, but more
restlessly, and I fancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to
make sure, but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on another
occasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists and the palms of her hands. He
said to me, "I can do this, all that can be at the present. You go wake
those maids. Flick them in the face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make
them get heat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as
that beside her. She will need be heated before we can do anything more."
I went at once, and found little difficulty
in waking three of the women. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug
had evidently affected her more strongly so I lifted her on the sofa and let
her sleep.
The others were dazed at first, but as
remembrance came back to them they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I
was stern with them, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one
life was bad enough to lose, and if they delayed they would sacrifice Miss
Lucy. So, sobbing and crying they went about their way, half clad as they were,
and prepared fire and water. Fortunately, the kitchen and boiler fires were
still alive, and there was no lack of hot water. We got a bath and carried Lucy
out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst we were busy chafing her limbs
there was a knock at the hall door. One of the maids ran off, hurried on some
more clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and whispered to us that there
was a gentleman who had come with a message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her
simply tell him that he must wait, for we could see no one now. She went away
with the message, and, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him.
I never saw in all my experience the
Professor work in such deadly earnest. I knew, as he knew, that it was a
stand-up fight with death, and in a pause told him so. He answered me in a way
that I did not understand, but with the sternest look that his face could wear.
"If that were all, I would stop here
where we are now, and let her fade away into peace, for I see no light in life
over her horizon." He went on with his work with, if possible, renewed and
more frenzied vigour.
Presently we both began to be conscious
that the heat was beginning to be of some effect. Lucy's heart beat a trifle
more audibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement. Van
Helsing's face almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her
in a hot sheet to dry her he said to me, "The first gain is ours! Check to
the King!"
We took Lucy into another room, which had
by now been prepared, and laid her in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down
her throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her
throat. She was still unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than,
we had ever seen her.
Van Helsing called in one of the women, and
told her to stay with her and not to take her eyes off her till we returned,
and then beckoned me out of the room.
"We must consult as to what is to be
done," he said as we descended the stairs. In the hall he opened the
dining room door, and we passed in, he closing the door carefully behind him.
The shutters had been opened, but the blinds were already down, with that
obedience to the etiquette of death which the British woman of the lower
classes always rigidly observes. The room was, therefore, dimly dark. It was,
however, light enough for our purposes. Van Helsing's sternness was somewhat
relieved by a look of perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind about
something, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke.
"What are we to do now? Where are we
to turn for help? We must have another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or
that poor girl's life won't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted
already. I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they would
have courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open his veins
for her?"
"What's the matter with me,
anyhow?"
The voice came from the sofa across the
room, and its tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of
Quincey Morris.
Van Helsing started angrily at the first
sound, but his face softened and a glad look came into his eyes as I cried out,
"Quincey Morris!" and rushed towards him with outstretched hands.
"What brought you her?" I cried
as our hands met.
"I guess Art is the cause."
He handed me a telegram.— `Have not heard
from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious. Cannot leave. Father still
in same condition. Send me word how Lucy is. Do not delay.—Holmwood.'
"I think I came just in the nick of
time. You know you have only to tell me what to do."
Van Helsing strode forward, and took his
hand, looking him straight in the eyes as he said, "A brave man's blood is
the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble. You're a man and no
mistake. Well, the devil may work against us for all he's worth, but God sends
us men when we want them."
Once again we went through that ghastly
operation. I have not the heart to go through with the details. Lucy had got a
terrible shock and it told on her more than before, for though plenty of blood
went into her veins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on
the other occasions. Her struggle back into life was something frightful to see
and hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs improved, and Van Helsing
made a sub-cutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with good effect. Her
faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watched whilst I went downstairs
with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the maids to pay off one of the cabmen who
were waiting.
I left Quincey lying down after having a
glass of wine, and told the cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a thought
struck me, and I went back to the room where Lucy now was. When I came softly
in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of note paper in his hand. He had
evidently read it, and was thinking it over as he sat with his hand to his
brow. There was a look of grim satisfaction in his face, as of one who has had
a doubt solved. He handed me the paper saying only, "It dropped from
Lucy's breast when we carried her to the bath."
When I had read it, I stook looking at the
Professor, and after a pause asked him, "In God's name, what does it all
mean? Was she, or is she, mad, or what sort of horrible danger is it?" I
was so bewildered that I did not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out his
hand and took the paper, saying,
"Do not trouble about it now. Forget
if for the present. You shall know and understand it all in good time, but it
will be later. And now what is it that you came to me to say?" This
brought me back to fact, and I was all myself again.
"I came to speak about the certificate
of death. If we do not act properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and
that paper would have to be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no
inquest, for if we had it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I
know, and you know, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs.
Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of it. Let
us fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself to the registrar
and go on to the undertaker."
"Good, oh my friend John! Well thought
of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she be sad in the foes that beset her, is at least
happy in the friends thatlove her. One, two, three, all open their veins for
her, besides one old man. Ah, yes, I know, friend John. I am not blind! I love
you all the more for it! Now go."
In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a
telegram for Arthur telling him that Mrs. Westenra was dead, that Lucy also had
been ill, but was now going on better, and that Van Helsing and I were with
her. I told him where I was going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going
said, "When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all to
ourselves?" I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty about
the registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up in the
evening to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.
When I got back Quincey was waiting for me.
I told him I would see him as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her
room. She was still sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from
his seat at her side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that
he expected her to wake before long and was afraid of fore-stalling nature. So
I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast room, where the blinds
were not drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful, or rather less
cheerless, than the other rooms.
When we were alone, he said to me,
"Jack Seward, I don't want to shove myself in anywhere where I've no right
to be, but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl and wanted to
marry her, but although that's all past and gone, I can't help feeling anxious
about her all the same. What is it that's wrong with her? The Dutchman, and a
fine old fellow is is, I can see that, said that time you two came into the
room, that you must have another transfusion of blood, and that both you and he
were exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that
a man must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is
no common matter, and whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that
so?"
"That's so," I said, and he went
on.
"I take it that both you and Van
Helsing had done already what I did today. Is not that so?"
"That's so."
"And I guess Art was in it too. When I
saw him four days ago down at his own place he looked queer. I have not seen
anything pulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I
was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call
vampires had got at her in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left
open, there wasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put a
bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me without betraying
confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?"
As he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly
anxious. He was in a torture of suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his
utter ignorance of the terrible mystery which seemed to surround her
intensified his pain. His very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood
of him, and there was a royal lot of it, too, to keep him from breaking down. I
paused before answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the
Professor wished kept secret, but already he knew so much, and guessed so much,
that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered in the same
phrase.
"That's so."
"And how long has this been going
on?"
"About ten days."
"Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward,
that that poor pretty creature that we all love has had put into her veins
within that time the blood of four strong men. Man alive, her whole body
wouldn't hold it." Then coming close to me, he spoke in a fierce
half-whisper. "What took it out?"
I shook my head. "That," I said,
"is the crux. Van Helsing is simply frantic about it, and I am at my wits'
end. I can't even hazard a guess. There has been a series of little
circumstances which have thrown out all our calculations as to Lucy being
properly watched. But these shall not occur again. Here we stay until all be
well, or ill."
Quincey held out his hand. "Count me
in," he said. "You and the Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I'll
do it."
When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy's
first movement was to feel in her breast, and to my surprise, produced the
paper which Van Helsing had given me to read. The careful Professor had
replaced it where it had come from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her
eyes then lit on Van Helsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she looked
round the room, and seeing where she was, shuddered. She gave a loud cry, and
put her poor thin hands before her pale face.
We both understood what was meant, that she
had realized to the full her mother's death. So we tried what we could to
comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but she was very low in
thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for a long time. We told her
that either or both of us would now remain with her all the time, and that
seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing
occurred. Whilst still asleep she took the paper from her breast and tore it in
two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from her. All the same,
however, she went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were
still in her hands. Finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though
scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered
as if in thought, but he said nothing.
19 September.—All last night she slept
fitfully, being always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from
it. The Professor and I took in turns to watch, and we never left her for a
moment unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew
that all night long he patrolled round and round the house.
When the day came, its searching light
showed the ravages in poor Lucy's strength. She was hardly able to turn her
head, and the little nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good.
At times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her,
between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although more
haggard, and her breathing was softer. Her open mouth showed the pale gums
drawn back from the teeth, which looked positively longer and sharper than
usual. When she woke the softness of her eyes evidently changed the expression,
for she looked her own self, although a dying one. In the afternoon she asked
for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him. Quincey went off to meet him at the
station.
When he arrived it was nearly six o'clock,
and the sun was setting full and warm, and the red light streamed in through
the window and gave more color to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was
simply choking with emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours that had
passed, the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, had
grown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was possible were
shortened. Arthur's presence, however, seemed to act as a stimulant. She
rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than she had done since we
arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as cheerily as he could, so
that the best was made of everything.
It is now nearly one o'clock, and he and
Van Helsing are sitting with her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour,
and I am entering this on Lucy's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to try
to rest. I fear that tomorrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too
great. The poor child cannot rally. God help us all.
LETTER MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA
(Unopened by her)
17 September
My dearest Lucy,
"It seems an age since I heard from
you, or indeed since I wrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults
when you have read all my budget of news. Well, I got my husband back all
right. When we arrived at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in
it, though he had an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his house,
where there were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined together.
After dinner Mr. Hawkins said,
" `My dears, I want to drink your
health and prosperity, and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both
from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you
to make your home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child. All
are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy dear, as
Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.
"So here we are, installed in this
beautiful old house, and from both my bedroom and the drawing room I can see
the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great black stems standing
out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral, and I can hear the rooks
overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and chattering and gossiping all day,
after the manner of rooks—and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging
things and housekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day, for now
that Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about the clients.
"How is your dear mother getting on? I
wish I could run up to town for a day or two to see you, dear, but I, dare not
go yet, with so much on my shoulders, and Jonathan wants looking after still.
He is beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly
weakened by the long illness. Even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in
a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual
placidity. However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent as the days
go on, and they will in time pass away altogether, I trust. And now I have told
you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, and where, and who
is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, and is it to be a public
or private wedding? Tell me all about it, dear, tell me all about everything,
for there is nothing which interests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan
asks me to send his `respectful duty', but I do not think that is good enough
from the junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker. And so, as
you love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of
the verb, I send you simply his `love' instead. Goodbye, my dearest Lucy, and
blessings on you." Yours, Mina Harker
REPORT FROM PATRICK HENNESSEY, MD, MRCSLK,
QCPI, ETC, ETC, TO JOHN SEWARD, MD
20 September
My dear Sir:
"In accordance with your wishes, I
enclose report of the conditions of everything left in my charge. With regard
to patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had another outbreak, which
might have had a dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was
unattended with any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier's cart with two
men made a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours, the house to which,
you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The men stopped at our gate to
ask the porter their way, as they were strangers.
"I was myself looking out of the study
window, having a smoke after dinner, and saw one of them come up to the house.
As he passed the window of Renfield's room, the patient began to rate him from
within, and called him all the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man,
who seemed a decent fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to `shut up
for a foul-mouthed beggar',whereon our man accused him of robbing him and
wanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were to swing for
it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice, so he contented
himself after looking the place over and making up his mind as to what kind of
place he had got to by saying, `Lor' bless yer, sir, I wouldn't mind what was
said to me in a bloomin' madhouse. I pity ye and the guv'nor for havin' to live
in the house with a wild beast like that.'
"Then he asked his way civilly enough,
and I told him where the gate of the empty house was. He went away followed by
threats and curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could
make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man,
and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred. I found him,
to my astonishment, quite composed and most genial in his manner. I tried to
get him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked me questions as to what I
meant, and led me to believe that he was completely oblivious of the affair. It
was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for
within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through
the window of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the
attendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some
mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart which had passed
before coming down the road, having on it some great wooden boxes. The men were
wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if with violent
exercise. Before I could get up to him, the patient rushed at them, and pulling
one of them off the cart, began to knock his head against the ground. If I had
not seized him just at the moment, I believe he would have killed the man there
and then. The other fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the
butt end of his heavy whip. It was a horrible blow, but he did not seem to mind
it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and
fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no lightweight, and the others were
both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting, but as we began to
master him, and the attendants were putting a strait waistcoat on him, he began
to shout, `I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me!They shan't murder me by
inches! I'll fight for my Lord and Master!'and all sorts of similar incoherent
ravings. It was with very considerable difficulty that they got him back to the
house and put him in the padded room. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a
finger broken. However, I set it all right, and he is going on well.
"The two carriers were at first loud
in their threats of actions for damages, and promised to rain all the penalties
of the law on us. Their threats were, however, mingled with some sort of
indirect apology for the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They
said that if it had not been for the way their strength had been spent in
carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short
work of him. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary
state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of their
occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their labors of any
place of public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a
stiff glass of strong grog, or rather more of the same, and with each a
sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore that they would
encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so `bloomin' good
a bloke' as your correspondent. I took their names and addresses, in case they
might be needed. They are as follows: Jack Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, King
George's Road, Great Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley's Row, Guide
Court, Bethnal Green. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons,
Moving and Shipment Company, Orange Master's Yard, Soho.
"I shall report to you any matter of
interest occurring here, and shall wire you at once if there is anything of
importance.
"Believe me, dear Sir,
"Yours faithfully,
"Patrick Hennessey."
LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA
(Unopened by her)
18 September
"My dearest Lucy,
"Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr.
Hawkins has died very suddenly. Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had
both come to so love him that it really seems as though we had lost a father. I
never knew either father or mother, so that the dear old man's death is a real
blow to me. Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels
sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear,good man who has befriended him all his life,
and now at the end has treated him like his own son and left him a fortune
which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of
avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says the amount of
responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt
himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps him to have a belief
in himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon
him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature
such as his, a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise
from clerk to master in a few years, should be so injured that the very essence
of its strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in
the midst of your own happiness, but Lucy dear, I must tell someone, for the
strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan tries me, and
I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread coming up to London, as we
must do that day after tomorrow, for poor Mr. Hawkins left in his will that he
was to be buried in the grave with his father. As there are no relations at
all, Jonathan will have to be chief mourner. I shall try to run over to see
you, dearest, if only for a few minutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all
blessings,
"Your loving
Mina Harker" DR. SEWARD' DIARY
20 September.—Only resolution and habit can
let me make an entry tonight. I am too miserable, too low spirited, too sick of
the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I
heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he has
been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late, Lucy's mother and
Arthur's father, and now . . .Let me get on with my work.
I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch
over Lucy. We wanted Arthur to go to rest also, but he refused at first. It was
only when I told him that we should want him to help us during the day, and
that we must not all break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that
he agreed to go.
Van Helsing was very kind to him.
"Come, my child," he said. "Come with me. You are sick and weak,
and have had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on your
strength that we know of. You must not be alone, for to be alone is to be full
of fears and alarms. Come to the drawing room, where there is a big fire, and
there are two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy
will be comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we
sleep."
Arthur went off with him, casting back a
longing look on Lucy's face, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter than the
lawn. She lay quite still, and I looked around the room to see that all was as
it should be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this room, as
in the other, his purpose of using the garlic. The whole of the window sashes
reeked with it, and round Lucy's neck, over the silk handkerchief which Van
Helsing made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of the same odorous flowers.
Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously,
and her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her
teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had
been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine
teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest.
I sat down beside her, and presently she
moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort of dull flapping or
buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly, and peeped out by the corner
of the blind. There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was
made by a great bat, which wheeled around, doubtless attracted by the light,
although so dim, and every now and again struck the window with its wings. When
I came back to my seat, I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away
the garlic flowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat
watching her.
Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as
Van Helsing had prescribed. She took but a little, and that languidly. There
did not seem to be with her now the unconscious struggle for life and strength
that had hitherto so marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the
moment she became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was
certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the
stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her, but that when she waked she
clutched them close, There was no possibility of making amy mistake about this,
for in the long hours that followed, she had many spells of sleeping and waking
and repeated both actions many times.
At six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve
me. Arthur had then fallen into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on.
When he saw Lucy's face I could hear the sissing indraw of breath, and he said
to me in a sharp whisper."Draw up the blind. I want light!" Then he
bent down, and, with his face almost touching Lucy's, examined her carefully.
He removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from her throat. As he
did so he started back and I could hear his ejaculation, "Mein Gott!"
as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked, too, and as I
noticed some queer chill came over me. The wounds on the throat had absolutely
disappeared.
For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood
looking at her, with his face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said
calmly, "She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much
difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor
boy, and let him come and see the last. He trusts us, and we have promised
him."
I went to the dining room and waked him. He
was dazed for a moment, but when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the
edges of the shutters he thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured
him that Lucy was still asleep, but told him as gently as i could that both Van
Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his face with his hands,
and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where he remained, perhaps a minute,
with his head buried, praying, whilst his shoulders shook with grief. I took
him by the hand and raised him up. "Come," I said, "my dear old
fellow, summon all your fortitude. It will be best and easiest for her."
When we came into Lucy's room I could see
that Van Helsing had, with his usual forethought, been putting matters straight
and making everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's
hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came
into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered softly,
"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!"
He was stooping to kiss her, when Van
Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet! Hold
her hand, it will comfort her more."
So Arthur took her hand and knelt beside
her, and she looked her best, with all the soft lines matching the angelic
beauty of her eyes. Then gradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For
a little bit her breast heaved softly, and her breath came and went like a
tired child's.
And then insensibly there came the strange
change which I had noticed in the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the
mouth opened, and the pale gums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and
sharper than ever. In a sort of sleepwaking, vague, unconscious way she opened
her eyes, which were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft,voluptuous
voice, such as I had never heard from her lips, "Arthur! Oh, my love, I am
so glad you have come! Kiss me!"
Arthur bent eagerly over to kiss her, but
at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by her voice,
swooped upon him, and catching him by the neck with both hands, dragged him
back with a fury of strength which I never thought he could have possessed, and
actually hurled him almost across the room. "Not on your life!" he
said, "not for your living soul and hers!" And he stood between them
like a lion at bay.
Arthur was so taken aback that he did not
for a moment know what to do or say, and before any impulse of violence could
seize him he realized the place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.
I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van
Helsing, and we saw a spasm as of rage flit like a shadow over her face. The
sharp teeth clamped together. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily.
Very shortly after she opened her eyes in
all their softness, and putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van
Helsing's great brown one, drawing it close to her, she kissed it. "My
true friend," she said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos,
"My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!"
"I swear it!" he said solemnly,
kneeling beside her and holding up his hand, as one who registers an oath. Then
he turned to Arthur, and said to him, "Come, my child, take her hand in
yours, and kiss her on the forehead, and only once."
Their eyes met instead of their lips, and
so they parted. Lucy's eyes closed, and Van Helsing, who had been watching
closely, took Arthur's arm, and drew him away.
And then Lucy's breathing became stertorous
again, and all at once it ceased.
"It is all over," said Van
Helsing. "She is dead!"
I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to
the drawing room, where he sat down, and covered his face with his hands,
sobbing in a way that nearly broke me down to see.
I went back to the room, and found Van
Helsing looking at poor Lucy, and his face was sterner than eve. Some change
had come over her body. Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow
and cheeks had recovered some of their flowing lines. Even the lips had lost
their deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the working
of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude as might
be.
"We thought her dying whilst she
slept, And sleeping when she died."
I stood beside Van Helsing, and said,
"Ah well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!"
He turned to me, and said with grave
solemnity,"Not so, alas! Not so. It is only the beginning!"
When I asked him what he meant, he only
shook his head and answered, "We can do nothing as yet. Wait and
see."
Chapter 13
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY—cont.
The funeral was arranged for the next
succeeding day, so that Lucy and her mother might be buried together. I
attended to all the ghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that
his staff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of his own obsequious
suavity. Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to
me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out from the
death chamber,
"She makes a very beautiful corpse,
sir. It's quite a privilege to attend on her. It's not too much to say that she
will do credit to our establishment!"
I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far
away. This was possible from the disordered state of things in the household.
There were no relatives at hand, and as Arthur had to be back the next day to
attend at his father's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should
have been bidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon
ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's papers
himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a foreigner, might not be
quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in ignorance make some
unnecessary trouble.
He answered me, "I know, I know. You
forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the
law. You knew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to
avoid. There may be papers more, such as this."
As he spoke he took from his pocket book
the memorandum which had been in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her
sleep.
"When you find anything of the
solicitor who is for the late Mrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him
tonight. For me, I watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all
night, and I myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts
go into the hands of strangers."
I went on with my part of the work, and in
another half hour had found the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor
and had written to him. All the poor lady's papers were in order. Explicit
directions regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the
letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room, saying,
"Can I help you friend John? I am
free, and if I may, my service is to you."
"Have you got what you looked
for?" I asked.
To which he replied, "I did not look
for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I have, all that there
was, only some letters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have
them here, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. I shall see that
poor lad tomorrow evening, and, with his sanction, I shall use some."
When we had finished the work in hand, he
said to me, "And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep,
both you and I, and rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but
for the tonight there is no need of us. Alas!"
Before turning in we went to look at poor
Lucy. The undertaker had certainly done his work well, for the room was turned
into a small chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white
flowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the
winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor bent over and turned
it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us. The tall wax candles
showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's loveliness had come back
to her in death, and the hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of
`decay's effacing fingers', had but restored the beauty of life, till
positively I could not believe my eyes that I was looking at a corpse.
The Professor looked sternly grave. He had
not loved her as I had, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to
me, "Remain till I return," and left the room. He came back with a
handful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been
opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then
he took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and placed it
over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we came away.
I was undressing in my own room, when, with
a premonitory tap at the door, he entered, and at once began to speak.
"Tomorrow I want you to bring me,
before night, a set of post-mortem knives."
"Must we make an autopsy?" I
asked.
"Yes and no. I want to operate, but
not what you think. Let me tell you now, but not a word to another. I want to
cut off her head and take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon, and so shocked!
You, whom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life
and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend
John, that you loved her, and I have not forgotten it for is I that shall
operate, and you must not help. I would like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I
must not. He will be free after his father's funeral tomorrow, and he will want
to see her, to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the next day, you
and I shall come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin lid, and shall do
our operation, and then replace all, so that none know, save we alone."
"But why do it at all? The girl is
dead. Why mutilate her poor body without need? And if there is no necessity for
a post-mortem and nothing to gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to
human knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous."
For answer he put his hand on my shoulder,
and said, with infinite tenderness, "Friend John, I pity your poor
bleeding heart, and I love you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I
would take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are things that you
know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are
not pleasant things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years,
and yet did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err, I am but
man, but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you send for
me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified, when I
would not let Arthur kiss his love, though she was dying, and snatched him away
by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw how she thanked me, with her so
beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so weak, and she kiss my rough old hand
and bless me? Yes! And did you not hear me swear promise to her, that so she
closed her eyes grateful? Yes!
"Well, I have good reason now for all
I want to do. You have for many years trust me. You have believe me weeks past,
when there be things so strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet
a little, friend John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think, and
that is not perhaps well. And if I work, as work I shall, no matter trust or no
trust, without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel, oh so
lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!" He paused a moment
and went on solemnly, "Friend John, there are strange and terrible days
before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to a good end. Will you
not have faith in me?"
I took his hand, and promised him. I held
my door open as he went away, and watched him go to his room and close the
door. As I stood without moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the
passage, she had her back to me, so did not see me, and go into the room where
Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful to
those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl putting aside
the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of
the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay might not be lonely till
laid to eternal rest.
I must have slept long and soundly, for it
was broad daylight when Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came
over to my bedside and said, "You need not trouble about the knives. We
shall not do it."
"Why not?" I asked. For his
solemnity of the night before had greatly impressed me.
"Because," he said sternly,
"it is too late, or too early. See!" Here he held up the little
golden crucifix.
"This was stolen in the night."
"How stolen,"I asked in
wonder,"since you have it now?"
"Because I get it back from the
worthless wretch who stole it, from the woman who robbed the dead and the
living. Her punishment will surely come, but not through me. She knew not
altogether what she did, and thus unknowing, she only stole. Now we must
wait." He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think
of, a new puzzle to grapple with.
The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon
the solicitor came, Mr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale.
He was very genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our
hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had
for some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs in
absolute order. He informed us that, with the exception of a certain entailed
property of Lucy's father which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a
distant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal, was left
absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much he went on,
"Frankly we did our best to prevent
such a testamentary disposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that
might leave her daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to
act regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that
we almost came into collision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared
to carry out her wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept.
We were right in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should have
proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.
"Frankly, however, I must admit that
in this case any other form of disposition would have rendered impossible the
carrying out of her wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter
would have come into possession of the property, and, even had she only
survived her mother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no
will, and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case, have been
treated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming, though
so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world. And the inheritors,
being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental
reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced
at the result,perfectly rejoiced."
He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at
the one little part, in which he was officially interested, of so great a
tragedy, was an object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.
He did not remain long, but said he would
look in later in the day and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been
a certain comfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread
hostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock,
so a little before that time we visited the death chamber. It was so in very
truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker, true to his
craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and there was a mortuary
air about the place that lowered our spirits at once.
Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement
to be adhered to, explaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it
would be less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his fiancee
quite alone.
The undertaker seemed shocked at his own
stupidity and exerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we
left them the night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his
feelings as we could avoid were saved.
Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and
broken. Even his stalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the
strain of his much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and
devotedly attached to his father, and to lose him, and at such a time, was a
bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he was
sweetly courteous. But I could not help seeing that there was some constraint
with him. The professor noticed it too, and motioned me to bring him upstairs.
I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be
quite alone with her, but he took my arm and led me in, saying huskily,
"You loved her too, old fellow. She
told me all about it, and there was no friend had a closer place in her heart
than you. I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for her. I can't
think yet . . ."
Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his
arms round my shoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying, "Oh, Jack!
Jack! What shall I do? The whole of life seems gone from me all at once, and
there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for."
I comforted him as well as I could. In such
cases men do not need much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an
arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a
man's heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said
softly to him, "Come and look at her."
Together we moved over to the bed, and I
lifted the lawn from her face. God! How beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to
be enhancing her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat. And as for
Arthur, he fell to trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an
ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper,"Jack,
is she really dead?"
I assured him sadly that it was so, and
went on to suggest, for I felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life
for a moment longer than I could help, that it often happened that after death
faces become softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty, that this
was especially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged
suffering. I seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and after kneeling beside
the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I
told him that that must be goodbye, as the coffin had to be prepared, so he
went back and took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and bent over and kissed
her forehead. He came away, fondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he
came.
I left him in the drawing room, and told
Van Helsing that he had said goodbye, so the latter went to the kitchen to tell
the undertaker's men to proceed with the preperations and to screw up the
coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of Arthur's question, and
he replied, "I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment
myself!"
We all dined together, and I could see that
poor Art was trying to make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all
dinner time, but when we had lit our cigars he said, "Lord . . ., but
Arthur interrupted him.
"No, no, not that, for God's sake! Not
yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to speak offensively. It is
only because my loss is so recent."
The Professor answered very sweetly,
"I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you `Mr.'
and I have grown to love you, yes, my dear boy, to love you, as Arthur."
Arthur held out his hand, and took the old
man's warmly. "Call me what you will," he said. "I hope I may
always have the title of a friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words
to thank you for your goodness to my poor dear." He paused a moment, and
went on, "I know that she understood your goodness even better than I do.
And if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so, you
remember,"— the Professor nodded—"You must forgive me."
He answered with a grave kindness, "I
know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such violence
needs to understand, and I take it that you do not, that you cannot, trust me
now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be more times when I shall
want you to trust when you cannot, and may not, and must not yet understand.
But the time will come when your trust shall be whole and complete in me, and
when you shall understand as though the sunlight himself shone through. Then
you shall bless me from first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of
others, and for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect."
"And indeed, indeed, sir," said
Arthur warmly. "I shall in all ways trust you. I know and believe you have
a very noble heart, and you are Jack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do
what you like."
The Professor cleared his throat a couple
of times, as though about to speak, and finally said, "May I ask you
something now?"
"Certainly."
"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you
all her property?"
"No, poor dear. I never thought of
it."
"And as it is all yours, you have a
right to deal with it as you will. I want you to give me permission to read all
Miss Lucy's papers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a
motive of which, be sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took
them before we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch
them, no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep them, if I
may. Even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall
be lost, and in the good time I shall give them back to you. It is a hard thing
that I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy's sake?"
Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old
self, "Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying
this I am doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you
with questions till the time comes."
The old Professor stood up as he said
solemnly,"And you are right. There will be pain for us all, but it will
not be all pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too, you most of
all, dear boy, will have to pass through the bitter water before we reach the
sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our duty, and all
will be well!"
I slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that
night. Van Helsing did not go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if
patroling the house, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in
her coffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the odor of
lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the night.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
22 September.—In the train to Exeter.
Jonathan sleeping. It seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and
yet how much between then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away
and no news of him, and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a
partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and
Jonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask me about
it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand, see what unexpected
prosperity does for us, so it may be as well to freshen it up again with an
exercise anyhow.
The service was very simple and very
solemn. There were only ourselves and the servants there, one or two old
friends of his from Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir
John Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I
stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from
us.
We came back to town quietly, taking a bus
to Hyde Park Corner. Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row
for a while, so we sat down. But there were very few people there, and it was
sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us think of the
empty chair at home. So we got up and walked down Piccadilly. Jonathan was
holding me by the arm, the way he used to in the old days before I went to
school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go on for some years teaching
etiquette and decorum to other girls without the pedantry of it biting into
yourself a bit. But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know
anybody who saw us, and we didn't care if they did, so on we walked. I was
looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a
victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that
he hurt me, and he said under his breath, "My God!"
I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I
fear that some nervous fit may upset him again. So I turned to him quickly, and
asked him what it was that disturbed him.
He was very pale, and his eyes seemed
bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin
man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also
observing the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see
either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face. It
was hard, and cruel, and sensual,and big white teeth, that looked all the
whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's. Jonathan
kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take
it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed,
and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much about it as he did,
"Do you see who it is?"
"No, dear," I said. "I don't
know him, who is it?" His answer seemed to shock and thrill me, for it was
said as if he did not know that it was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking.
"It is the man himself!"
The poor dear was evidently terrified at
something, very greatly terrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to
lean on and to support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came
out of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove
off. Th e dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage moved up
Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a hansom. Jonathan
kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself,
"I believe it is the Count, but he has
grown young. My God, if this be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only
I knew!" He was distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind
on the subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew away
quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little further, and
then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It was a hot day for autumn,
and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place. After a few minutes' staring
at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his
head on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so did not
disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said to me quite
cheerfully,
"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do
forgive me for being so rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea
somewhere."
He had evidently forgotten all about the
dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that this episode had
reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or
continue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do more
harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey abroad. The
time is come, I fear, when I must open the parcel, and know what is written.
Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your
own dear sake.
Later.—A sad home-coming in every way, the
house empty of the dear soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and
dizzy under a slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van
Helsing, whoever he may be. "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs.
Westenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They
were both buried today."
Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words!
Poor Mrs. Westenra! Poor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor,
poor Arthur, to have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us all to
bear our troubles.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT.
22 September.—It is all over. Arthur has
gone back to Ring, and has taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is
Quincey! I believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's
death as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If
America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world
indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his journey. He
goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says he returns tomorrow night, that he only
wants to make some arrangements which can only be made personally. He is to
stop with me then, if he can. He says he has work to do in London which may
take him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week
has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I
could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we
were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in the
operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see
Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he
felt since then as if they two had been really married, and that she was his
wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and
none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the station,
and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he
gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was
hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humor asserting itself
under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw
down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge. And then he cried,
till he laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does. I
tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the circumstances, but
it had no effect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous
strength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again I asked him
why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of
him, for it was logical and forceful and mysterious. He said,
"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend
John. Do not think that I am not sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even
when the laugh did choke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry,
for the laugh he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who
knock at your door and say, `May I come in?' is not true laughter. No! He is a
king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person, he choose no time of
suitability. He say, `I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for
that so sweet young girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I
give my time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want that she may
have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh when the clay from the
spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say `Thud, thud!' to my heart,
till it send back the blood from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy,
that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he
live, and with his hair and eyes the same.
"There, you know now why I love him
so. And yet when he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and
make my father-heart yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend
John, for we are more level in experiences than father and son, yet even at
such a moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear,`Here I
am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of the sunshine
that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a strange world, a
sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King
Laugh come, he make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and
dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all dance
together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him. And
believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and
women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then
tears come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the
strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine,
and he ease off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor, what it
may be."
I did not like to wound him by pretending
not to see his idea, but as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter,
I asked him. As he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a
different tone,
"Oh, it was the grim irony of it
all,this so lovely lady garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life,
till one by one we wondered if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine
marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid
there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved, and that sacred bell
going "Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and those holy men, with the
white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time
their eyes never on the page, and all of us with the bowed head. And all for
what? She is dead, so! Is it not?"
"Well, for the life of me,
Professor," I said, "I can't see anything to laugh at in all that.
Why, your expression makes it a harder puzzle than before. But even if the
burial service was comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart
was simply breaking."
"Just so. Said he not that the
transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?"
"Yes, and it was a sweet and
comforting idea for him."
"Quite so. But there was a difficulty,
friend John. If so that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet
maid is a polyandrist, and me,with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's
law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful husband to this
now-no-wife, am bigamist."
"I don't see where the joke comes in
there either!" I said, and I did not feel particularly pleased with him
for saying such things. He laid his hand on my arm, and said,
"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I
showed not my feeling to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old
friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my heart then when I
want to laugh, if you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you could
do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him, for
he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time, maybe you would perhaps
pity me the most of all."
I was touched by the tenderness of his
tone, and asked why.
"Because I know!"
And now we are all scattered, and for many
a long day loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in
the tomb of her kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from
teeming London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,
and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.
So I can finish this diary, and God only
knows if I shall ever begin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it
will be to deal with different people and different themes, for here at the
end, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread
of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope, "FINIS".
THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A
HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY
The neighborhood of Hampstead is just at
present exercised with a series of events which seem to run on lines parallel
to those of what was known to the writers of headlines and "The Kensington
Horror," or "The Stabbing Woman," or "The Woman in
Black." During the past two or three days several cases have occurred of
young children straying from home or neglecting to return from their playing on
the Heath. In all these cases the children were too young to give any properly
intelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses is that
they had been with a "bloofer lady." It has always been late in the
evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the children have not
been found until early in the following morning. It is generally supposed in
the neighborhood that, as the first child missed gave as his reason for being
away that a "bloofer lady" had asked him to come for a walk, the
others had picked up the phrase and used it as occasion served. This is the
more natural as the favorite game of the little ones at present is luring each
other away by wiles. A correspondent writes us that to see some of the tiny
tots pretending to be the "bloofer lady" is supremely funny. Some of
our caricaturists might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by
comparing the reality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general
principles of human nature that the "bloofer lady" should be the
popular role at these al fresco performances. Our correspondent naively says
that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of these
grubby-faced little children pretend, and even imagine themselves, to be.
There is, however, possibly a serious side
to the question, for some of the children, indeed all who have been missed at
night, have been slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such
as might be made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importance
individually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has a
system or method of its own. The police of the division have been instructed to
keep a sharp lookout for straying children, especially when very young, in and
around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about.
THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER EXTRA
SPECIAL
THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR
ANOTHER CHILD INJURED
THE "BLOOFER LADY"
We have just received intelligence that
another child, missed last night, was only discovered late in the morning under
a furze bush at the Shooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is perhaps,
less frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the throat
as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and looked quite
emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the common story to tell of
being lured away by the "bloofer lady".
Chapter 14
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
23 September.—Jonathan is better after a
bad night. I am so glad that he has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his
mind off the terrible things, and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed
down with the responsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to
himself, and now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of his
advancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon him. He
will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunch at home. My
household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal, and lock myself up
in my room and read it.
24 September.—I hadn't the heart to write
last night, that terrible record of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he
must have suffered, whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there
is any truth in it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those
terrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall never know,
for I dare not open the subject to him. And yet that man we saw yesterday! He
seemed quite certain of him, poor fellow! I suppose it was the funeral upset
him and sent his mind back on some train of thought.
He believes it all himself. I remember how
on our wedding day he said "Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go
back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane . . ." There seems
to be through it all some thread of continuity. That fearful Count was coming
to London. If it should be, and he came to London, with its teeming millions .
. . There may be a solemn duty, and if it come we must not shrink from it. I
shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter this very hour and begin
transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other eyes if required. And if it be
wanted, then, perhaps, if I am ready, poor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can
speak for him and never let him be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever
Jonathan quite gets over the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and
I can ask him questions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.
LETTER, VAN HELSING TO MRS. HARKER
24 September
(Confidence)
"Dear Madam,
"I pray you to pardon my writing, in
that I am so far friend as that I sent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's
death. By the kindness of Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters
and papers, for I am deeply concerned about certain matters vitally important.
In them I find some letters from you, which show how great friends you were and
how you love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is
for others' good that I ask, to redress great wrong, and to lift much and
terrible troubles, that may be more great than you can know. May it be that I
see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and of Lord Godalming
(that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private for the present from
all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if you tell me I am privilege
to come, and where and when. I implore your pardon, Madam. I have read your
letters to poor Lucy, and know how good you are and how your husband suffer. So
I pray you, if it may be, enlighten him not, least it may harm. Again your
pardon, and forgive me.
"VAN HELSING"
TELEGRAM, MRS. HARKER TO VAN HELSING
25 September.—Come today by quarter past
ten train if you can catch it. Can see you any time you call. "WILHELMINA
HARKER"
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
25 September.—I cannot help feeling
terribly excited as the time draws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for
somehow I expect that it will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience,
and as he attended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all about
her. That is the reason of his coming. It is concerning Lucy and her
sleepwalking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the real truth
now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my imagination and tinges
everything with something of its own color. Of course it is about Lucy. That
habit came back to the poor dear, and that awful night on the cliff must have
made her ill. I had almost forgotten in my own affairs how ill she was
afterwards. She must have told him of her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff,
and that I knew all about it, and now he wants me to tell him what I know, so
that he may understand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs.
Westenra. I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even a
negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope too, Dr. Van Helsing will
not blame me. I have had so much trouble and anxiety of late that I feel I
cannot bear more just at present.
I suppose a cry does us all good at times,
clears the air as other rain does. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday
that upset me, and then Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a
whole day and night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I
do hope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing will occur
to upset him. It is two o'clock, and the doctor will be here soon now. I shall
say nothing of Jonathan's journal unless he asks me. I am so glad I have
typewritten out my own journal, so that, in case he asks about Lucy, I can hand
it to him. It will save much questioning.
Later.—He has come and gone. Oh, what a
strange meeting, and how it all makes my head whirl round. I feel like one in a
dream. Can it be all possible, or even a part of it? If I had not read
Jonathan's journal first, I should never have accepted even a possibility.
Poor, poor, dear Jonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all
this may not upset him again. I shall try to save him from it. But it may be
even a consolation and a help to him, terrible though it be and awful in its
consequences, to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did not
deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt which
haunts him, that when the doubt is removed, no matter which, waking or
dreaming, may prove the truth, he will be more satisfied and better able to
bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a good man as well as a clever one if
he is Arthur's friend and Dr. Seward's, and if they brought him all the way
from Holland to look after Lucy. I feel from having seen him that he is good
and kind and of a noble nature. When he comes tomorrow I shall ask him about
Jonathan. And then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good
end. I used to think I would like to practice interviewing. Jonathan's friend
on "The Exeter News" told him that memory is everything in such work,
that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word spoken, even if you
had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare interview. I shall try to
record it verbatim.
It was half-past two o'clock when the knock
came. I took my courage a deux mains and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened
the door, and announced "Dr. Van Helsing".
I rose and bowed, and he came towards me, a
man of medium weight, strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad,
deep chest and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck.
The poise of the head strikes me at once as indicative of thought and power.
The head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face,
cleanshaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large resolute, mobile mouth, a
good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive nostrils, that seem
to broaden as the big bushy brows come down and the mouth tightens. The
forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost straight and then sloping
back above two bumps or ridges wide apart, such a forehead that the reddish
hair cannot possibly tumble over it, but falls naturally back and to the sides.
Big, dark blue eyes are set widely apart, and are quick and tender or stern
with the man's moods. He said to me,
"Mrs. Harker, is it not?" I bowed
assent.
"That was Miss Mina Murray?"
Again I assented.
"It is Mina Murray that I came to see
that was friend of that poor dear child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on
account of the dead that I come."
"Sir," I said, "you could have
no better claim on me than that you were a friend and helper of Lucy
Westenra."And I held out my hand. He took it and said tenderly,
"Oh, Madam Mina, I know that the
friend of that poor little girl must be good, but I had yet to learn . .
." He finished his speech with a courtly bow. I asked him what it was that
he wanted to see me about, so he at once began.
"I have read your letters to Miss
Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none
to ask. I know that you were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary,
you need not look surprised, Madam Mina. It was begun after you had left, and
was an imitation of you, and in that diary she traces by inference certain
things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In great
perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much kindness to tell
me all of it that you can remember."
"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van
Helsing, all about it."
"Ah, then you have good memory for
facts, for details? It is not always so with young ladies."
"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down
at the time. I can show it to you if you like."
"Oh, Madam Mina, I well be grateful.
You will do me much favor."
I could not resist the temptation of
mystifying him a bit, I suppose it is some taste of the original apple that
remains still in our mouths, so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it
with a grateful bow, and said, "May I read it?"
"If you wish," I answered as
demurely as I could. He opened it, and for an instant his face fell. Then he
stood up and bowed.
"Oh, you so clever woman!" he
said. "I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a man of much thankfulness, but
see, his wife have all the good things. And will you not so much honor me and
so help me as to read it for me? Alas! I know not the shorthand."
By this time my little joke was over, and I
was almost ashamed. So I took the typewritten copy from my work basket and
handed it to him.
"Forgive me," I said. "I
could not help it, but I had been thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you
wished to ask, and so that you might not have time to wait, not on my account,
but because I know your time must be precious, I have written it out on the
typewriter for you."
He took it and his eyes glistened.
"You are so good," he said. "And may I read it now? I may want
to ask you some things when I have read."
"By all means," I said.
"read it over whilst I order lunch, and then you can ask me questions
whilst we eat."
He bowed and settled himself in a chair
with his back to the light, and became so absorbed in the papers, whilst I went
to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed. When I came
back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down the room, his face all ablaze
with excitement. He rushed up to me and took me by both hands.
"Oh, Madam Mina," he said,
"how can I say what I owe to you? This paper is as sunshine. It opens the
gate to me. I am dazed, I am dazzled, with so much light, and yet clouds roll
in behind the light every time. But that you do not, cannot comprehend. Oh, but
I am grateful to you, you so clever woman. Madame," he said this very
solemnly, "if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I
trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you
as a friend, as a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall
be for you and those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are
lights. You are one of the lights. You will have a happy life and a good life,
and your husband will be blessed in you."
"But, doctor, you praise me too much,
and you do not know me."
"Not know you, I, who am old, and who
have studied all my life men and women, I who have made my specialty the brain
and all that belongs to him and all that follow from him! And I have read your
diary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in
every line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your marriage
and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell all their lives, and
by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read. And we men
who wish to know have in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble
nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there
is mean nature. And your husband, tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that
fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?"
I saw here an opening to ask him about
Jonathan, so I said,"He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly
upset by Mr. Hawkins death."
He interrupted, "Oh, yes. I know. I
know. I have read your last two letters."
I went on, "I suppose this upset him,
for when we were in town on Thursday last he had a sort of shock."
"A shock, and after brain fever so
soon! That is not good. What kind of shock was it?"
"He thought he saw some one who
recalled something terrible, something which led to his brain fever." And
here the whole thing seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan,
the horror which he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and
the fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I
suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands
to him, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands and
raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me. He held my hand in
his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness,
"My life is a barren and lonely one,
and so full of work that I have not had much time for friendships, but since I
have been summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good
people and seen such nobility that I feel more than ever, and it has grown with
my advancing years, the loneliness of my life. Believe me, then, that I come
here full of respect for you, and you have given me hope, hope, not in what I
am seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life happy,
good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for the children
that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to you. For if
your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my study and experience. I
promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can, all to make his life
strong and manly, and your life a happy one. Now you must eat. You are
over-wrought and perhaps over-anxious. Husband Jonathan would not like to see
you so pale, and what he like not where he love, is not to his good. Therefore
for his sake you must eat and smile. You have told me about Lucy, and so now we
shall not speak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter tonight, for I
want to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I will
ask you questions, if I may. And then too, you will tell me of husband
Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat now, afterwards
you shall tell me all."
After lunch, when we went back to the
drawing room, he said to me, "And now tell me all about him."
When it came to speaking to this great
learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and Jonathan a
madman, that journal is all so strange, and I hesitated to go on. But he was so
sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I trusted him, so I said,
"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell
you is so queer that you must not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been
since yesterday in a sort of fever of doubt. You must be kind to me, and not
think me foolish that I have even half believed some very strange things."
He reassured me by his manner as well as
his words when he said, "Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the
matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not
to think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it may be. I have
tried to keep an open mind, and it is not the ordinary things of life that
could close it, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things
that make one doubt if they be mad or sane."
"Thank you, thank you a thousand
times! You have taken a weight off my mind. If you will let me, I shall give
you a paper to read. It is long, but I have typewritten it out. It will tell
you my trouble and Jonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and
all that happened. I dare not say anything of it. You will read for yourself
and judge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell me
what you think."
"I promise," he said as I gave
him the papers. "I shall in the morning, as soon as I can, come to see you
and your husband, if I may."
"Jonathan will be here at half-past
eleven, and you must come to lunch with us and see him then. You could catch
the quick 3:34 train, which will leave you at Paddington before eight." He
was surprised at my knowledge of the trains offhand, but he does not know that
I have made up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan
in case he is in a hurry.
So he took the papers with him and went
away, and I sit here thinking, thinking I don't know what.
LETTER (by hand), VAN HELSING TO MRS.
HARKER
25 September, 6 o'clock
"Dear Madam Mina,
"I have read your husband's so
wonderful diary. You may sleep without doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it
is true! I will pledge my life on it. It may be worse for others, but for him
and you there is no dread. He is a noble fellow, and let me tell you from experience
of men, that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that
room, aye, and going a second time, is not one to be injured in permanence by a
shock. His brain and his heart are all right, this I swear, before I have even
seen him, so be at rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things. I am
blessed that today I come to see you, for I have learn all at once so much that
again I am dazzled, dazzled more than ever, and I must think.
"Yours the most faithful,
"Abraham Van Helsing."
LETTER, MRS. HARKER TO VAN HELSING
25 September, 6:30 p. m.
"My dear Dr. Van Helsing,
"A thousand thanks for your kind
letter, which has taken a great weight off my mind. And yet, if it be true,
what terrible things there are in the world, and what an awful thing if that
man, that monster, be really in London! I fear to think. I have this moment,
whilst writing, had a wire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25
tonight from Launceston and will be here at 10:18,so that I shall have no fear
tonight. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please come to
breakfast at eight o'clock, if this be not too early for you? You can get away,
if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring you to Paddington
by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that, if I do not hear, you
will come to breakfast.
"Believe me,
"Your faithful and grateful friend,
"Mina Harker."
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
26 September.—I thought never to write in
this diary again, but the time has come. When I got home last night Mina had
supper ready, and when we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of
her having given him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has
been about me. She showed me in the doctor's letter that all I wrote down was
true. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to the reality
of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in the dark, and
distrustful. But, now that I know, I am not afraid, even of the Count. He has
succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting to London, and it was he I
saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing is the man to unmask him and hunt
him out, if he is anything like what Mina says. We sat late, and talked it
over. Mina is dressing, and I shall call at the hotel in a few minutes and
bring him over.
He was, I think, surprised to see me. When
I came into the room whee he was, and introduced myself, he took me by the
shoulder, and turned my face round to the light, and said, after a sharp
scrutiny,
"But Madam Mina told me you were ill,
that you had had a shock."
It was so funny to hear my wife called
`Madam Mina' by this kindly, strong-faced old man. I smiled, and said, "I
was ill, I have had a shock, but you have cured me already."
"And how?"
"By your letter to Mina last night. I
was in doubt, and then everything took a hue of unreality, and I did not know
what to trust, even the evidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I
did not know what to do, and so had only to keep on working in what had
hitherto been the groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I
mistrusted myself. Doctor, you don't know what it is to doubt everything, even
yourself. No, you don't, you couldn't with eyebrows like yours."
He seemed pleased, and laughed as he said,
"So! You are a physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with
so much pleasure coming to you to breakfast, and, oh, sir, you will pardon
praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife."
I would listen to him go on praising Mina
for a day, so I simply nodded and stood silent.
"She is one of God's women, fashioned
by His own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we
can enter, and that its light can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble,
so little an egoist, and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so
sceptical and selfish. And you, sir. . . I have read all the letters to poor
Miss Lucy, and some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from
the knowing of others, but I have seen your true self since last night. You
will give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our
lives."
We shook hands, and he was so earnest and
so kind that it made me quite choky.
"and now," he said, "may I
ask you for some more help? I have a great task to do, and at the beginning it
is to know. You can help me here. Can you tell me what went before your going
to Transylvania? Later on I may ask more help, and of a different kind, but at
first this will do."
"Look here, Sir," I said,
"does what you have to do concern the Count?"
"It does," he said
solemnly."
"Then I am with you heart and soul. As
you go by the 10:30 train, you will not have time to read them, but I shall get
the bundle of papers. You can take them with you and read them in the
train."
After breakfast I saw him to the station.
When we were parting he said, "Perhaps you will come to town if I send for
you, and take Madam Mina too."
"We shall both come when you
will," I said.
I had got him the morning papers and the
London papers of the previous night, and while we were talking at the carriage
window, waiting for the train to start, he was turning them over. His eyes
suddenly seemed to catch something in one of them, "The Westminster
Gazette", I knew it by the color, and he grew quite white. He read
something intently, groaning to himself, "Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon!
So soon!" I do not think he remembered me at the moment. Just then the
whistle blew, and the train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he
leaned out of the window and waved his hand, calling out, "Love to Madam
Mina. I shall write so soon as ever I can."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
26 September.—Truly there is no such thing
as finality. Not a week since I said "Finis," and yet here I am
starting fresh again, or rather going on with the record. Until this afternoon
I had no cause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents,
as sane as he ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business, and he
had just started in the spider line also, so he had not been of any trouble to
me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I gather that he
is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with him, and that is much of
a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quincey wrote me a
line too, and from him I hear that Arthur is beginning to recover something of
his old buoyancy, so as to them all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was
settling down to my work with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so
that I might fairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was
becoming cicatrised.
Everything is, however, now reopened, and
what is to be the end God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he
knows, too, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He
went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. Today he came back, and
almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock, and thrust last
night's "Westminster Gazette" into my hand.
"What do you think of that?" he
asked as he stood back and folded his arms.
I looked over the paper, for I really did
not know what he meant, but he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph
about children being decoyed away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me,
until I reached a passage where it described small puncture wounds on their
throats. An idea struck me, and I looked up.
"Well?" he said.
"It is like poor Lucy's."
"And what do you make of it?"
"Simply that there is some cause in
common. Whatever it was that injured her has injured them." I did not
quite understand his answer.
"That is true indirectly, but not
directly."
"How do you mean, Professor?" I
asked. I was a little inclined to take his seriousness lightly, for, after all,
four days of rest and freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to
restore one's spirits, but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in
the midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.
"Tell me!" I said. "I can
hazard no opinion. I do not know what to think, and I have no data on which to
found a conjecture."
"Do you mean to tell me, friend John,
that you have no suspicion as to what poor Lucy died of, not after all the
hints given, not only by events, but by me?"
"Of nervous prostration following a
great loss or waste of blood."
"And how was the blood lost or
wasted?" I shook my head.
He stepped over and sat down beside me, and
went on,"You are a clever man, friend John. You reason well, and your wit
is bold, but you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears
hear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to you. Do
you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet which
are,that some people see things that others cannot? But there are things old
and new which must not be contemplated by men's eyes, because they know, or
think they know, some things which other men have told them. Ah, it is the
fault of our science that it wants to explain all, and if it explain not, then
it says there is nothing to explain. But yet we see around us every day the
growth of new beliefs, which think themselves new, and which are yet but the
old, which pretend to be young, like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose
now you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialization.
No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in
hypnotism . . ."
"Yes," I said. "Charcot has
proved that pretty well."
He smiled as he went on, "Then you are
satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you understand how it act, and can
follow the mind of the great Charcot, alas that he is no more, into the very
soul of the patient that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it
that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to
conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me, for I am a student of the brain, how
you accept hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my
friend, that there are things done today in electrical science which would have
been deemed unholy by the very man who discovered electricity, who would
themselves not so long before been burned as wizards. There are always
mysteries in life. Why was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and
`Old Parr'one hundred and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's
blood in her poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one
more day, we could save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do
you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the
qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me why,
when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for
centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending,
he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the
Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come out at night and open the
veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins, how in some islands of the
Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those who have
seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on
the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them and then, and then in the
morning are found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?"
"Good God, Professor!" I said,
starting up. "Do you mean to tell me that Lucy was bitten by such a bat,
and that such a thing is here in London in the nineteenth century?"
He waved his hand for silence, and went
on,"Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of
men, why the elephant goes on and on till he have sees dynasties, and why the
parrot never die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can you tell me
why men believe in all ages and places that there are men and women who cannot
die? We all know, because science has vouched for the fact, that there have
been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole
that only hold him since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian
fakir can make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and
corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut
again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the
Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?"
Here I interrupted him. I was getting
bewildered. He so crowded on my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and
possible impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea
that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at
Amsterdam. But he used them to tell me the thing, so that I could have the
object of thought in mind all the time. But now I was without his help, yet I
wanted to follow him, so I said,
"Professor, let me be your pet student
again. Tell me the thesis, so that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At
present I am going in my mind from point to point as a madman, and not a sane
one, follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a midst,
jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without
knowing where I am going."
"That is a good image," he said.
"Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is this, I want you to believe."
"To believe what?"
"To believe in things that you cannot.
Let me illustrate. I heard once of an American who so defined faith, `that fac
ulty which enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I
follow that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little
bit of truth check the rush of the big truth, like a small rock does a railway
truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value him, but
all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in the universe."
"Then you want me not to let some
previous conviction inure the receptivity of my mind with regard to some
strange matter. Do I read your lesson aright?"
"Ah, you are my favorite pupil still.
It is worth to teach you. Now that you are willing to understand, you have
taken the first step to understand. You think then that those so small holes in
the children's throats were made by the same that made the holes in Miss
Lucy?"
"I suppose so."
He stood up and said solemnly, "Then
you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! But alas! No. It is worse, far, far
worse."
"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing,
what do you mean?" I cried.
He threw himself with a despairing gesture
into a chair, and placed his elbows on the table, covering his face with his
hands as he spoke.
"They were made by Miss Lucy!"
Chapter 15
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont.
For a while sheer anger mastered me. It was
as if he had during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard
and rose up as I said to him, "Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?"
He raised his head and looked at me, and
somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I were!"
he said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my
friend, whey, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell so
simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all my life? Was
it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted, no so late, revenge
for that time when you saved my life, and from a fearful death? Ah no!"
"Forgive me," said I.
He went on, "My friend, it was because
I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you, for I know you have loved that so
sweet lady. But even yet I do not expect you to believe. It is so hard to
accept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt such to be possible when
we have always believed the `no' of it. It is more hard still to accept so sad
a concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. Tonight I go to prove it.
Dare you come with me?"
This staggered me. A man does not like to
prove such a truth, Byron excepted from the catagory, jealousy.
"And prove the very truth he most
abhorred."
He saw my hesitation, and spoke, "The
logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock to tussock
in a misty bog. If it not be true, then proof will be relief. At worst it will
not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread. Yet every dread should help my
cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come, I tell you what I propose.
First, that we go off now and see that child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of
the North Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is a friend of mine, and
I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two
scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing,
but only that we wish to learn. And then . . ."
"And then?"
He took a key from his pocket and held it
up. "And then we spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy
lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin man to give
to Arthur."
My heart sank within me, for I felt that
there was some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I
plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the
afternoon was passing.
We found the child awake. It had had a
sleep and taken some food, and altogether was going on well. Dr, Vincent took
the bandage from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no
mistaking the similarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were
smaller, and the edges looked fresher, that was all. We asked Vincent to what
he attributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some
animal, perhaps a rat, but for his own part, he was inclined to think it was
one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern heights of London.
"Out of so many harmless ones," he said, "there may be some wild
specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some sailor may have
brought one home, and it managed to escape, or even from the Zoological Gardens
a young one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These
things do occur, you, know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and was, I
believe, traced up in this direction. For a week after, the children were
playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and in every alley in the
place until this `bloofer lady' scare came along, since then it has been quite
a gala time with them. Even this poor little mite, when he woke up today, asked
the nurse if he might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said
he wanted to play with the `bloofer lady'."
"I hope," said Van Helsing,
"that when you are sending the child home you will caution its parents to
keep strict watch over it. These fancies to stray are most dangerous, and if
the child were to remain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in
any case I suppose you will not let it away for some days?"
"Certainly not, not for a week at
least, longer if the wound is not healed."
Our visit to the hospital took more time
than we had reckoned on, and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van
Helsing saw how dark it was, he said,
"There is not hurry. It is more late
than I thought. Come, let us seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall
go on our way."
We dined at `Jack Straw's Castle' along
with a little crowd of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten
o'clock we started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps
made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual radius. The
Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he went on
unhesitatingly, but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to locality. As we
went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at last we were somewhat
surprised when we met even the patrol of horse police going their usual
suburban round. At last we reached the wall of the churchyard, which we climbed
over. With some little difficulty, for it was very dark, and the whole place
seemed so strange to us, we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the
key, opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, but quite
unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was a delicious irony in the
offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My
companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after carefully
ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring one. In the latter
case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he fumbled in his bag, and
taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The
tomb in the daytime, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and
gruesome enough, but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and
dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns, when the spider
and the beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance, when the time-discolored
stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass,
and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect
was more miserable and sordid than could have been imagined. It conveyed
irresistibly the idea that life, animal life, was not the only thing which
could pass away.
Van Helsing went about his work
systematically. Holding his candle so that he could read the coffin plates, and
so holding it that the sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they
touched the metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his
bag, and he took out a turnscrew.
"What are you going to do?" I
asked.
"To open the coffin. You shall yet be
convinced."
Straightway he began taking out the screws,
and finally lifted off the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The sight
was almost too much for me. It seemed to be as much an affront to the dead as
it would have been to have stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst
living. I actually took hold of his hand to stop him.
He only said, "You shall see,"and
again fumbling in his bag took out a tiny fret saw. Striking the turnscrew
through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he made a
small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of the saw. I had
expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We doctors, who have had to
study our dangers, have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back
towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for a moment. He sawed down a
couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and then across, and down the
other side. Taking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the
foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me
to look.
I drew near and looked. The coffin was
empty. It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but
Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so
emboldened to proceed in his task."Are you satisfied now, friend
John?" he asked.
I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of
my nature awake within me as I answered him, "I am satisfied that Lucy's
body is not in that coffin, but that only proves one thing."
"And what is that, friend John?"
"That it is not there."
"That is good logic," he said,
"so far as it goes. But how do you, how can you, account for it not being
there?"
"Perhaps a body-snatcher," I
suggested. "Some of the undertaker's people may have stolen it." I
felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I
could suggest.
The Professor sighed. "Ah well!"
he said," we must have more proof. Come with me."
He put on the coffin lid again, gathered up
all his things and placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the
candle also in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed
the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying, "Will you keep it?
You had better be assured."
I laughed, it was not a very cheerful
laugh, I am bound to say, as I motioned him to keep it. "A key is
nothing," I said, "thee are many duplicates, and anyhow it is not
difficult to pick a lock of this kind."
He said nothing, but put the key in his
pocket. Then he told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would
watch at the other.
I took up my place behind a yew tree, and I
saw his dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from
my sight. It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a
distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and
unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand and with
myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly observant, and
not sleepy enough to betray my trust, so altogether I had a dreary, miserable
time.
Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I
saw something like a white streak, moving between two dark yew trees at the
side of the churchyard farthest from the tomb. At the same time a dark mass
moved from the Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it.
Then I too moved, but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I
stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an early cock
crew. A little ways off, beyond a line of scattered juniper trees, which marked
the pathway to the church, a white dim figure flitted in the direction of the
tomb. The tomb itself was hidden by trees, and I could not see where the figure
had disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I had first seen
the white figure, and coming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a
tiny child. When he saw me he held it out to me, and said, "Are you
satisfied now?"
"No," I said, in a way that I
felt was aggressive.
"Do you not see the child?"
"Yes, it is a child, but who brought
it here? And is it wounded?"
"We shall see,"said the
Professor, and with one impulse we took our way out of the churchyard, he
carrying the sleeping child.
When we had got some little distance away,
we went into a clump of trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's
throat. It was without a scratch or scar of any kind.
"Was I right?" I asked
triumphantly.
"We were just in time," said the
Professor thankfully.
We had now to decide what we were to do
with the child, and so consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police
station we should have to give some account of our movements during the night.
At least, we should have had to make some statement as to how we had come to
find the child. So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and
when we heard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to
find it. We would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out
well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and
laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he
flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and
then we went away silently. By good chance we got a cab near the `Spainiards,'
and drove to town.
I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I
must try to get a few hours' sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon.
He insists that I go with him on another expedition.
27 September.—It was two o'clock before we
found a suitable opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all
completed, and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily
away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder trees, we saw the
sexton lock the gate after him. We knew that we were safe till morning did we
desire it, but the Professor told me that we should not want more than an hour
at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any
effort of imagination seemed out of place, and I realized distinctly the perils
of the law which we were incurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it
was all so useless. Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a
woman dead nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to
open the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own eyesight, that
the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however, and rested silent, for
Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road, no matter who remonstrated. He
took the key, opened the vault, and again courteously motioned me to precede.
The place was not so gruesome as last night, but oh, how unutterably mean
looking when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's
coffin, and I followed. He bent over and again forced back the leaden flange,
and a shock of surprise and dismay shot through me.
There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had
seen her the night before her funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly
beautiful than ever, and I could not believe that she was dead. The lips were
red, nay redder than before, and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.
"Is this a juggle?" I said to
him.
"Are you convinced now?" said the
Professor, in response, and as he spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that
made me shudder, pulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth.
"See," he went on,"they are even sharper than before. With this
and this," and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below it,
"the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend
John?"
Once more argumentative hostility woke
within me. I could not accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested. So,
with an attempt to argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said,
"She may have been placed here since last night."
"Indeed? That is so, and by
whom?"
"I do not know. Someone has done
it."
"And yet she has been dead one week.
Most peoples in that time would not look so."
I had no answer for this, so was silent.
Van Helsing did not seem to notice my silence. At any rate, he showed neither
chagrin nor triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman,
raising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and
examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said,
"Here, there is one thing which is
different from all recorded. Here is some dual life that is not as the common.
She was bitten by the vampire when she was in a trance, sleep-walking, oh, you
start. You do not know that, friend John, but you shall know it later, and in
trance could he best come to take more blood. In trance she dies, and in trance
she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when the
Un-Dead sleep at home," as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of his
arm to designate what to a vampire was `home', "their face show what they
are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to the
nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard
that I must kill her in her sleep."
This turned my blood cold, and it began to
dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if she were
really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing her?
He looked up at me, and evidently saw the
change in my face, for he said almost joyously, "Ah, you believe
now?"
I answered, "Do not press me too hard
all at once. I am willing to accept. How will you do this bloody work?"
"I shall cut off her head and fill her
mouth with garlic, and I shall drive a stake through her body."
It made me shudder to think of so
mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling was not
so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the
presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing called it, and to loathe
it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or all objective?
I waited a considerable time for Van
Helsing to begin, but he stood as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed
the catch of his bag with a snap, and said,
"I have been thinking, and have made
up my mind as to what is best. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do
now, at this moment, what is to be done. But there are other things to follow,
and things that are thousand times more difficult in that them we do not know.
This is simple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time, and to act
now would be to take danger from her forever. But then we may have to want
Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the wounds on Lucy's
throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at the hospital, if you,
who saw the coffin empty last night and full today with a woman who have not
change only to be more rose and more beautiful in a whole week, after she die,
if you know of this and know of the white figure last night that brought the
child to the churchyard, and yet of your own senses you did not believe, how
then, can I expect Arthur, who know none of those things, to believe?
"He doubted me when I took him from
her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me because in some mistaken
idea I have done things that prevent him say goodbye as he ought, and he may
think that in some more mistaken idea this woman was buried alive, and that in
most mistake of all we have killed her. He will then argue back that it is we,
mistaken ones, that have killed her by our ideas, and so he will be much
unhappy always. Yet he never can be sure, and that is the worst of all. And he
will sometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint
his dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered, and again, he will
think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all, an Un-Dead.
No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since I know it is all
true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he must pass through the
bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow, must have one hour that will
make the very face of heaven grow black to him, then we can act for good all
round and send him peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return home for
tonight to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the
night here in this churchyard in my own way. Tomorrow night you will come to me
to the Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,
and also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we shall
all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and there dine, for I
must be back here before the sun set."
So we locked the tomb and came away, and
got over the wall of the churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove
back to Piccadilly.
NOTE LEFT BY VAN HELSING IN HIS
PORTMANTEAU, BERKELEY HOTEL DIRECTED TO JOHN SEWARD, M. D. (Not Delivered)
27 September
"Friend John,
"I write this in case anything should
happen. I go alone to watch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead,
Miss Lucy, shall not leave tonight, that so on the morrow night she may be more
eager. Therefore I shall fix some things she like not, garlic and a crucifix,
and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead, and will heed.
Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out. They may not prevail on her
wanting to get in, for then the Un-Dead is desperate, and must find the line of
least resistance, whatsoever it may be. I shall be at hand all the night from
sunset till after sunrise, and if there be aught that may be learned I shall
learn it. For Miss Lucy or from her, I have no fear, but that other to whom is
there that she is Un-Dead, he have not the power to seek her tomb and find
shelter. He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all
along he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and we
lost, and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the strength in
his hand of twenty men, even we four who gave our strength to Miss Lucy it also
is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and I know not what. So if it be
that he came thither on this night he shall find me. But none other shall,
until it be too late. But it may be that he will not attempt the place. There
is no reason why he should. His hunting ground is more full of game than the
churchyard where the Un-Dead woman sleeps, and the one old man watch.
"Therefore I write this in case . . .
Take the papers that are with this, the diaries of Harker and the rest, and
read them, and then find this great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his
heart or drive a stake through it, so that the world may rest from him.
"If it be so, farewell.
"VAN HELSING."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
28 September.—It is wonderful what a good
night's sleep will do for one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van
Helsing's monstrous ideas, but now they seem to start out lurid before me as
outrages on common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if
his mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be some
rational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that the
Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that if he went
off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to some fixed idea in a
wonderful way. I am loathe to think it, and indeed it would be almost as great
a marvel as the other to find that Van Helsing was mad, but anyhow I shall
watch him carefully. I may get some light on the mystery.
29 September.—Last night, at a little
before ten o'clock, Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room. He told us
all what he wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if
all our wills were centered in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would
all come with him too, "for," he said, "there is a grave duty to
be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?" This query was
directly addressed to Lord Godalming. "I was. It rather upset me for a
bit. There has been so much trouble around my house of late that I could do
without any more. I have been curious, too, as to what you mean.
"Quincey and I talked it over, but the
more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm
about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."
"Me too," said Quincey Morris
laconically.
"Oh," said the Professor,
"then you are nearer the beginning, both of you, than friend John here,
who has to go a long way back before he can even get so far as to begin."
It was evident that he recognized my return
to my old doubting frame of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the
other two, he said with intense gravity,
"I want your permission to do what I
think good this night. It is, I know, much to ask, and when you know what it is
I propose to do you will know, and only then how much. Therefore may I ask that
you promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me
for a time, I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may be,
you shall not blame yourselves for anything."
"That's frank anyhow," broke in
Quincey. "I'll answer for the Professor. I don't quite see his drift, but
I swear he's honest, and that's good enough for me."
"I thank you, Sir," said Van
Helsing proudly. "I have done myself the honor of counting you one
trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear to me." He held out a hand,
which Quincey took.
Then Arthur spoke out, "Dr. Van
Helsing, I don't quite like to `buy a pig in a poke', as they say in Scotland,
and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman or my faith as a
Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise. If you can assure me that
what you intend does not violate either of these two, then I give my consent at
once, though for the life of me, I cannot understand what you are driving
at."
"I accept your limitation," said
Van Helsing, "and all I ask of you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn
any act of mine, you will first consider it well and be satisfied that it does
not violate your reservations."
"Agreed!" said Arthur. "That
is only fair. And now that the pourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we
are to do?"
"I want you to come with me, and to
come in secret, to the churchyard at Kingstead."
Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed
sort of way,
"Where poor Lucy is buried?"
The Professor bowed.
Arthur went on, "And when there?"
"To enter the tomb!"
Arthur stood up. "Professor, are you
in earnest, or is it some monstrous joke? Pardon me, I see that you are in
earnest." He sat down again, but I could see that he sat firmly and
proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was silence until he asked again,
"And when in the tomb?"
"To open the coffin."
"This is too much!" he said,
angrily rising again. "I am willing to be patient in all things that are
reasonable, but in this, this desecration of the grave, of one who . . ."
He fairly choked with indignation.
The Professor looked pityingly at
him."If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend," he said,
"God knows I would. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths, or
later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!"
Arthur looked up with set white face and
said, "Take care, sir, take care!"
"Would it not be well to hear what I
have to say?" said Van Helsing. "And then you will at least know the
limit of my purpose. Shall I go on?"
"That's fair enough," broke in
Morris.
After a pause Van Helsing went on,
evidently with an effort, "Miss Lucy is dead, is it not so? Yes! Then
there can be no wrong to her. But if she be not dead. . ."
Arthur jumped to his feet, "Good
God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has there been any mistake, has
she been buried alive?"He groaned in anguish that not even hope could
soften.
"I did not say she was alive, my
child. I did not think it. I go no further than to say that she might be
Un-Dead."
"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean?
Is this all a nightmare, or what is it?"
"There are mysteries which men can
only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are
now on the verge of one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead
Miss Lucy?"
"Heavens and earth, no!" cried
Arthur in a storm of passion. "Not for the wide world will I consent to
any mutilation of her dead body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have
I done to you that you should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do
that you should want to cast such dishonor on her grave? Are you mad, that you
speak of such things, or am I mad to listen to them? Don't dare think more of
such a desecration. I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a
duty to do in protecting her grave from outrage, and by God, I shall do
it!"
Van Helsing rose up from where he had all
the time been seated, and said, gravely and sternly, "My Lord Godalming, I
too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty to you, a duty to the dead,
and by God, I shall do it! All I ask you now is that you come with me, that you
look and listen, and if when later I make the same request you do not be more
eager for its fulfillment even than I am, then, I shall do my duty, whatever it
may seem to me. And then, to follow your Lordship's wishes I shall hold myself
at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where you will."
His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of pity.
"But I beseech you, do not go forth in
anger with me. In a long life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and
which sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now.
Believe me that if the time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one
look from you will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man
can to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so much
labor and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land to do what I can
of good, at the first to please my friend John, and then to help a sweet young
lady, whom too, I come to love. For her, I am ashamed to say so much, but I say
it in kindness, I gave what you gave, the blood of my veins. I gave it, I who
was not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave her
my nights and days, before death, after death, and if my death can do her good
even now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely." He said
this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by it.
He took the old man's hand and said in a
broken voice, "Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand, but
at least I shall go with you and wait."
Chapter 16
DR SEWARD'S DIARY-cont.
It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock
when we got into the churchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with
occasional gleams of moonlight between the dents of the heavy clouds that
scudded across the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing
slightly in front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I
looked well at Arthur, for I feared the proximity to a place laden with so
sorrowful a memory would upset him, but he bore himself well. I took it that
the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant to his
grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural hesitation amongst
us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by entering first himself. The
rest of us followed, and he closed the door. He then lit a dark lantern and
pointed to a coffin. Arthur stepped forward hesitatingly. Van Helsing said to
me, "You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that
coffin?"
"It was."
The Professor turned to the rest saying,
"You hear, and yet there is no one who does not believe with me.'
He took his screwdriver and again took off
the lid of the coffin. Arthur looked on, very pale but silent. When the lid was
removed he stepped forward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden
coffin, or at any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the
lead, the blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away
again, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness. He was still silent. Van
Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and recoiled.
The coffin was empty!
For several minutes no one spoke a word.
The silence was broken by Quincey Morris, "Professor, I answered for you.
Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask such a thing ordinarily, I wouldn't so
dishonor you as to imply a doubt, but this is a mystery that goes beyond any
honor or dishonor. Is this your doing?"
"I swear to you by all that I hold
sacred that I have not removed or touched her. What happened was this. Two
nights ago my friend Seward and I came here, with good purpose, believe me. I
opened that coffin, which was then sealed up, and we found it as now, empty. We
then waited, and saw something white come through the trees. The next day we
came here in daytime and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?
"Yes."
"That night we were just in time. One
more so small child was missing, and we find it, thank God,unharmed amongst the
graves. Yesterday I came here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can
move. I waited here all night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most
probable that it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,
which the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last night
there was no exodus, so tonight before the sundown I took away my garlic and
other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But bear with me. So far
there is much that is strange. Wait you with me outside, unseen and unheard,
and things much stranger are yet to be. So," here he shut the dark slide
of his lantern,"now to the outside." He opened the door, and we filed
out, he coming last and locking the door behind him.
Oh! But it seemed fresh and pure in the
night air after the terror of that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds
race by, and the passing gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds
crossing and passing, like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life. How sweet
it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay. How
humanizing to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to hear far
away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each in his own way
was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I could see, striving to
grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the mystery. I was myself tolerably
patient, and half inclined again to throw aside doubt and to accept Van
Helsing's conclusions. Quincey Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who
accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard
of all he has at stake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized
plug of tobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a
definite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like thin,
wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white napkin. Next he
took out a double handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. He
crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between his hands. This
he then took, and rolling it into thin strips, began to lay them into the
crevices between the door and its setting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled
at this, and being close, asked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and
Quincey drew near also, as they too were curious.
He answered, "I am closing the tomb so
that the Un-Dead may not enter."
"And is that stuff you have there
going to do it?"
"It Is."
"What is that which you are
using?" This time the question was by Arthur. Van Helsing reverently
lifted his hat as he answered.
"The Host. I brought it from
Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence."
It was an answer that appalled the most
sceptical of us, and we felt individually that in the presence of such earnest
purpose as the Professor's, a purpose which could thus use the to him most
sacred of things, it was impossible to distrust. In respectful silence we took
the places assigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of
any one approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myself been
apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror, and yet I, who had up
to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink within me. Never did
tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the
embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so
ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away
howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.
There was a long spell of silence, big,
aching, void, and then from the Professor a keen "S-s-s-s!" He
pointed, and far down the avenue of yews we saw a white figure advance, a dim
white figure, which held something dark at its breast. The figure stopped, and
at the moment a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds, and
showed in startling prominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of
the grave. We could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to
be a fair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a
child gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. We were
starting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as he stood
behind a yew tree, kept us back. And then as we looked the white figure moved
forwards again. It was now near enough for us to see clearly, and the moonlight
still held. My own heart grew cold as ice, and I could hear the gasp of Arthur,
as we recognized the features of Lucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how
changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the
purity to voluptuous wantonness.
Van Helsing stepped out, and obedient to
his gesture, we all advanced too. The four of us ranged in a line before the
door of the tomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide. By the
concentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips were
crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her chin and
stained the purity of her lawn death robe.
We shuddered with horror. I could see by
the tremulous light that even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was
next to me, and if I had not seized his arm and held him up, he would have
fallen.
When Lucy, I call the thing that was before
us Lucy because it bore her shape, saw us she drew back with an angry snarl,
such as a cat gives when taken unawares, then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's
eyes in form and color, but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell fire, instead
of the pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my love passed
into hate and loathing. Had she then to be killed, I could have done it with
savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy light, and the face
became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God, how it made me shudder to see
it! With a careless motion, she flung to the ground, callous as a devil, the
child that up to now she had clutched strenuously to her breast, growling over
it as a dog growls over a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there
moaning. There was a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from
Arthur. When she advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he
fell back and hid his face in his hands.
She still advanced, however, and with a
languorous, voluptuous grace, said, "Come to me, Arthur. Leave these
others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest
together. Come, my husband, come!"
There was something diabolically sweet in
her tones, something of the tinkling of glass when struck, which rang through
the brains even of us who heard the words addressed to another.
As for Arthur, he seemed under a spell,
moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. She was leaping for
them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between them his little golden
crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a suddenly distorted face, full of
rage, dashed past him as if to enter the tomb.
When within a foot or two of the door,
however,she stopped, as if arrested by some irresistible force. Then she
turned, and her face was shown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp,
which had now no quiver from Van Helsing's nerves. Never did I see such baffled
malice on a face, and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by mortal eyes.
The beautiful color became livid, the eyes seemed to throw out sparks of hell
fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of flesh were the coils of
Medusa's snakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as
in the passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death, if
looks could kill, we saw it at that moment.
And so for full half a minute, which seemed
an eternity, se remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of
her means of entry.
Van Helsing broke the silence by asking
Arthur, "Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?"
"Do as you will, friend. Do as you
will. There can be no horror like this ever any more." And he groaned in
spirit.
Quincey and I simultaneously moved towards
him, and took his arms. We could hear the click of the closing lantern as Van
Helsing held it down. Coming close to the tomb, he began to remove from the
chinks some of the sacred emblem which he had placed there. We all looked on
with horrified amazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a
corporeal body as real at that moment as our own, pass through the interstice
where scarce a knife blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense of relief
when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty to the edges of
the door.
When this was done, he lifted the child and
said, "Come now, my friends. We can do no more till tomorrow. There is a
funeral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The friends
of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton locks the gate we
shall remain. Then there is more to do, but not like this of tonight. As for
this little one, he is not much harmed, and by tomorrow night he shall be well.
We shall leave him where the police will find him, as on the other night, and
then to home."
Coming close to Arthur, he said, "My
friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial, but after, when you look back, you
will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitter waters, my child. By
this time tomorrow you will, please God, have passed them, and have drunk of
the sweet waters. So do not mourn over-much. Till then I shall not ask you to
forgive me."
Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and
we tried to cheer each other on the way. We had left behind the child in
safety, and were tired. So we all slept with more or less reality of sleep.
29 September, night.—A little before twelve
o'clock we three, Arthur, Quincey Morris, and myself, called for the Professor.
It was odd to notice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of
course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of us wore
it by instinct. We got to the graveyard by half-past one, and strolled about,
keeping out of official observation, so that when the gravediggers had
completed their task and the sexton under the belief that every one had gone,
had locked the gate, we had the place all to ourselves. Van Helsing, instead of
his little black bag, had with him a long leather one,something like a cricketing
bag. It was manifestly of fair weight.
When we were alone and had heard the last
of the footsteps die out up the road, we silently, and as if by ordered
intention, followed the Professor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we
entered, closing it behind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he
lit, and also two wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck by melting their
own ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work
by. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked, Arthur
trembling like an aspen, and saw that the corpse lay there in all its death
beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but loathing for the
foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her soul. I could see even Arthur's
face grow hard as he looked. Presently he said to Van Helsing, "Is this
really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape?"
"It is her body, and yet not it. But
wait a while, and you shall see her as she was, and is."
She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she
lay there, the pointed teeth, the blood stained, voluptuous mouth, which made
one shudder to see, the whole carnal and unspirited appearance, seeming like a
devilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usual
methodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and placing them
ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some plumbing solder, and
then small oil lamp, which gave out, when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas
which burned at a fierce heat with a blue flame, then his operating knives,
which he placed to hand, and last a round wooden stake, some two and a half or
three inches thick and about three feet long. One end of it was hardened by
charring in the fire, and was sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a
heavy hammer, such as in households is used in the coal cellar for breaking the
lumps. To me, a doctor's preperations for work of any kind are stimulating and
bracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was to cause
them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their courage, and
remained silent and quiet.
When all was ready, Van Helsing
said,"Before we do anything, let me tell you this. It is out of the lore
and experience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers of
the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the curse of
immortality. They cannot die, but must go on age after age adding new victims
and multiplying the evils of the world. For all that die from the preying of
the Un-dead become themselves Un-dead, and prey on their kind. And so the
circle goes on ever widening, like as the ripples from a stone thrown in the
water. Friend Arthur, if you had met that kiss which you know of before poor
Lucy die, or again, last night when you open your arms to her, you would in
time, when you had died, have become nosferatu, as they call it in Eastern
europe, and would for all time make more of those Un-Deads that so have filled
us with horror. The career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun.
Those children whose blood she sucked are not as yet so much the worse, but if
she lives on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her power
over them they come to her, and so she draw their blood with that so wicked
mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease. The tiny wounds of the throats
disappear, and they go back to their play unknowing ever of what has been. But
of the most blessed of all, when this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead,
then the soul of the poor lady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of
working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilating of it
by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it
will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.
To this I am willing, but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will
it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is
not, `It was my hand that sent her to the stars. It was the hand of him that
loved her best, the hand that of all she would herself have chosen, had it been
to her to choose?' Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?"
We all looked at Arthur. He saw too, what
we all did, the infinite kindness which suggested that his should be the hand
which would restore Lucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory. He stepped
forward and said bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as
snow, "My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you.
Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!"
Van Helsing laid a hand on his shoulder,
and said,"Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must
be driven through her. It well be a fearful ordeal, be not deceived in that,
but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more than your pain
was great. From this grim tomb you will emerge as though you tread on air. But
you must not falter when once you have begun. Only think that we, your true
friends, are round you, and that we pray for you all the time."
"Go on,"said Arthur
hoarsely."Tell me what I am to do."
"Take this stake in your left hand,
ready to place to the point over the heart, and the hammer in your right. Then
when we begin our prayer for the dead, I shall read him, I have here the book,
and the others shall follow, strike in God's name, that so all may be well with
the dead that we love and that the Un-Dead pass away." Arthur took the
stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on action his hands never
trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened his missal and began to read,
and Quincey and I followed as well as we could.
Arthur placed the point over the heart, and
as I looked I could see its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all
his might.
The thing in the coffin writhed, and a
hideous, bloodcurdling screech came from the opened red lips. The body shook
and quivered and twisted in wild contortions. The sharp white champed together
till the lips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But
Arthur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm
rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercybearing stake, whilst the
blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His face was set,
and high duty seemed to shine through it. The sight of it gave us courage so
that our voices seemed to ring through the little vault.
And then the writhing and quivering of the
body became less, and the teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver.
Finally it lay still. The terrible task was over.
The hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He
reeled and would have fallen had we not caught him. The great drops of sweat
sprang from his forehead, and his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed
been an awful strain on him, and had he not been forced to his task by more
than human considerations he could never have gone through with it. For a few
minutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the coffin.
When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one to the other
of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had been seated on the
ground, and came and looked too, and then a glad strange light broke over his
face and dispelled altogether the gloom of horror that lay upon it.
There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul
Thing that we has so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction
was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had
seen her in life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that
there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and
waste. But these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we
knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted
face and form was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to
reign for ever.
Van Helsing came and laid his hand on
Arthur's shoulder, and said to him, "And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad,
am I not forgiven?"
The reaction of the terrible strain came as
he took the old man's hand in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and
said, "Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul
again, and me peace." He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and
laying his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood
unmoving.
When he raised his head Van Helsing said to
him, "And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will,
as she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning devil
now, not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is the devil's
Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!"
Arthur bent and kissed her, and then we
sent him and Quincey out of the tomb. The Professor and I sawed the top off the
stake, leaving the point of it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled
the mouth with garlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin
lid, and gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor locked the
door he gave the key to Arthur.
Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone,
and the birds sang, and it seemed as if all nature were tuned to a different
pitch. There was gladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest
ourselves on one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.
Before we moved away Van Helsing
said,"Now, my friends, one step or our work is done, one the most
harrowing to ourselves. But there remains a greater task, to find out the
author of all this or sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can
follow, but it is a long task, and a difficult one, and there is danger in it,
and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all of us, is
it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do we not promise to
go on to the bitter end?"
Each in turn, we took his hand, and the
promise was made. Then said the Professor as we moved off, "Two nights
hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of the clock with
friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you know not as yet, and I
shall be ready to all our work show and our plans unfold. Friend John, you come
with me home, for I have much to consult you about, and you can help me.
Tonight I leave for Amsterdam, but shall return tomorrow night. And then begins
our great quest. But first I shall have much to say, so that you may know what
to do and to dread. Then our promise shall be made to each other anew. For
there is a terrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare we
must not draw back."
Chapter 17
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont
When we arrived at the Berkely Hotel, Van
Helsing found a telegram waiting for him.
"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at
Whitby. Important news. Mina Harker."
The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that
wonderful Madam Mina," he said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I
cannot stay. She must go to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the
station. Telegraph her en route so that she may be prepared."
When the wire was dispatched he had a cup
of tea. Over it he told me of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and
gave me a typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.
"Take these," he said,"and study them well. When I have returned
you will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter on our
inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will
need all your faith, even you who have had such an experience as that of today.
What is here told," he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet of
papers as he spoke, "may be the beginning of the end to you and me and
many another, or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the earth. Read
all, I pray you, with the open mind, and if you can add in any way to the story
here told do so, for it is all important. You have kept a diary of all these so
strange things, is it not so? Yes! Then we shall go through all these together
when we meet." He then made ready for his departure and shortly drove off
to Liverpool Street. I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen
minutes before the train came in.
The crowd melted away, after the bustling
fashion common to arrival platforms, and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I
might miss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty looking girl stepped up to me,
and after a quick glance said, "Dr. Seward, is it not?"
"And you are Mrs. Harker!" I
answered at once, whereupon she held out her hand.
"I knew you from the description of
poor dear Lucy, but. . ." She stopped suddenly, and a quick blush
overspread her face.
The blush that rose to my own cheeks
somehow set us both at ease, for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her
luggage, which included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch
Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting room and a
bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
In due time we arrived. She knew, of
course, that the place was a lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was
unable to repress a shudder when we entered.
She told me that, if she might, she would
come presently to my study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my
entry in my phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the
chance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie
open before me. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have an
opportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, or what a
task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Here she is!
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
29 September.—After I had tidied myself, I
went down to Dr. Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I
heard him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I
knocked at the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.
To my intense surprise, there was no one
with him. He was quite alone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at
once from the description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was
much interested.
"I hope I did not keep you
waiting," I said, "but I stayed at the door as I heard you talking,
and thought there was someone with you."
"Oh," he replied with a smile,
"I was only entering my diary."
"Your diary?" I asked him in
surprise.
"Yes," he answered. "I keep
it in this." As he spoke he laid his hand on the phonograph. I felt quite
excited over it, and blurted out, "Why, this beats even shorthand! May I
hear it say something?"
"Certainly," he replied with
alacrity, and stood up to put it in train for speaking. Then he paused, and a
troubled look overspread his face.
"The fact is," he began
awkwardly."I only keep my diary in it, and as it is entirely, almost
entirely, about my cases it may be awkward, that is, I mean . . ." He
stopped, and I tried to help him out of his embarrassment.
"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the
end. Let me hear how she died, for all that I know of her, I shall be very
grateful. She was very, very dear to me."
To my surprise, he answered, with a
horrorstruck look in his face, "Tell you of her death? Not for the wide
world!"
"Why not?" I asked, for some
grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.
Again he paused, and I could see that he
was trying to invent an excuse. At length, he stammered out, "You see, I
do not know how to pick out any particular part of the diary."
Even while he was speaking an idea dawned
upon him, and he said with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and
with the naivete of a child, "that's quite true, upon my honor. Honest
Indian!"
I could not but smile, at which he
grimaced."I gave myself away that time!" he said. "But do you
know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it never once struck
me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look
it up?"
By this time my mind was made up that the
diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of
our knowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly, "Then, Dr.
Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter."
He grew to a positively deathly pallor as
he said, "No! No! No! For all the world. I wouldn't let you know that
terrible story.!"
Then it was terrible. My intuition was
right! For a moment, I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously
looking for something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch
of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and without his
thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realized my
meaning.
"You do not know me," I said.
"When you have read those papers, my own diary and my husband's also,
which I have typed, you will know me better. I have not faltered in giving
every thought of my own heart in this cause. But, of course, you do not know
me, yet, and I must not expect you to trust me so far."
He is certainly a man of noble nature. Poor
dear Lucy was right about him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which
were arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark
wax, and said,
"You are quite right. I did not trust
you because I did not know you. But I know you now, and let me say that I
should have known you long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me. She told me of
you too. May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear
them. The first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not
horrify you. Then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In the
meantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better able to
understand certain things."
He carried the phonograph himself up to my
sitting room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am
sure. For it will tell me the other side of a true love episode of which I know
one side already.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
29 September.—I was so absorbed in that
wonderful diary of Jonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the
time run on without thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to
announce dinner, so I said, "She is possibly tired. Let dinner wait an
hour," and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's
diary, when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes
were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have had cause
for tears, God knows! But the relief of them was denied me, and now the sight
of those sweet eyes, brightened by recent tears, went straight to my heart. So
I said as gently as I could, "I greatly fear I have distressed you."
"Oh, no, not distressed me," she
replied. "But I have been more touched than I can say by your grief. That
is a wonderful machine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones,
the anguish of your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No
one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have
copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart
beat, as I did."
"No one need ever know, shall ever
know," I said in a low voice. She laid her hand on mine and said very
gravely, "Ah, but they must!"
"Must! but why?" I asked.
"Because it is a part of the terrible
story, a part of poor Lucy's death and all that led to it. Because in the
struggle which we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we
must have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the
cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know. But I
can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark mystery. You
will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain point, and I see
already, though your diary only took me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was
beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out. Jonathan and I have
been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby
to get more information, and he will be here tomorrow to help us. We need have
no secrets amongst us. Working together and with absolute trust, we can surely
be stronger than if some of us were in the dark."
She looked at me so appealingly, and at the
same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing, that I gave in
at once to her wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as you like in
the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to
learn of. But if you have so far traveled on the road to poor Lucy's death, you
will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark. Nay, the end, the very end,
may give you a gleam of peace. Come, there is dinner. We must keep one another
strong for what is before us. We have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have
eaten you shall learn the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask, if
there be anything which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who
were present."
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
29 September.—After dinner I came with Dr.
Seward to his study. He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took a
chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I could touch it without getting up,
and showed me how to stop it in case I should want to pause. Then he very
thoughtfully took a chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free as
possible, and began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and listened.
When the terrible story of Lucy's death,
and all that followed, was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately
I am not of a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a
horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case bottle from the cupboard,
gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored me. My brain was
all in a whirl, and only that there came through all the multitude of horrors,
the holy ray of light that my dear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I
could have borne it without making a scene. It is all so wild and mysterious,
and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I
could not have believed. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got
out of my difficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off my
typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward,
"Let me write this all out now. We
must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to
Jonathan to come on here when he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter
dates are everything, and I think that if we get all of our material ready, and
have every item put in chronological order, we shall have done much.
"You tell me that Lord Godalming and
Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell them when they come."
He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow
pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventeenth cylinder.
I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with
the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of
going his round of the patients. When he had finished he came back and sat near
me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and
thoughtful he is. The world seems full of good men, even if there are monsters
in it.
Before I left him I remembered what
Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor's perturbation at reading something
in an evening paper at the station at Exeter, so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps
his newspapers, I borrowed the files of `The Westminster Gazette' and `The Pall
Mall Gazette' and took them to my room. I remember how much the `Dailygraph'
and `The Whitby Gazette', of which I had made cuttings, had helped us to
understand the terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall
look through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.
I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
30 September.—Mr. Harker arrived at nine
o'clock. He got his wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever,
if one can judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true,
and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be, he is also a man of
great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece
of daring. After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good
specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came
here today.
LATER.—After lunch Harker and his wife went
back to their own room, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the
typewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that knitting together in
chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the
letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London
who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's transcript of my diary. I
wonder what they make out of it. Here it is . . .
Strange that it never struck me that the
very next house might be the Count's hiding place! Goodness knows that we had
enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters
relating to the purchase of the house were with the transcript. Oh, if we had
only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop! That way madness
lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collecting material. He says that by
dinner time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks
that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of
index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I
get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my
cylinders into type! We never could have found the dates otherwise.
I found Renfield sitting placidly in his
room with his hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane
as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all
of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home,
a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here. In
fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe
that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of
his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time
of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those outbreaks were in
some way linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute
content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's
ultimate triumph? Stay. He is himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings
outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of `master'. This
all seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came away. My
friend is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too
deep with questions. He might begin to think, and then . . . So I came away. I
mistrust these quiet moods of of his, so I have given the attendant a hint to
look closely after him, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in case of need.
JOHNATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
29 September, in train to London.—When I
received Mr. Billington's courteous message that he would give me any
information in his power I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on
the spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid
cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal with
it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and brought me to his
father's house, where they had decided that I must spend the night. They are
hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest everything and leave
him to do as he likes. They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was
short, and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all the papers concerning the
consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters
which I had seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.
Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and with
precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be
placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried out. To use and
Americanism, he had `taken no chances', and the absolute accuracy with which
his instructions were fulfilled was simply the logical result of his care. I
saw the invoice, and took note of it.`Fifty cases of common earth, to be used
for experimental purposes'. Also the copy of the letter to Carter Paterson, and
their reply. Of both these I got copies. This was all the information Mr.
Billington could give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards,
the Customs Officers and the harbor master, who kindly put me in communication
with the men who had actually received the boxes. Their tally was exact with
the list, and they had nothing to add to the simple description `fifty cases of
common earth', except that the boxes were `main and mortal heavy', and that
shifting them was dry work. One of them added that it was hard lines that there
wasn't any gentleman `such like as like yourself, squire', to show some sort of
appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form. Another put in a rider that the
thirst then generated was such that even the time which had elapsed had not
completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift,
forever and adequately, this source of reproach.
30 September.—The station master was good
enough to give me a line to his old companion the station master at King's
Cross, so that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about
the arrival of the boxes. He, too put me at once in communication with the
proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original
invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here
limited. A noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was compelled
to deal with the result in ex post facto manner.
From thence I went to Carter Paterson's
central office, where I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the
transaction in their day book and letter book, and at once telephoned to their
King's Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the
teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending
also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the delivery
of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing exactly. The
carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the written words with a
few more details. These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with the
dusty nature of the job, and the consequent thirst engendered in the operators.
On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the
realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one of the men
remarked,
"That `ere `ouse, guv'nor, is the
rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! But it ain't been touched sence a hundred years.
There was dust that thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without
`urtin' of yer bones. An' the place was that neglected that yer might `ave
smelled ole Jerusalem in it. But the old chapel, that took the cike, that did!Me
and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough. Lor', I wouldn't
take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark."
Having been in the house, I could well
believe him, but if he knew what I know, he would, I think have raised his
terms.
Of one thing I am now satisfied. That all
those boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely
deposited in the old chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there,
unless any have since been removed, as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.
Later.—Mina and I have worked all day, and
we have put all the papers into order.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 September.—I am so glad that I hardly
know how to contain myself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting
fear which I have had, that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old
wound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as
brave a face as could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,
however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so
full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor
Van Helsing said, he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill
a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination. We have
got everything in order for tonight. I feel myself quite wild with excitement.
I suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as the Count. That is just it.
This thing is not human, not even a beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor
Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in
one's heart.
Later.—Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris
arrived earlier than we expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken
Jonathan with him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of course
they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van Helsing, too, had
been quite `blowing my trumpet', as Mr. Morris expressed it. Poor fellows,
neither of them is aware that I know all about the proposals they made to Lucy.
They did not quite know what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount
of my knowledge. So they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought
the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do
would be to post them on affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's
diary that they had been at Lucy's death, her real death, and that I need not
fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I could,
that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I, having
typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a
copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got his and turned it over, it
does make a pretty good pile, he said, "Did you write all this, Mrs.
Harker?"
I nodded, and he went on.
"I don't quite see the drift of it,
but you people are all so good and kind, and have been working so earnestly and
so energetically, that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try
to help you. I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make
a man humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my Lucy .
. ."
Here he turned away and covered his face
with his hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with
instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then
walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in a woman's
nature that makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelings
on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood.
For when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and
gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he
didn't think it forward of me, and that if her ever thinks of it afterwards he
never will have such a thought. There I wrong him. I know he never will. He is
too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his heart was
breaking, "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you
were to her. She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone, will you not let
me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had,
though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can help in
your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service, for Lucy's
sake?"
In an instant the poor dear fellow was
overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering
in silence found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open
hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and
then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite
pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on
my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion.
We women have something of the mother in us
that makes us rise above smaller matters when the mother spirit is invoked. I
felt this big sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of a
baby that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he
were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.
After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he
raised himself with an apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He
told me that for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he had
been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow. There
was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with whom, owing to the
terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was surrounded, he could speak
freely.
"I know now how I suffered," he
said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even yet, and none other
can ever know, how much your sweet sympathy has been to me today. I shall know
better in time, and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my
gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be like a brother,
will you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucy's sake?"
"For dear Lucy's sake," I said as
we clasped hands."Ay, and for your own sake," he added, "for if
a man's esteem and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine
today. If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a man's
help, believe me, you will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may
ever come to you to break the sunshine of your life, but if it should ever
come, promise me that you will let me know."
He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so
fresh, that I felt it would comfort him, so I said, "I promise."
As I came along the corridor I say Mr.
Morris looking out of a window. He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How
is Art?" he said. Then noticing my red eyes, he went on,"Ah, I see
you have been comforting him. Poor old fellow! He needs it. No one but a woman
can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart, and he had no one to comfort
him."
He bore his own trouble so bravely that my
heart bled for him. I saw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he
read it he would realize how much I knew, so I said to him,"I wish I could
comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be your friend, and will
you come to me for comfort if you need it? You will know later why I
speak."
He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping,
took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort
to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him.
The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat. He
said quite calmly,"Little girl, you will never forget that true hearted
kindness, so long as ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his
friend.
"Little girl!" The very words he
had used to Lucy, and, oh, but he proved himself a friend.
Chapter 18
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
30 September.—I got home at five o'clock,
and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already
studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker had not
yet returned from his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had
written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that,
for the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home.
When we had finished, Mrs. Harker said,
"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favor? I want
to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him
in your diary interests me so much!"
She looked so appealing and so pretty that
I could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should, so I
took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would
like to see him, to which he simply answered, "Why?"
"She is going through the house, and
wants to see every one in it," I answered.
"Oh, very well," he
said,"let her come in, by all means, but just wait a minute till I tidy up
the place."
His method of tidying was peculiar, he
simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop
him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference.
When he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully, "Let the
lady come in," and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but
with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a moment I
thought that he might have some homicidal intent. I remembered how quiet he had
been just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where
I could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her.
She came into the room with an easy
gracefulness which would at once command the respect of any lunatic, for
easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect. She walked over to
him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand.
"Good evening, Mr. Renfield," said
she. "You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you." He
made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his
face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt, then to my
intense astonishment he said, "You're not the girl the doctor wanted to
marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's dead."
Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied,
"Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever
saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"My husband and I are staying on a
visit with Dr. Seward."
"Then don't stay."
"But why not?"
I thought that this style of conversation
might not be pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in,
"How did you know I wanted to marry anyone?"
His reply was simply contemptuous, given in
a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning
them back again, "What an asinine question!"
"I don't see that at all, Mr.
Renfield,"said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me.
He replied to her with as much courtesy and
respect as he had shown contempt to me, "You will, of course, understand,
Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honored as our host is, everything
regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not
only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being
some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and
effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but
notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the
errors of non causa and ignoratio elenche."
I positively opened my eyes at this new
development. Here was my own pet lunatic, the most pronounced of his type that
I had ever met with, talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a
polished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched
some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due
to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or power.
We continued to talk for some time, and
seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me
questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favorite topic. I was again
astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of
the completest sanity. He even took himself as an example when he mentioned
certain things.
"Why, I myself am an instance of a man
who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were
alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life
was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live
things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely
prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to
take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried
to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the
assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood,
relying of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, `For the blood is the life.'
Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarized the truism to
the very point of contempt. Isn't that true, doctor?"
I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I
hardly knew what to either think or say, it was hard to imagine that I had seen
him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch,
I saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs.
Harker that it was time to leave.
She came at once, after saying pleasantly
to Mr. Renfield, "Goodbye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices
pleasanter to yourself."
To which, to my astonishment, he replied,
"Goodbye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May
He bless and keep you!"
When I went to the station to meet Van
Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has
been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self
than he has been for many a long day.
Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with
the eager nimbleness of a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying,
"Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come here
to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have much to tell.
Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Arthur and my friend
Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!"
As I drove to the house I told him of what
had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs.
Harker's suggestion, at which the Professor interrupted me.
"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She
has man's brain, a brain that a man should have were he much gifted, and a
woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He
made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that
woman of help to us, after tonight she must not have to do with this so
terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are
determined, nay, are we not pledged, to destroy this monster? But it is no part
for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and
so many horrors and hereafter she may suffer, both in waking,from her nerves,
and in sleep,from her dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so long
married, there may be other things to think of some time, if not now. You tell
me she has wrote all, then she must consult with us, but tomorrow she say
goodbye to this work, and we go alone."
I agreed heartily with him, and then I told
him what we had found in his absence, that the house which Dracula had bought
was the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to
come on him.
"Oh that we had known it before!"
he said, "for then we might have reached him in time to save poor Lucy.
However, `the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,'as you say. We shall
not think of that, but go on our way to the end." Then he fell into a
silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare
for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker, "I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend
John that you and your husband have put up in exact order all things that have
been, up to this moment."
"Not up to this moment, Professor,"she
said impulsively, "but up to this morning."
"But why not up to now? We have seen
hitherto how good light all the little things have made. We have told our
secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for it."
Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a
paper from her pockets, she said, "Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this,
and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of today. I too have seen the
need of putting down at present everything, however trivial, but there is
little in this except what is personal. Must it go in?"
The Professor read it over gravely, and
handed it back, saying, "It need not go in if you do not wish it, but I
pray that it may. It can but make your husband love you the more, and all us,
your friends, more honor you, as well as more esteem and love." She took
it back with another blush and a bright smile.
And so now, up to this very hour, all the
records we have are complete and in order. The Professor took away one copy to
study after dinner, and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o'clock.
The rest of us have already read everything, so when we meet in the study we
shall all be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this
terrible and mysterious enemy.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward's
study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously
formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the
table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me
sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary. Jonathan sat
next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris, Lord
Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the center.
The Professor said, "I may, I suppose,
take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these
papers." We all expressed assent, and he went on, "Then it were, I
think, good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have
to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man,
which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and
can take our measure according.
"There are such beings as vampires,
some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own
unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough
for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that
through long years I have trained myself to keep an open mind, I could not have
believed until such time as that fact thunder on my ear.`See! See! I prove, I
prove.' Alas! Had I known at first what now I know, nay, had I even guess at
him, one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her. But
that is gone, and we must so work, that other poor souls perish not, whilst we
can save. The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only
stronger, and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire
which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of
cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still
the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the
dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command, he is
brute, and more than brute, he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is
not, he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the
thunder, he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the
bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small, and he
can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to
destroy him? How shall we find his where, and having found it, how can we
destroy? My friends, this is much, it is a terrible task that we undertake, and
there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our
fight he must surely win, and then where end we? Life is nothings, I heed him
not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him,
that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him, without heart or
conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us
forever are the gates of heaven shut, for who shall open them to us again? We
go on for all time abhorred by all, a blot on the face of God's sunshine, an
arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty,
and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say no, but then I am old, and life,
with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love,
lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair
days yet in store. What say you?"
Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken
my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was
overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out, but it was life to me to feel
its touch, so strong, so self reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand can
speak for itself, it does not even need a woman's love to hear its music.
When the Professor had done speaking my
husband looked in my eyes, and I in his, there was no need for speaking between
us.
"I answer for Mina and myself,"
he said.
"Count me in, Professor," said
Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.
"I am with you," said Lord
Godalming, "for Lucy's sake, if for no other reason."
Dr. Seward simply nodded.
The Professor stood up and, after laying
his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his
right hand, and Lord Godalming his left, Jonathan held my right with his left
and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact
was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw
back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of
cheerfulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken
as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life.
"Well, you know what we have to
contend against, but we too, are not without strength. We have on our side
power of combination, a power denied to the vampire kind, we have sources of
science, we are free to act and think, and the hours of the day and the night
are ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered,
and we are free to use them. We have self devotion in a cause and an end to
achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.
"Now let us see how far the general
powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine,
let us consider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in
particular.
"All we have to go upon are traditions
and superstitions. These do not at the first appear much, when the matter is
one of life and death, nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be
satisfied, in the first place because we have to be, no other means is at our
control, and secondly, because, after all these things, tradition and
superstition, are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for others,
though not, alas! for us, on them! A year ago which of us would have received
such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact
nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our
very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his limitations
and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is
known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome, he flourish in
Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the Chermosese, and in China, so
far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples for him at this day.
He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the
Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar.
"So far, then, we have all we may act
upon, and let me tell you that very much of the beliefs are justified by what
we have seen in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and cannot
die by mere passing of the time, he can flourish when that he can fatten on the
blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow
younger, that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they
refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty.
"But he cannot flourish without this
diet, he eat not as others. Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks,
did never see him eat, never! He throws no shadow, he make in the mirror no
reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand,
witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolves, and when he
help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather
from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog, he can be as bat,
as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly
from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss
Lucy.
"He can come in mist which he create,
that noble ship's captain proved him of this, but, from what we know, the
distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself.
"He come on moonlight rays as
elemental dust, as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula.
He become so small, we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip
through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his
way, come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close it be bound
or even fused up with fire, solder you call it. He can see in the dark, no
small power this, in a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but
hear me through.
"He can do all these things, yet he is
not free. Nay, he is even more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the
madman in his cell. He cannot go where he lists, he who is not of nature has
yet to obey some of nature's laws, why we know not. He may not enter anywhere
at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come,
though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does that of
all evil things, at the coming of the day.
"Only at certain times can he have
limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is bound, he can only
change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things we are told,
and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas he can do
as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home,his coffin-home, his
hellhome, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the
suicide at Whitby, still at other time he can only change when the time come.
It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood
of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no power,
as the garlic that we know of, and as for things sacred, as this symbol, my
crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them he is nothing,
but in their presence he take his place far off and silent with respect. There
are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest in our seeking we may need
them.
"The branch of wild rose on his coffin
keep him that he move not from it, a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill
him so that he be true dead, and as for the stake through him, we know already
of its peace, or the cut off head that giveth rest. We have seen it with our
eyes.
"Thus when we find the habitation of this
man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what
we know. But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth
University, to make his record, and from all the means that are, he tell me of
what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his
name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of
Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man, for in that time, and for
centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as
well as the bravest of the sons of the `land beyond the forest.' That mighty
brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now
arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race,
though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had
dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance,
amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth
scholar as his due. In the records are such words as `stregoica' witch, `ordog'
and `pokol' Satan and hell, and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken
of as `wampyr,'which we all understand too well. There have been from the loins
of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the
earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its
terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good, in soil barren of holy
memories it cannot rest."
Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was
looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the
room. There was a little pause, and then the Professor went on.
"And now we must settle what we do. We
have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from
the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of
earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax, we also know that at least some
of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be
to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we
look today, or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace
. . ."
Here we were interrupted in a very
startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol shot, the glass of
the window was shattered with a bullet, which ricochetting from the top of the
embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward,
for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their feet, Lord Godalming flew over
to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris' voice
without, "Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you
about it."
A minute later he came in and said,
"It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker,
most sincerely, I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is
that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the
window sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events
that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing
of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it
then, Art."
"Did you hit it?" asked Dr. Van
Helsing.
"I don't know, I fancy not, for it
flew away into the wood." Without saying any more he took his seat, and
the Professor began to resume his statement.
"We must trace each of these boxes,
and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair,
or we must, so to speak, sterilize the earth, so that no more he can seek
safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the
hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.
"And now for you, Madam Mina,this
night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such
risk. When we part tonight, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in
good time. We are men and are able to bear, but you must be our star and our
hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such
as we are."
All the men, even Jonathan, seemed
relieved, but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and,
perhaps lessen their safety, strength being the best safety, through care of
me, but their minds were made up, and though it was a bitter pill for me to
swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.
Mr. Morris resumed the discussion, "As
there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is
everything with him, and swift action on our part may save another
victim."
I own that my heart began to fail me when
the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a
greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they
might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to
Carfax, with means to get into the house.
Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and
sleep, as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger!I shall lie
down, and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he
returns.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
1 October, 4 a. m.—Just as we were about to
leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I
would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to
me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in the
morning, I was busy just at the moment.
The attendant added, "He seems very
importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don't know but what, if you
don't see him soon, he will have one of his violent fits." I knew the man
would not have said this without some cause, so I said, "All right, I'll
go now," and I asked the others to wait a few minutes for me, as I had to
go and see my patient.
"Take me with you, friend John,"
said the Professor."His case in your diary interest me much, and it had
bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to see him, and
especial when his mind is disturbed."
"May I come also?" asked Lord
Godalming.
"Me too?" said Quincey Morris.
"May I come?" said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage
together.
We found him in a state of considerable
excitement, but far more rational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen
him. There was an unusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I
had ever met with in a lunatic, and he took it for granted that his reasons
would prevail with others entirely sane. We all five went into the room, but
none of the others at first said anything. His request was that I would at once
release him from the asylum and send him home. This he backed up with arguments
regarding his complete recovery, and adduced his own existing sanity.
"I appeal to your friends,"he
said,"they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgement on my case. By the
way, you have not introduced me."
I was so much astonished, that the oddness
of introducing a madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment, and
besides, there was a certain dignity in the man's manner, so much of the habit
of equality, that I at once made the introduction, "Lord Godalming,
Professor Van Helsing, Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas, Mr. Jonathan Harker, Mr.
Renfield."
He shook hands with each of them, saying in
turn, "Lord Godalming, I had the honor of seconding your father at the
Windham, I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He
was a man loved and honored by all who knew him, and in his youth was, I have
heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronized on Derby night. Mr.
Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union
was a precedent which may have farreaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and
the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may
yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true
place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting
Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional
prefix. When an individual has revolutionized therapeutics by his discovery of
the continuous evolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting,
since they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by
nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to
hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as
sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their
liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist
as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be
considered as under exceptional circumstances."He made this last appeal
with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own charm.
I think we were all staggered. For my own
part, I was under the conviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character
and history, that his reason had been restored, and I felt under a strong
impulse to tell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about
the necessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought it better
to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of old I knew the
sudden changes to which this particular patient was liable. So I contented
myself with making a general statement that he appeared to be improving very
rapidly, that I would have a longer chat with him in the morning, and would
then see what I could do in the direction of meeting his wishes.
This did not at all satisfy him, for he
said quickly, "But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish.
I desire to go at once, here, now, this very hour, this very moment, if I may.
Time presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the
essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put before so
admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so momentous a wish, to
ensure its fulfilment."
He looked at me keenly, and seeing the
negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinized them closely. Not
meeting any sufficient response, he went on, "Is it possible that I have
erred in my supposition?"
"You have," I said frankly, but
at the same time, as I felt, brutally.
There was a considerable pause, and then he
said slowly, "Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let
me ask for this concession, boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to
implore in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. I
am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons, but you may, I assure
you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and unselfish, and spring
from the highest sense of duty.
"Could you look, sir, into my heart,
you would approve to the full the sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you
would count me amongst the best and truest of your friends."
Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a
growing conviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method
was but yet another phase of his madness, and so determined to let him go on a
little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like all lunatics, give
himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of utmost
intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of
his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time,
but only when I thought of it afterwards, for it was as of one addressing an
equal, "Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free
tonight? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me, a stranger, without
prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind, Dr. Seward will give
you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the privilege you
seek."
He shook his head sadly, and with a look of
poignant regret on his face. The Professor went on, "Come, sir, bethink
yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in the highest degree, since you
seek to impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity
we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from medical treatment
for this very defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the
wisest course, how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be
wise, and help us, and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish."
He still shook his head as he said,
"Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if
I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment, but I am not my own master
in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the
responsibility does not rest with me."
I thought it was now time to end the scene,
which was becoming too comically grave, so I went towards the door, simply
saying, "Come, my friends, we have work to do. Goodnight."
As, however, I got near the door, a new
change came over the patient. He moved towards me so quickly that for the
moment I feared that he was about to make another homicidal attack. My fears,
however, were groundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made
his petition in a moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of his emotion
was militating against him, by restoring us more to our old relations, he
became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, and saw my
conviction reflected in his eyes, so I became a little more fixed in my manner,
if not more stern, and motioned to him that his efforts were unavailing. I had
previously seen something of the same constantly growing excitement in him when
he had to make some request of which at the time he had thought much, such for
instance, as when he wanted a cat, and I was prepared to see the collapse into
the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion.
My expectation was not realized, for when
he found that his appeal would not be successful, he got into quite a frantic
condition. He threw himself on his knees, and held up his hands, wringing them
in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with the
tears rolling down his cheeks, and his whole face and form expressive of the
deepest emotion.
"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh,
let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you
will and where you will, send keepers with me with whips and chains, let them
take me in a strait waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to gaol, but let
me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am speaking
from the depths of my heart, of my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or
how, and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred, by
all you hold dear, by your love that is lost, by your hope that lives, for the
sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't
you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know
that I am sane and earnest now, that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane
man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! Hear me! Let me go, let me go, let me
go!"
I thought that the longer this went on the
wilder he would get, and so would bring on a fit, so I took him by the hand and
raised him up.
"Come," I said sternly, "no
more of this, we have had quite enough already. Get to your bed and try to
behave more discreetly."
He suddenly stopped and looked at me
intently for several moments. Then, without a word, he rose and moving over,
sat down on the side of the bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasions,
just as I had expected.
When I was leaving the room, last of our
party, he said to me in a quiet, well-bred voice, "You will, I trust, Dr.
Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to
convince you tonight."
Chapter 19
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 October, 5 a. m.—I went with the party to
the search with an easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong
and well. I am so glad that she consented to hold back and let us men do the
work. Somehow, it was a dread to me that she was in this fearful business at
all, but now that her work is done, and that it is due to her energy and brains
and foresight that the whole story is put together in such a way that every
point tells, she may well feel that her part is finished, and that she can
henceforth leave the rest to us. We were, I think, all a little upset by the
scene with Mr. Renfield. When we came away from his room we were silent till we
got back to the study.
Then Mr. Morris said to Dr. Seward,
"Say, Jack, if that man wasn't attempting a bluff, he is about the sanest
lunatic I ever saw. I'm not sure, but I believe that he had some serious
purpose, and if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to get a chance."
Lord Godalming and I were silent, but Dr.
Van Helsing added, "Friend John, you know more lunatics than I do, and I'm
glad of it, for I fear that if it had been to me to decide I would before that
last hysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and learn, and in our
present task we must take no chance, as my friend Quincey would say. All is
best as they are."
Dr. Seward seemed to answer them both in a
dreamy kind of way, "I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man
had been an ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him, but
he seems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I am afraid
of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't forget how he prayed with
almost equal fervor for a cat, and then tried to tear my throat out with his
teeth. Besides, he called the Count `lord and master', and he may want to get
out to help him in some diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and
the rats and his own kind to help him, so I suppose he isn't above trying to
use a respectable lunatic. He certainly did seem earnest, though. I only hope
we have done what is best. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we
have in hand, help to unnerve a man."
The Professor stepped over, and laying his
hand on his shoulder, said in his grave, kindly way, "Friend John, have no
fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case, we can only
do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good
God?"
Lord Godalming had slipped away for a few
minutes, but now he returned. He held up a little silver whistle, as he
remarked, "That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an
antidote on call."
Having passed the wall, we took our way to
the house, taking care to keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the
moonlight shone out. When we got to the porch the Professor opened his bag and
took out a lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into four
little groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke.
"My friends, we are going into a
terrible danger, and we need arms of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely
spiritual. Remember that he has the strength of twenty men, and that, though
our necks or our windpipes are of the common kind, and therefore breakable or
crushable, his are not amenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body of
men more strong in all than him, can at certain times hold him, but they cannot
hurt him as we can be hurt by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from his
touch. Keep this near your heart." As he spoke he lifted a little silver
crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him, "put these flowers
round your neck," here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic
blossoms, "for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife,
and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can fasten to your
breast, and for all, and above all at the last, this, which we must not
desecrate needless."
This was a portion of Sacred Wafer, which
he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the others was similarly
equipped.
"Now,"he said,"friend John,
where are the skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break
house by the window, as before at Miss Lucy's."
Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys,
his mechanical dexterity as a surgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he
got one to suit, after a little play back and forward the bolt yielded, and
with a rusty clang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the rusty hinges
creaked, and it slowly opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me
in Dr. Seward's diary of the opening of Miss Westenra's tomb, I fancy that the
same idea seemed to strike the others, for with one accord they shrank back.
The Professor was the first to move forward, and stepped into the open door.
"In manus tuas, Domine!"he said,
crossing himself as he passed over the threshold. We closed the door behind us,
lest when we should have lit our lamps we should possibly attract attention
from the road. The Professor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be
able to open it from within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we
all lit our lamps and proceeded on our search.
The light from the tiny lamps fell in all
sorts of odd forms, as the rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our
bodies threw great shadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling
that there was someone else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection, so
powerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terrible
experience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to us all, for I
noticed that the others kept looking over their shoulders at every sound and
every new shadow, just as I felt myself doing.
The whole place was thick with dust. The
floor was seemingly inches deep, except where there were recent footsteps, in
which on holding down my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust was
cracked. The walls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were
masses of spider's webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they looked like
old tattered rags as the weight had torn them partly down. On a table in the
hall was a great bunch of keys, with a timeyellowed label on each. They had
been used several times, for on the table were several similar rents in the
blanket of dust, similar to that exposed when the Professor lifted them.
He turned to me and said,"You know
this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know it at least more
than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?"
I had an idea of its direction, though on
my former visit I had not been able to get admission to it, so I led the way,
and after a few wrong turnings found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door,
ribbed with iron bands.
"This is the spot," said the
Professor as he turned his lamp on a small map of the house, copied from the
file of my original correspondence regarding the purchase. With a little
trouble we found the key on the bunch and opened the door. We were prepared for
some unpleasantness, for as we were opening the door a faint, malodorous air
seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of us ever expected such an odor as
we encountered. None of the others had met the Count at all at close quarters,
and when I had seen him he was either in the fasting stage of his existence in
his rooms or, when he was bloated with fresh blood, in a ruined building open
to the air, but here the place was small and close, and the long disuse had
made the air stagnant and foul. There was an earthy smell, as of some dry
miasma, which came through the fouler air. But as to the odor itself, how shall
I describe it? It was not alone that it was composed of all the ills of
mortality and with the pungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though
corruption had become itself corrupt. Faugh! It sickens me to think of it.
Every breath exhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to the place and
intensified its loathsomeness.
Under ordinary circumstances such a stench
would have brought our enterprise to an end, but this was no ordinary case, and
the high and terrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength
which rose above merely physical considerations. After the involuntary
shrinking consequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about our
work as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses.
We made an accurate examination of the
place, the Professor saying as we began, "The first thing is to see how
many of the boxes are left, we must then examine every hole and corner and
cranny and see if we cannot get some clue as to what has become of the
rest."
A glance was sufficient to show how many
remained, for the great earth chests were bulky, and there was no mistaking
them.
There were only twenty-nine left out of the
fifty! Once I got a fright, for, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look
out of the vaulted door into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an
instant my heart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the shadow, I seemed
to see the high lights of the Count's evil face, the ridge of the nose, the red
eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for, as Lord
Godalming said,"I thought I saw a face, but it was only the shadows,"
and resumed his inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction, and stepped into
the passage. There was no sign of anyone, and as there were no corners, no
doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solid walls of the passage, there
could be no hiding place even for him. I took it that fear had helped
imagination, and said nothing.
A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly
back from a corner, which he was examining. We all followed his movements with
our eyes, for undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a
whole mass of phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively
drew back. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.
For a moment or two we stood appalled, all
save Lord Godalming, who was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing
over to the great iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from
the outside, and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew
the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver whistle
from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered from behind Dr.
Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers
came dashing round the corner of the house. Unconsciously we had all moved
towards the door, and as we moved I noticed that the dust had been much
disturbed. The boxes which had been taken out had been brought this way. But
even in the minute that had elapsed the number of the rats had vastly
increased. They seemed to swarm over the place all at once, till the lamplight,
shining on their moving dark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the
place look like a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at
the threshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then,simultaneously lifting
their noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The rats were
multiplying in thousands, and we moved out.
Lord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and
carrying him in, placed him on the floor. The instant his feet touched the
ground he seemed to recover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies.
They fled before him so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a score,
the other dogs, who had by now been lifted in the same manner, had but small
prey ere the whole mass had vanished.
With their going it seemed as if some evil
presence had departed, for the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they
made sudden darts at their prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and
tossed them in the air with vicious shakes. We all seemed to find our spirits
rise. Whether it was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening of
the chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by finding ourselves in the
open I know not, but most certainly the shadow of dread seemed to slip from us
like a robe, and the occasion of our coming lost something of its grim
significance, though we did not slacken a whit in our resolution. We closed the
outer door and barred and locked it, and bringing the dogs with us, began our
search of the house. We found nothing throughout except dust in extraordinary
proportions, and all untouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first
visit. Never once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when
we returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had been rabbit
hunting in a summer wood.
The morning was quickening in the east when
we emerged from the front. Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall door
from the bunch, and locked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into
his pocket when he had done.
"So far," he said, "our
night has been eminently successful. No harm has come to us such as I feared
might be and yet we have ascertained how many boxes are missing. More than all
do I rejoice that this, our first, and perhaps our most difficult and
dangerous, step has been accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most
sweet Madam Mina or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and
sounds and smells of horror which she might never forget. One lesson, too, we
have learned, if it be allowable to argue a particulari, that the brute beasts
which are to the Count's command are yet themselves not amenable to his
spiritual power, for look, these rats that would come to his call, just as from
his castle top he summon the wolves to your going and to that poor mother's
cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell from the so little dogs of my
friend Arthur. We have other matters before us, other dangers, other fears, and
that monster . . . He has not used his power over the brute world for the only
or the last time tonight. So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has
given us opportunity to cry `check'in some ways in this chess game, which we
play for the stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at
hand, and we have reason to be content with our first night's work. It may be
ordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril, but we
must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink."
The house was silent when we got back, save
for some poor creature who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and
a low, moaning sound from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless
torturing himself, after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of
pain.
I came tiptoe into our own room, and found
Mina asleep, breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She
looks paler than usual. I hope the meeting tonight has not upset her. I am
truly thankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of our
deliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not think so
at first, but I know better now. Therefore I am glad that it is settled. There
may be things which would frighten her to hear, and yet to conceal them from
her might be worse than to tell her if once she suspected that there was any
concealment. Henceforth our work is to be a sealed book to her, till at least
such time as we can tell her that all is finished, and the earth free from a
monster of the nether world. I daresay it will be difficult to begin to keep
silence after such confidence as ours, but I must be resolute, and tomorrow I
shall keep dark over tonight's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything
that has happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.
1 October, later.—I suppose it was natural
that we should have all overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and
the night had no rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for
though I slept till the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call
two or three times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for a
few seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with a sort of blank
terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad dream. She complained a
little of being tired, and I let her rest till later in the day. We now know of
twenty-one boxes having been removed, and if it be that several were taken in
any of these removals we may be able to trace them all. Such will, of course,
immensely simplify our labor, and the sooner the matter is attended to the
better. I shall look up Thomas Snelling today.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
1 October.—It was towards noon when I was
awakened by the Professor walking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful
than usual, and it is quite evident that last night's work has helped to take
some of the brooding weight off his mind.
After going over the adventure of the night
he suddenly said, "Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you
I visit him this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it
may be. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk philosophy, and
reason so sound."
I had some work to do which pressed, so I
told him that if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have
to keep him waiting, so I called an attendant and gave him the necessary
instructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him against
getting any false impression from my patient.
"But," he answered, "I want
him to talk of himself and of his delusion as to consuming live things. He said
to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yesterday, that he had once had such a
belief. Why do you smile, friend John?"
"Excuse me," I said, "but
the answer is here." I laid my hand on the typewritten matter."When
our sane and learned lunatic made that very statement of how he used to consume
life, his mouth was actually nauseous with the flies and spiders which he had
eaten just before Mrs. Harker entered the room."
Van Helsing smiled in turn.
"Good!" he said. "Your memory is true, friend John. I should
have remembered. And yet it is this very obliquity of thought and memory which
makes mental disease such a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more
knowledge out of the folly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the
most wise. Who knows?"
I went on with my work, and before long was
through that in hand. It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but
there was Van Helsing back in the study.
"Do I interrupt?" he asked
politely as he stood at the door.
"Not at all,"I answered.
"Come in. My work is finished, and I am free. I can go with you now, if
you like."
"It is needless, I have seen
him!"
"Well?"
"I fear that he does not appraise me
at much. Our interview was short. When I entered his room he was sitting on a
stool in the center, with his elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture
of sullen discontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and with such a
measure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply whatever. 'Don't you
know me?' I asked. His answer was not reassuring. "I know you well enough,
you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself and your
idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!' Not a
word more would he say, but sat in his implacable sullenness as indifferent to
me as though I had not been in the room at all. Thus departed for this time my
chance of much learning from this so clever lunatic, so I shall go, if I may,
and cheer myself with a few happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend
John, it does rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to
be worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help, it is
better so."
"I agree with you with all my
heart," I answered earnestly, for I did not want him to weaken in this
matter. "Mrs. Harker is better out of it. Things are quite bad enough for
us, all men of the world, and who have been in many tight places in our time,
but it is no place for a woman, and if she had remained in touch with the
affair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked her."
So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs.
Harker and Harker, Quincey and Art are all out following up the clues as to the
earth boxes. I shall finish my round of work and we shall meet tonight.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 October.—It is strange to me to be kept
in the dark as I am today, after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years,
to see him manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all.
This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though Jonathan
was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went out, never more
sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word of what had happened in the
visit to the Count's house. And yet he must have known how terribly anxious I
was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed him even more than it
did me. They all agreed that it was best that I should not be drawn further
into this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything
from me! And now I am crying like a silly fool, when I know it comes from my
husband's great love and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men.
That has done me good. Well, some day
Jonathan will tell me all. And lest it should ever be that he should think for
a moment that I kept anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then
if he has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my
heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and low-spirited
today. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible excitement.
Last night I went to bed when the men had
gone, simply because they told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full
of devouring anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been ever since
Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible tragedy,
with fate pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one
does seems, no matter how right it me be, to bring on the very thing which is
most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would
be with us now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if
she hadn't come there in the day time with me she wouldn't have walked in her
sleep. And if she hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't
have destroyed her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now,
crying again! I wonder what has come over me today. I must hide it from
Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one morning . . . I,
who never cried on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear,
the dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I
do feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is just one of the lessons
that we poor women have to learn . . .
I can't quite remember how I fell asleep
last night. I remember hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of
queer sounds, like praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's
room, which is somewhere under this. And then there was silence over
everything, silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked
out of the window. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by the
moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a thing seemed to
be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or fate, so that a thin streak
of white mist,that crept with almost imperceptible slowness across the grass
towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a vitality of its own. I
think that the digression of my thoughts must have done me good, for when I got
back to bed I found a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but could not
quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window again. The mist was
spreading, and was now close up to the house, so that I could see it lying
thick against the wall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor
man was more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word he said,
I could in some way recognize in his tones some passionate entreaty on his
part. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants
were dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into bed, and pulled
the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in my ears. I was not then a bit
sleepy, at least so I thought, but I must have fallen asleep, for except
dreams, I do not remember anything until the morning, when Jonathan woke me. I
think that it took me an effort and a little time to realize where I was, and
that it was Jonathan who was bending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and
was almost typical of the way that waking thoughts become merged in, or
continued in, dreams.
I thought that I was asleep, and waiting
for Jonathan to come back. I was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to
act, my feet, and my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could
proceed at the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began
to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put back the
clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was dim around. The
gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a
tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured
into the room. Then it occurred to me that I had shut the window before I had
come to bed. I would have got out to make certain on the point, but some leaden
lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will. I lay still and endured,
that was all. I closed my eyes, but could still see through my eyelids. (It is
wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.)
The mist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came in, for I
could see it like smoke, or with the white energy of boiling water, pouring in,
not through the window, but through the joinings of the door. It got thicker
and thicker, till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a sort of pillar
of cloud in the room, through the top of which I could see the light of the gas
shining like a red eye. Things began to whirl through my brain just as the
cloudy column was now whirling in the room, and through it all came the
scriptural words "a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night." Was
it indeed such spiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? But the
pillar was composed of both the day and the night guiding, for the fire was in
the red eye, which at the thought gat a new fascination for me, till, as I
looked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two
red eyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on
the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's Church. Suddenly
the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan had seen those awful
women growing into reality through the whirling mist in the moonlight, and in
my dream I must have fainted, for all became black darkness. The last conscious
effort which imagination made was to show me a livid white face bending over me
out of the mist.
I must be careful of such dreams, for they
would unseat one's reason if there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing
or Dr. Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me sleep, only
that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would become woven
into their fears for me. Tonight I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I
do not, I shall tomorrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral, that
cannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night's sleep. Last night
tired me more than if I had not slept at all.
2 October 10 p. m.—Last night I slept, but
did not dream. I must have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan
coming to bed, but the sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly
weak and spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down
dozing. In the afternon, Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me.Poor man, he was
very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God bless me. Some
way it affected me much. I am crying when I think of him. This is a new
weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would be miserable if he knew I
had been crying. He and the others were out till dinner time, and they all came
in tired. I did what I could to brighten them up, and I suppose that the effort
did me good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed,
and all went off to smoke together, as they said, but I knew that they wanted
to tell each other of what had occurred to each during the day. I could see
from Jonathan's manner that he had something important to communicate. I was
not so sleepy as I should have been, so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to
give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night before.
He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to me, telling me
that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild . . . I have taken it, and am
waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope I have not done wrong, for
as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes, that I may have been
foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might want it. Here
comes sleep. Goodnight.
Chapter 20
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 October, evening.—I found Thomas Snelling
in his house at Bethnal Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to
remember anything. The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had
opened to him had proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected
debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor soul,
that he was only the assistant of Smollet, who of the two mates was the
responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. Joseph Smollet at
home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a saucer. He is a
decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable type of workman, and
with a headpiece of his own. He remembered all about the incident of the boxes,
and from a wonderful dog-eared notebook, which he produced from some mysterious
receptacle about the seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries
in thick, half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes.
There were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and left at
197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which he deposited at
Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly
refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the first of delivery,
so that later he might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which
this was done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two
sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east on the northern shore, on the
east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely
never meant to be left out of his diabolical scheme, let alone the City itself
and the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went back
to Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had been taken
from Carfax.
He replied, "Well guv'nor, you've
treated me very 'an'some", I had given him half a sovereign, "an I'll
tell yer all I know. I heard a man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in
the 'Are an' 'Ounds, in Pincher's Alley, as 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a rare
dusty job in a old 'ouse at Purfleet. There ain't a many such jobs as this
'ere, an' I'm thinkin' that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut."
I asked if he could tell me where to find
him. I told him that if he could get me the address it would be worth another
half sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest of his tea and stood up,
saying that he was going to begin the search then and there.
At the door he stopped, and said,
"Look 'ere, guv'nor, there ain't no sense in me a keepin' you 'ere. I may
find Sam soon, or I mayn't, but anyhow he ain't like to be in a way to tell ye
much tonight. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze. If you can give me
a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on it, I'll find out where
Sam is to be found and post it ye tonight. But ye'd better be up arter 'im soon
in the mornin', never mind the booze the night afore."
This was all practical, so one of the
children went off with a penny to buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to
keep the change. When she came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it,
and when Smollet had again faithfully promised to post the address when found,
I took my way to home. We're on the track anyhow. I am tired tonight, and I
want to sleep. Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale. Her eyes look
as though she had been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt it frets her to be kept
in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the others. But it
is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed and worried in such a way now
than to have her nerve broken. The doctors were quite right to insist on her
being kept out of this dreadful business. I must be firm, for on me this
particular burden of silence must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject
with her under any circumstances. Indeed, It may not be a hard task, after all,
for she herself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the
Count or his doings ever since we told her of our decision.
2 October, evening—A long and trying and
exciting day. By the first post I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap
of paper enclosed, on which was written with a carpenter's pencil in a
sprawling hand, "Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4 Poters Cort, Bartel Street,
Walworth. Arsk for the depite."
I got the letter in bed, and rose without
waking Mina. She looked heavy and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I
determined not to wake her, but that when I should return from this new search,
I would arrange for her going back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in
our own home, with her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst
us and in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where I
was off to, promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I should have
found out anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some difficulty,
Potter's Court. Mr. Smollet's spelling misled me, as I asked for Poter's Court
instead of Potter's Court. However, when I had found the court, I had no
difficulty in discovering Corcoran's lodging house.
When I asked the man who came to the door
for the "depite," he shook his head, and said, "I dunno 'im.
There ain't no such a person 'ere. I never 'eard of 'im in all my bloomin'
days. Don't believe there ain't nobody of that kind livin' 'ere or
anywheres."
I took out Smollet's letter, and as I read
it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the name of the court
might guide me. "What are you?" I asked.
"I'm the depity," he answered.
I saw at once that I was on the right
track. Phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half crown tip put the deputy's
knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who had slept off the
remains of his beer on the previous night at Corcoran's, had left for his work
at Poplar at five o'clock that morning. He could not tell me where the place of
work was situated, but he had a vague idea that it was some kind of a
"new-fangled ware'us," and with this slender clue I had to start for
Poplar. It was twelve o'clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a
building, and this I got at a coffee shop, where some workmen were having their
dinner. One of them suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel
Street a new "cold storage" building, and as this suited the
condition of a "new-fangled ware'us," I at once drove to it. An
interview with a surly gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were
appeased with the coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam. He was sent
for on my suggestion that I was willing to pay his days wages to his foreman
for the privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was a
smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had promised to
pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me that he had made
two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, and had taken from this
house to the latter nine great boxes, "main heavy ones," with a horse
and cart hired by him for this purpose.
I asked him if he could tell me the number
of the house in Piccadilly, to which he replied, "Well, guv'nor, I forgits
the number, but it was only a few door from a big white church, or somethink of
the kind, not long built. It was a dusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the
dustiness of the 'ouse we tooked the bloomin' boxes from."
"How did you get in if both houses
were empty?"
"There was the old party what engaged
me a waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put
them in the dray. Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an'
him a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he
couldn't throw a shadder."
How this phrase thrilled through me!
"Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes
like they was pounds of tea, and me a puffin' an' a blowin' afore I could upend
mine anyhow, an' I'm no chicken, neither."
"How did you get into the house in
Piccadilly?" I asked.
"He was there too. He must 'a started
off and got there afore me, for when I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the
door 'isself an' 'elped me carry the boxes into the 'all."
"The whole nine?" I asked.
"Yus, there was five in the first load
an' four in the second. It was main dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I
got 'ome."
I interrupted him, "Were the boxes
left in the hall?"
"Yus, it was a big 'all, an' there was
nothin' else in it."
I made one more attempt to further matters.
"You didn't have any key?"
"Never used no key nor nothink. The
old gent, he opened the door 'isself an' shut it again when I druv off. I don't
remember the last time, but that was the beer."
"And you can't remember the number of
the house?"
"No, sir. But ye needn't have no
difficulty about that. It's a 'igh 'un with a stone front with a bow on it, an'
'igh steps up to the door. I know them steps, 'avin' 'ad to carry the boxes up
with three loafers what come round to earn a copper. The old gent give them
shillin's, an' they seein' they got so much, they wanted more. But 'e took one
of them by the shoulder and was like to throw 'im down the steps, till the lot
of them went away cussin'."
I thought that with this description I
could find the house, so having paid my friend for his information, I started
off for Piccadilly. I had gained a new painful experience. The Count could, it
was evident, handle the earth boxes himself. If so, time was precious, for now
that he had achieved a certain amount of distribution, he could, by choosing
his own time, complete the task unobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged
my cab, and walked westward. Beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the
house described and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairs arranged
by Dracula. The house looked as though it had been long untenanted. The windows
were encrusted with dust, and the shutters were up. All the framework was black
with time, and from the iron the paint had mostly scaled away. It was evident
that up to lately there had been a large notice board in front of the balcony.
It had, however, been roughly torn away, the uprights which had supported it
still remaining. Behind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose
boards, whose raw edges looked white. I would have given a good deal to have
been able to see the notice board intact, as it would, perhaps, have given some
clue to the ownership of the house. I remembered my experience of the
investigation and purchase of Carfax, and I could not but feel that I could
find the former owner there might be some means discovered of gaining access to
the house.
There was at present nothing to be learned
from the Piccadilly side, and nothing could be done, so I went around to the
back to see if anything could be gathered from this quarter. The mews were
active, the Piccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of
the grooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me anything about
the empty house. One of them said that he heard it had lately been taken, but
he couldn't say from whom. He told me, however, that up to very lately there
had been a notice board of "For Sale" up, and that perhaps Mitchell,
Sons, & Candy the house agents could tell me something, as he thought he
remembered seeing the name of that firm on the board. I did not wish to seem too
eager, or to let my informant know or guess too much, so thanking him in the
usual manner,I strolled away. It was now growing dusk, and the autumn night was
closing in, so I did not lose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell,
Sons, & Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office
in Sackville Street.
The gentleman who saw me was particularly
suave in manner, but uncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me
that the Piccadilly house, which throughout our interview he called a "mansion,"
was sold, he considered my business as concluded. When I asked who had
purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and paused a few seconds
before replying, "It is sold, sir."
"Pardon me," I said, with equal
politeness, "but I have a special reason for wishing to know who purchased
it."
Again he paused longer, and raised his
eyebrows still more. "It is sold, sir," was again his laconic reply.
"Surely," I said, "you do
not mind letting me know so much."
"But I do mind," he answered.
"The affairs of their clients are absolutely safe in the hands of
Mitchell, Sons, & Candy."
This was manifestly a prig of the first
water, and there was no use arguing with him. I thought I had best meet him on
his own ground, so I said, "Your clients, sir, are happy in having so
resolute a guardian of their confidence. I am myself a professional man."
Here I handed him my card. "In this
instance I am not prompted by curiosity, I act on the part of Lord Godalming,
who wishes to know something of the property which was, he understood, lately
for sale."
These words put a different complexion on
affairs. He said, "I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and
especially would I like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small
matter of renting some chambers for him when he was the Honorable Arthur
Holmwood. If you will let me have his lordship's address I will consult the
House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate with his lordship by
tonight's post. It will be a pleasure if we can so far deviate from our rules
as to give the required information to his lordship."
I wanted to secure a friend, and not to
make an enemy, so I thanked him, gave the address at Dr. Seward's and came
away. It was now dark, and I was tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the
Aerated Bread Company and came down to Purfleet by the next train.
I found all the others at home. Mina was
looking tired and pale, but she made a gallant effort to be bright and
cheerful. It wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep anything from her
and so caused her inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her
looking on at our conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our
confidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of keeping
her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more reconciled, or else the very
subject seems to have become repugnant to her, for when any accidental allusion
is made she actually shudders. I am glad we made our resolution in time, as
with such a feeling as this,our growing knowledge would be torture to her.
I could not tell the others of the day's
discovery till we were alone, so after dinner, followed by a little music to
save appearances even amongst ourselves, I took Mina to her room and left her
to go to bed. The dear girl was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung
to me as though she would detain me, but there was much to be talked of and I
came away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made no difference
between us.
When I came down again I found the others
all gathered round the fire in the study. In the train I had written my diary
so far, and simply read it off to them as the best means of letting them get
abreast of my own information.
When I had finished Van Helsing said,
"This has been a great day's work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are on
the track of the missing boxes. If we find them all in that house, then our
work is near the end. But if there be some missing, we must search until we
find them. Then shall we make our final coup, and hunt the wretch to his real
death."
We all sat silent awhile and all at once
Mr. Morris spoke, "Say! How are we going to get into that house?"
"We got into the other,"answered
Lord Godalming quickly.
"But, Art, this is different. We broke
house at Carfax, but we had night and a walled park to protect us. It will be a
mighty different thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or
night. I confess I don't see how we are going to get in unless that agency duck
can find us a key of some sort."
Lord Godalming's brows contracted, and he
stood up and walked about the room. By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from
one to another of us, "Quincey's head is level. This burglary business is
getting serious. We got off once all right, but we have now a rare job on hand.
Unless we can find the Count's key basket."
As nothing could well be done before
morning, and as it would be at least advisable to wait till Lord Godalming
should hear from Mitchell's, we decided not to take any active step before
breakfast time. For a good while we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in
its various lights and bearings. I took the opportunity of bringing this diary
right up to the moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed . . .
Just a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her
breathing is regular. Her forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as
though she thinks even in her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look
so haggard as she did this morning. Tomorrow will, I hope, mend all this. She
will be herself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
1 October.—I am puzzled afresh about
Renfield. His moods change so rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of
them, and as they always mean something more than his own well-being, they form
a more than interesting study. This morning, when I went to see him after his
repulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding destiny. He
was, in fact, commanding destiny, subjectively. He did not really care for any
of the things of mere earth, he was in the clouds and looked down on all the
weaknesses and wants of us poor mortals.
I thought I would improve the occasion and
learn something, so I asked him, "What about the flies these times?"
He smiled on me in quite a superior sort of
way, such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio, as he answered me,
"The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature. It's wings are typical of
the aerial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did well when they
typified the soul as a butterfly!"
I thought I would push his analogy to its
utmost logically, so I said quickly, "Oh, it is a soul you are after now,
is it?"
His madness foiled his reason, and a
puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his head with a decision which I
had but seldom seen in him.
He said, "Oh, no, oh no! I want no
souls. Life is all I want." Here he brightened up. "I am pretty
indifferent about it at present. Life is all right. I have all I want. You must
get a new patient, doctor, if you wish to study zoophagy!"
This puzzled me a little, so I drew him on.
"Then you command life. You are a god, I suppose?"
He smiled with an ineffably benign
superiority. "Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the
attributes of the Deity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual
doings. If I may state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns things
purely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupied
spiritually!"
This was a poser to me. I could not at the
moment recall Enoch's appositeness, so I had to ask a simple question, though I
felt that by so doing I was lowering myself in the eyes of the lunatic.
"And why with Enoch?"
"Because he walked with God."
I could not see the analogy, but did not
like to admit it, so I harked back to what he had denied. "So you don't
care about life and you don't want souls. Why not?" I put my question
quickly and somewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him.
The effort succeeded, for an instant he
unconsciously relapsed into his old servile manner, bent low before me, and
actually fawned upon me as he replied. "I don't want any souls, indeed,
indeed! I don't. I couldn't use them if I had them. They would be no manner of
use to me. I couldn't eat them or . . ."
He suddenly stopped and the old cunning
look spread over his face, like a wind sweep on the surface of the water.
"And doctor, as to life, what is it
after all? When you've got all you require, and you know that you will never
want, that is all. I have friends, good friends, like you, Dr. Seward."This
was said with a leer of inexpressible cunning. "I know that I shall never
lack the means of life!"
I think that through the cloudiness of his
insanity he saw some antagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last
refuge of such as he, a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the
present it was useless to speak to him. He was sulky, and so I came away.
Later in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily
I would not have come without special reason, but just at present I am so
interested in him that I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to
have anything to help pass the time. Harker is out, following up clues, and so
are Lord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my study poring over the
record prepared by the Harkers. He seems to think that by accurate knowledge of
all details he will light up on some clue. He does not wish to be disturbed in
the work, without cause. I would have taken him with me to see the patient,
only I thought that after his last repulse he might not care to go again. There
was also another reason. Renfield might not speak so freely before a third
person as when he and I were alone.
I found him sitting in the middle of the
floor on his stool, a pose which is generally indicative of some mental energy
on his part. When I came in, he said at once, as though the question had been
waiting on his lips. "What about souls?"
It was evident then that my surmise had
been correct. Unconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with the
lunatic. I determined to have the matter out.
"What about them yourself?" I
asked.
He did not reply for a moment but looked
all around him, and up and down, as though he expected to find some inspiration
for an answer.
"I don't want any souls!" He said
in a feeble, apologetic way. The matter seemed preying on his mind, and so I
determined to use it, to "be cruel only to be kind." So I said,
"You like life, and you want life?"
"Oh yes! But that is all right. You
needn't worry about that!"
"But," I asked,"how are we
to get the life without getting the soul also?"
This seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it
up, "A nice time you'll have some time when you're flying out here, with
the souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzing and
twittering and moaning all around you. You've got their lives, you know, and
you must put up with their souls!"
Something seemed to affect his imagination,
for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes, screwing them up tightly
just as a small boy does when his face is being soaped. There was something
pathetic in it that touched me. It also gave me a lesson, for it seemed that
before me was a child, only a child, though the features were worn, and the
stubble on the jaws was white. It was evident that he was undergoing some
process of mental disturbance, and knowing how his past moods had interpreted
things seemingly foreign to himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as
well as I could and go with him
The first step was to restore confidence,
so I asked him, speaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his
closed ears,"Would you like some sugar to get your flies around
again?"
He seemed to wake up all at once, and shook
his head. With a laugh he replied, "Not much! Flies are poor things, after
all!" After a pause he added, "But I don't want their souls buzzing
round me, all the same."
"Or spiders?" I went on.
"Blow spiders! What's the use of
spiders? There isn't anything in them to eat or . . ." He stopped suddenly
as though reminded of a forbidden topic.
"So, so!" I thought to myself,
"this is the second time he has suddenly stopped at the word `drink'. What
does it mean?"
Renfield seemed himself aware of having
made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distract my attention from it,
"I don't take any stock at all in such matters. `Rats and mice and such
small deer,' as Shakespeare has it, `chicken feed of the larder' they might be
called. I'm past all that sort of nonsense. You might as well ask a man to eat
molecules with a pair of chopsticks, as to try to interest me about the less
carnivora, when I know of what is before me."
"I see," I said."You want
big things that you can make your teeth meet in? How would you like to
breakfast on an elephant?"
"What ridiculous nonsense you are
talking?" He was getting too wide awake, so I thought I would press him
hard.
"I wonder," I said reflectively,
"what an elephant's soul is like!"
The effect I desired was obtained, for he
at once fell from his high-horse and became a child again.
"I don't want an elephant's soul, or
any soul at all!" he said. For a few moments he sat despondently. Suddenly
he jumped to his feet, with his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense
cerebral excitement. "To hell with you and your souls!" he shouted.
"Why do you plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and
pain, to distract me already, without thinking of souls?"
He looked so hostile that I thought he was
in for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle.
The instant, however, that I did so he
became calm, and said apologetically, "Forgive me, Doctor. I forgot
myself. You do not need any help. I am so worried in my mind that I am apt to
be irritable. If you only knew the problem I have to face, and that I am
working out, you would pity, and tolerate, and pardon me. Pray do not put me in
a strait waistcoat. I want to think and I cannot think freely when my body is
confined. I am sure you will understand!"
He had evidently self-control, so when the
attendants came I told them not to mind, and they withdrew. Renfield watched
them go. When the door was closed he said with considerable dignity and
sweetness, "Dr. Seward, you have been very considerate towards me. Believe
me that I am very, very grateful to you!"
I thought it well to leave him in this
mood, and so I came away. There is certainly something to ponder over in this
man's state. Several points seem to make what the American interviewer calls
"a story," if one could only get them in proper order. Here they are:
Will not mention "drinking."
Fears the thought of being burdened with
the "soul" of anything.
Has no dread of wanting "life" in
the future.
Despises the meaner forms of life
altogether, though he dreads being haunted by their souls.
Logically all these things point one way!
He has assurance of some kind that he will acquire some higher life.
He dreads the consequence, the burden of a
soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!
And the assurance . . . ?
Merciful God! The Count has been to him,
and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!
Later.—I went after my round to Van Helsing
and told him my suspicion. He grew very grave, and after thinking the matter
over for a while asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came to the
door we heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used to do in the time
which now seems so long ago.
When we entered we saw with amazement that
he had spread out his sugar as of old. The flies, lethargic with the autumn,
were beginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make him talk of the subject
of our previous conversation, but he would not attend. He went on with his
singing, just as though we had not been present. He had got a scrap of paper
and was folding it into a notebook. We had to come away as ignorant as we went
in.
His is a curious case indeed. We must watch
him tonight.
LETTER, MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY TO LORD
GODALMING.
"1 October. "My Lord,
"We are at all times only too happy to
meet your wishes. We beg, with regard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed
by Mr. Harker on your behalf, to supply the following information concerning
the sale and purchase of No.347,Piccadilly. The original vendors are the
executors of the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreign
nobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase himself paying the purchase
money in notes `over the counter,' if your Lordship will pardon us using so
vulgar an expression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of him.
"We are, my Lord,
"Your Lordship's humble servants,
"MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
2 October.—I placed a man in the corridor
last night, and told him to make an accurate note of any sound he might hear
from Renfield's room, and gave him instructions that if there should be
anything strange he was to call me. After dinner, when we had all gathered
round the fire in the study, Mrs. Harker having gone to bed, we discussed the
attempts and discoveries of the day. Harker was the only one who had any
result, and we are in great hopes that his clue may be an important one.
Before going to bed I went round to the
patient's room and looked in through the observation trap. He was sleeping
soundly, his heart rose and fell with regular respiration.
This morning the man on duty reported to me
that a little after midnight he was restless and kept saying his prayers
somewhat loudly. I asked him if that was all. He replied that it was all he
heard. There was something about his manner, so suspicious that I asked him
point blank if he had been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted to having "dozed"
for a while. It is too bad that men cannot be trusted unless they are watched.
Today Harker is out following up his clue,
and Art and Quincey are looking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be
well to have horses always in readiness, for when we get the information which
we seek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilize all the imported earth
between sunrise and sunset. We shall thus catch the Count at his weakest, and
without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to the British Museum looking up
some authorities on ancient medicine. The old physicians took account of things
which their followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching for witch
and demon cures which may be useful to us later.
I sometimes think we must be all mad and
that we shall wake to sanity in strait waistcoats.
Later.—We have met again. We seem at last
to be on the track, and our work of tomorrow may be the beginning of the end. I
wonder if Renfield's quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have so
followed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of the monster
may be carried to him some subtle way. If we could only get some hint as to
what passed in his mind, between the time of my argument with him today and his
resumption of fly-catching, it might afford us a valuable clue. He is now
seemingly quiet for a spell . . . Is he? That wild yell seemed to come from his
room . . .
The attendant came bursting into my room
and told me that Renfield had somehow met with some accident. He had heard him
yell, and when he went to him found him lying on his face on the floor, all
covered with blood. I must go at once . . .
Chapter 21
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
3 October.—Let me put down with exactness
all that happened, as well as I can remember, since last I made an entry. Not a
detail that I can recall must be forgotten. In all calmness I must proceed.
When I came to Renfield's room I found him
lying on the floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went
to move him, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible
injuries. There seemed none of the unity of purpose between the parts of the
body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see
that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the floor.
Indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood originated.
The attendant who was kneeling beside the
body said to me as we turned him over, "I think, sir, his back is broken.
See, both his right arm and leg and the whole side of his face are
paralysed." How such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant
beyond measure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as
he said, "I can't understand the two things. He could mark his face like
that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at
the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he
might have broken his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward kink.
But for the life of me I can't imagine how the two things occurred. If his back
was broke, he couldn't beat his head, and if his face was like that before the
fall out of bed, there would be marks of it."
I said to him, "Go to Dr. Van Helsing,
and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want him without an instant's
delay."
The man ran off, and within a few minutes
the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When he saw
Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and then turned to
me. I think he recognized my thought in my eyes, for he said very quietly,
manifestly for the ears of the attendant, "Ah, a sad accident! He will
need very careful watching, and much attention. I shall stay with you myself,
but I shall first dress myself. If you will remain I shall in a few minutes
join you."
The patient was now breathing stertorously
and it was easy to see that he had suffered some terrible injury.
Van Helsing returned with extraordinary
celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and
had his mind made up, for almost before he looked at the patient, he whispered
to me, "Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes
conscious, after the operation."
I said, "I think that will do now,
Simmons. We have done all that we can at present. You had better go your round,
and Dr. Van Helsing will operate. Let me know instantly if there be anything
unusual anywhere."
The man withdrew, and we went into a strict
examination of the patient. The wounds of the face were superficial. The real injury
was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor
area.
The Professor thought a moment and
said,"We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as
far as can be. The rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his
injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will
increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late."
As he was speaking there was a soft tapping
at the door. I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without,
Arthur and Quincey in pajamas and slippers, the former spoke, "I heard
your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. So I woke Quincey
or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things are moving too quickly
and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us these times. I've been thinking
that tomorrow night will not see things as they have been. We'll have to look
back, and forward a little more than we have done. May we come in?"
I nodded, and held the door open till they
had entered, then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of
the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly, "My
God! What has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!"
I told him briefly, and added that we
expected he would recover consciousness after the operation, for a short time,
at all events. He went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with
Godalming beside him. We all watched in patience.
"We shall wait," said Van
Helsing, "just long enough to fix the best spot for trephining, so that we
may most quickly and perfectly remove the blood clot, for it is evident that
the haemorrhage is increasing."
The minutes during which we waited passed
with fearful slowness. I had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van
Helsing's face I gathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was
to come. I dreaded the words Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to
think. But the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men
who have heard the death watch. The poor man's breathing came in uncertain
gasps.Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes and speak, but
then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a
more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense
grew and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own heart, and the
blood surging through my temples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence
finally became agonizing. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw
from their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal torture.
There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread bell
would peal out powerfully when we should least expect it.
At last there came a time when it was
evident that the patient was sinking fast. He might die at any moment. I looked
up at the Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set
as he spoke, "There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives.
I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake!
We shall operate just above the ear."
Without another word he made the operation.
For a few moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a
breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest.
Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was
continued for a few moments, then it was softened into a glad surprise, and
from his lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, and as he did so,
said, "I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait waistcoat.
I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot move.
What's wrong with my face? It feels all swollen, and it smarts
dreadfully."
He tried to turn his head, but even with
the effort his eyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then
Van Helsing said in a quiet grave tone, "Tell us your dream, Mr.
Renfield."
As he heard the voice his face brightened,
through its mutilation, and he said, "That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it
is of you to be here. Give me some water, my lips are dry, and I shall try to
tell you. I dreamed" . . .
He stopped and seemed fainting. I called
quietly to Quincey, "The brandy, it is in my study, quick!" He flew
and returned with a glass, the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We
moistened the parched lips, and the patient quickly revived.
It seemed, however, that his poor injured
brain had been working in the interval, for when he was quite conscious, he
looked at me piercingly with an agonized confusion which I shall never forget,
and said, "I must not deceive myself. It was no dream, but all a grim
reality." Then his eyes roved round the room. As they caught sight of the
two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on, "If I
were not sure already, I would know from them."
For an instant his eyes closed, not with
pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to
bear. When he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with more energy than he had
yet displayed, "Quick, Doctor, quick, I am dying! I feel that I have but a
few minutes, and then I must go back to death, or worse! Wet my lips with
brandy again. I have something that I must say before I die. Or before my poor
crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left me, when
I implored you to let me go away. I couldn't speak then, for I felt my tongue
was tied. But I was as sane then, except in that way, as I am now. I was in an
agony of despair for a long time after you left me, it seemed hours. Then there
came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed to become cool again, and I realized
where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!"
As he spoke, Van Helsing's eyes never
blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not,
however, betray himself. He nodded slightly and said, "Go on," in a
low voice.
Renfield proceeded. "He came up to the
window in the mist, as I had seen him often before, but he was solid then, not
a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man's when angry. He was laughing with
his red mouth, the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to
look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't
ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to, just as he had wanted
all along. Then he began promising me things, not in words but by doing
them."
He was interrupted by a word from the
Professor, "How?"
"By making them happen. Just as he
used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with
steel and sapphire on their wings. And big moths, in the night, with skull and
cross-bones on their backs."
Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered
to me unconsciously, "The Acherontia Atropos of the Sphinges, what you
call the `Death's-head Moth'?"
The patient went on without stopping,
"Then he began to whisper.`Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions
of them, and every one a life. And dogs to eat them, and cats too. All lives!
All red blood, with years of life in it, and not merely buzzing flies!' I
laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs howled,
away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beckoned me to the window. I got up
and looked out, and He raised his hands,and seemed to call out without using
any words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a
flame of fire. And then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could
see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red, like His
only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped, and I thought he
seemed to be saying, `All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more and
greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship me!' And
then a red cloud, like the color of blood, seemed to close over my eyes, and
before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to
Him, `Come in, Lord and Master!' The rats were all gone, but He slid into the
room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide, just as the Moon
herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in
all her size and splendor."
His voice was weaker, so I moistened his
lips with the brandy again, and he continued, but it seemed as though his
memory had gone on working in the interval for his story was further advanced.
I was about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me,
"Let him go on. Do not interrupt him. He cannot go back, and maybe could
not proceed at all if once he lost the thread of his thought."
He proceeded, "All day I waited to
hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not even a blowfly, and when
the moon got up I was pretty angry with him. When he did slide in through the
window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with him. He
sneered at me, and his white face looked out of the mist with his red eyes
gleaming, and he went on as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one.
He didn't even smell the same as he went by me. I couldn't hold him. I thought
that, somehow, Mrs. Harker had come into the room."
The two men sitting on the bed stood up and
came over, standing behind him so that he could not see them, but where they could
hear better. They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered. His
face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without
noticing, "When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn't
the same. It was like tea after the teapot has been watered." Here we all
moved, but no one said a word.
He went on, "I didn't know that she
was here till she spoke, and she didn't look the same. I don't care for the
pale people. I like them with lots of blood in them, and hers all seemed to
have run out. I didn't think of it at the time, but when she went away I began
to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of
her." I could feel that the rest quivered, as I did. But we remained
otherwise still. "So when He came tonight I was ready for Him. I saw the
mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have
unnatural strength. And as I knew I was a madman, at times anyhow, I resolved
to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to
struggle with me. I held tight, and I thought I was going to win, for I didn't
mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into
me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried
to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud
before me, and a noise like thunder,and the mist seemed to steal away under the
door."
His voice was becoming fainter and his
breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.
"We know the worst now," he said.
"He is here, and we know his purpose. It may not be too late. Let us be
armed, the same as we were the other night, but lose no time, there is not an
instant to spare."
There was no need to put our fear, nay our
conviction, into words, we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from
our rooms the same things that we had when we entered the Count's house. The
Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor he pointed to them
significantly as he said, "They never leave me, and they shall not till
this unhappy business is over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy
that we deal with Alas! Alas! That dear Madam Mina should suffer!" He
stopped, his voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror
predominated in my own heart.
Outside the Harkers' door we paused. Art
and Quincey held back, and the latter said, "Should we disturb her?"
"We must," said Van Helsing
grimly. "If the door be locked, I shall break it in."
"May it not frighten her terribly? It
is unusual to break into a lady's room!"
Van Helsing said solemnly, "You are
always right. But this is life and death. All chambers are alike to the doctor.
And even were they not they are all as one to me tonight. Friend John, when I
turn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and
shove. And you too, my friends. Now!"
He turned the handle as he spoke, but the
door did not yield. We threw ourselves against it. With a crash it burst open,
and we almost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and
I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw
appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, and my
heart seemed to stand still.
The moonlight was so bright that through
the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the
window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in
a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the
white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in
black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognized
the Count, in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand
he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full
tension. His right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face
down on his bosom. Her white night-dress was smeared with blood, and a thin
stream trickled down the man's bare chest which was shown by his torn-open
dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a
kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the
room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described
seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion. The great
nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge, and
the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood dripping mouth,
clamped together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his
victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang
at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding
towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly
stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further
and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The
moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky. And
when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint
vapor. This, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from
its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I
moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it
had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me
now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay
in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor
which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin.
From her throat trickled a thin stream of blood. Her eyes were mad with terror.
Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their
whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and from behind them came
a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick
expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the
coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an
instant despairingly, ran out of the room.
Van Helsing whispered to me, "Jonathan
is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with
poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers herself. I must wake
him!"
He dipped the end of a towel in cold water
and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while holding her
face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was heart breaking to hear. I
raised the blind, and looked out of the window. There was much moonshine, and
as I looked I could see Quincey Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in
the shadow of a great yew tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this.
But at the instant I heard Harker's quick exclamation as he woke to partial
consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well be, was
a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and then full
consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he started up.
His wife was aroused by the quick movement,
and turned to him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him.
Instantly, however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together,
held her hands before her face,and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook.
"In God's name what does this
mean?" Harker cried out. "Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it?
What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear what is it? What does that blood
mean? My God, my God! Has it come to this!" And, raising himself to his
knees, he beat his hands wildly together."Good God help us! Help her! Oh,
help her!"
With a quick movement he jumped from bed,
and began to pull on his clothes, all the man in him awake at the need for
instant exertion. "What has happened? Tell me all about it!" he cried
without pausing. "Dr. Van Helsing you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something
to save her. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for
him!"
His wife, through her terror and horror and
distress, saw some sure danger to him. Instantly forgetting her own grief, she
seized hold of him and cried out.
"No! No! Jonathan, you must not leave
me. I have suffered enough tonight, God knows, without the dread of his harming
you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over
you!" Her expression became frantic as she spoke. And, he yielding to her,
she pulled him down sitting on the bedside, and clung to him fiercely.
Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both.
The Professor held up his golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness,
"Do not fear, my dear. We are here, and whilst this is close to you no
foul thing can approach. You are safe for tonight, and we must be calm and take
counsel together."
She shuddered and was silent, holding down
her head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his white nightrobe was
stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in
the neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low
wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs.
"Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or
kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst
enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear."
To this he spoke out resolutely,
"Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear
it of you. And I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts,
and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or
will of mine anything ever come between us!"
He put out his arms and folded her to his
breast. And for a while she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed
head, with eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nostrils. His mouth was
set as steel.
After a while her sobs became less frequent
and more faint, and then he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which
I felt tried his nervous power to the utmost.
"And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all
about it. Too well I know the broad fact. Tell me all that has been."
I told him exactly what had happened and he
listened with seeming impassiveness, but his nostrils twitched and his eyes
blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that
terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast.
It interested me, even at that moment, to see that whilst the face of white set
passion worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and
lovingly stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and
Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van
Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take
advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy
husband and wife from each other and from themselves. So on nodding acquiescence
to him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming
answered.
"I could not see him anywhere in the
passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been
there, he had gone. He had, however . . ." He stopped suddenly, looking at
the poor drooping figure on the bed.
Van Helsing said gravely, "Go on,
friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing
all. Tell freely!"
So Art went on, "He had been there,
and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the
place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering
amongst the white ashes. The cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on
the fire, and the wax had helped the flames."
Here I interrupted. "Thank God there
is the other copy in the safe!"
His face lit for a moment, but fell again
as he went on. "I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I
looked into Renfield's room, but there was no trace there except . . ." Again
he paused.
"Go on," said Harker hoarsely. So
he bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added, "except
that the poor fellow is dead."
Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from
one to the other of us she said solemnly, "God's will be done!"
I could not but feel that Art was keeping
back something. But, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing.
Van Helsing turned to Morris and
asked,"And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?"
"A little," he answered. "It
may be much eventually, but at present I can't say. I thought it well to know
if possible where the Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him,
but I saw a bat rise from Renfield's window, and flap westward. I expected to
see him in some shape go back to Carfax, but he evidently sought some other
lair. He will not be back tonight, for the sky is reddening in the east, and
the dawn is close. We must work tomorrow!"
He said the latter words through his shut
teeth. For a space of perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I
could fancy that I could hear the sound of our hearts beating.
Then Van Helsing said, placing his hand
tenderly on Mrs. Harker's head, "And now, Madam Mina, poor dear, dear,
Madam Mina, tell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not want that
you be pained, but it is need that we know all. For now more than ever has all
work to be done quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us
that must end all, if it may be so, and now is the chance that we may live and
learn."
The poor dear lady shivered, and I could
see the tension of her nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent
her head lower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly,
and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and after stooping and
kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that of her
husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly. After a pause in
which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she began.
"I took the sleeping draught which you
had so kindly given me, but for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become
more wakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind.
All of them connected with death, and vampires, with blood, and pain, and
trouble." Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said
lovingly, "Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me
through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me to tell
of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I need your help.
Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work with my will, if it was
to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to sleep. Sure enough sleep must
soon have come to me, for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not waked
me, for he lay by my side when next I remember. There was in the room the same
thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you know of
this. You will find it in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the
same vague terror which had come to me before and the same sense of some
presence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it
seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried,
but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around
terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me. Beside the bed, as if he had
stepped out of the mist, or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure,
for it had entirely disappeared, stood a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew
him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face, the high
aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line, the parted red
lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between, and the red eyes that I had
seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Witby. I
knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an
instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was
paralyzed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing
as he spoke to Jonathan.
"`Silence! If you make a sound I shall
take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was
too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand
upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying
as he did so, `First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as
well be quiet. It is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have
appeased my thirst!' I was bewildered, and strangely enough, I did not want to
hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his
touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his reeking
lips upon my throat!" Her husband groaned again. She clasped his hand
harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if he were the injured one, and went
on.
"I felt my strength fading away, and I
was in a half swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not, but it
seemed that a long time must have passed before he took his foul, awful,
sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!"The remembrance
seemed for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down
but for her husband's sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself
and went on.
"Then he spoke to me mockingly, `And
so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help
these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my design! You know now, and they know
in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my
path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they
played wits against me, against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for
them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born, I was
countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my
flesh, blood of my blood, kin of my kin, my bountiful wine-press for a while,
and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn,
for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be
punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me. Now you shall
come to my call. When my brain says "Come!" to you, you shall cross
land or sea to do my bidding. And to that end this!'
With that he pulled open his shirt, and
with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to
spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the
other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either
suffocate or swallow some to the . . . Oh, my God! My God! What have I done?
What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness
and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse
than mortal peril. And in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!" Then she
began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.
As she was telling her terrible story, the
eastern sky began to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker
was still and quiet. But over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a
grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first
red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the
whitening hair.
We have arranged that one of us is to stay
within call of the unhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about
taking action.
Of this I am sure. The sun rises today on
no more miserable house in all the great round of its daily course.
Chapter 22
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
3 October.—As I must do something or go
mad, I write this diary. It is now six o'clock, and we are to meet in the study
in half an hour and take something to eat, for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward
are agreed that if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best will be, God
knows, required today. I must keep writing at every chance, for I dare not stop
to think. All, big and little, must go down. Perhaps at the end the little
things may teach us most. The teaching, big or little, could not have landed
Mina or me anywhere worse than we are today. However, we must trust and hope.
Poor Mina told me just now, with the tears running down her dear cheeks, that
it is in trouble and trial that our faith is tested. That we must keep on
trusting, and that God will aid us up to the end. The end! Oh my God! What end?
. . . To work! To work!
When Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had
come back from seeing poor Renfield, we went gravely into what was to be done.
First, Dr. Seward told us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the
room below they had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. His face
was all bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the neck were broken.
Dr. Seward asked the attendant who was on
duty in the passage if he had heard anything. He said that he had been sitting
down, he confessed to half dozing, when he heard loud voices in the room, and
then Renfield had called out loudly several times, "God! God! God!"
After that there was a sound of falling, and when he entered the room he found
him lying on the floor, face down, just as the doctors had seen him. Van
Helsing asked if he had heard "voices" or "a voice," and he
said he could not say. That at first it had seemed to him as if there were two,
but as there was no one in the room it could have been only one. He could swear
to it, if required, that the word "God" was spoken by the patient.
Dr. Seward said to us, when we were alone,
that he did not wish to go into the matter. The question of an inquest had to
be considered, and it would never do to put forward the truth, as no one would
believe it. As it was, he thought that on the attendant's evidence he could
give a certificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In case the
coroner should demand it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarily to the
same result.
When the question began to be discussed as
to what should be our next step, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should
be in full confidence. That nothing of any sort, no matter how painful, should
be kept from her. She herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitiful to
see her so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth of despair.
"There must be no concealment,"
she said. "Alas! We have had too much already. And besides there is
nothing in all the world that can give me more pain than I have already
endured, than I suffer now! Whatever may happen, it must be of new hope or of
new courage to me!"
Van Helsing was looking at her fixedly as
she spoke, and said, suddenly but quietly, "But dear Madam Mina, are you
not afraid. Not for yourself, but for others from yourself, after what has
happened?"
Her face grew set in its lines, but her
eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as she answered, "Ah no! For my
mind is made up!"
"To what?" he asked gently,
whilst we were all very still, for each in our own way we had a sort of vague
idea of what she meant.
Her answer came with direct simplicity, as
though she was simply stating a fact, "Because if I find in myself, and I
shall watch keenly for it, a sign of harm to any that I love, I shall
die!"
"You would not kill yourself?" he
asked, hoarsely.
"I would. If there were no friend who
loved me, who would save me such a pain, and so desperate an effort!" She
looked at him meaningly as she spoke.
He was sitting down, but now he rose and
came close to her and put his hand on her head as he said solemnly. "My
child, there is such an one if it were for your good. For myself I could hold
it in my account with God to find such an euthanasia for you, even at this
moment if it were best. Nay, were it safe! But my child . . ."
For a moment he seemed choked, and a great
sob rose in his throat. He gulped it down and went on, "There are here
some who would stand between you and death. You must not die. You must not die
by any hand, but least of all your own. Until the other, who has fouled your
sweet life, is true dead you must not die. For if he is still with the quick
Undead, your death would make you even as he is. No, you must live! You must
struggle and strive to live, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You
must fight Death himself, though he come to you in pain or in joy. By the day,
or the night, in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge you that you
do not die. Nay, nor think of death, till this great evil be past."
The poor dear grew white as death, and
shook and shivered, as I have seen a quicksand shake and shiver at the incoming
of the tide. We were all silent. We could do nothing. At length she grew more
calm and turning to him said sweetly, but oh so sorrowfully, as she held out
her hand, "I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will let me live, I
shall strive to do so. Till, if it may be in His good time, this horror may
have passed away from me."
She was so good and brave that we all felt
that our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for her, and we began to
discuss what we were to do. I told her that she was to have all the papers in
the safe, and all the papers or diaries and phonographs we might hereafter use,
and was to keep the record as she had done before. She was pleased with the
prospect of anything to do, if "pleased" could be used in connection
with so grim an interest.
As usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of
everyone else, and was prepared with an exact ordering of our work.
"It is perhaps well," he said,
"that at our meeting after our visit to Carfax we decided not to do
anything with the earth boxes that lay there. Had we done so, the Count must
have guessed our purpose, and would doubtless have taken measures in advance to
frustrate such an effort with regard to the others. But now he does not know
our intentions. Nay, more, in all probability, he does not know that such a
power exists to us as can sterilize his lairs, so that he cannot use them as of
old.
"We are now so much further advanced
in our knowledge as to their disposition that, when we have examined the house
in Piccadilly, we may track the very last of them. Today then, is ours, and in
it rests our hope. The sun that rose on our sorrow this morning guards us in
its course. Until it sets tonight, that monster must retain whatever form he
now has. He is confined within the limitations of his earthly envelope. He
cannot melt into thin air nor disappear through cracks or chinks or crannies.
If he go through a doorway, he must open the door like a mortal. And so we have
this day to hunt out all his lairs and sterilize them. So we shall, if we have
not yet catch him and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where the
catching and the destroying shall be, in time, sure."
Here I started up for I could not contain
myself at the thought that the minutes and seconds so preciously laden with
Mina's life and happiness were flying from us, since whilst we talked action
was impossible. But Van Helsing held up his hand warningly.
"Nay, friend Jonathan," he said,
"in this, the quickest way home is the longest way, so your proverb say.
We shall all act and act with desperate quick, when the time has come. But
think, in all probable the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly.
The Count may have many houses which he has bought. Of them he will have deeds
of purchase, keys and other things. He will have paper that he write on. He
will have his book of cheques. There are many belongings that he must have
somewhere. Why not in this place so central, so quiet, where he come and go by
the front or the back at all hours, when in the very vast of the traffic there is
none to notice. We shall go there and search that house. And when we learn what
it holds, then we do what our friend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt `stop
the earths' and so we run down our old fox, so? Is it not?"
"Then let us come at once," I cried,
"we are wasting the precious, precious time!"
The Professor did not move, but simply
said, "And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly?"
"Any way!" I cried. "We
shall break in if need be."
"And your police? Where will they be,
and what will they say?"
I was staggered, but I knew that if he
wished to delay he had a good reason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could,
"Don't wait more than need be. You know, I am sure, what torture I am
in."
"Ah, my child, that I do. And indeed
there is no wish of me to add to your anguish. But just think, what can we do,
until all the world be at movement. Then will come our time. I have thought and
thought, and it seems to me that the simplest way is the best of all. Now we
wish to get into the house, but we have no key. Is it not so?"I nodded.
"Now suppose that you were, in truth,
the owner of that house, and could not still get in. And think there was to you
no conscience of the housebreaker, what would you do?"
"I should get a respectable locksmith,
and set him to work to pick the lock for me."
"And your police, they would
interfere, would they not?"
"Oh no! Not if they knew the man was
properly employed."
"Then," he looked at me as keenly
as he spoke, "all that is in doubt is the conscience of the employer, and
the belief of your policemen as to whether or not that employer has a good
conscience or a bad one. Your police must indeed be zealous men and clever, oh
so clever, in reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter.
No, no, my friend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty houses in
this your London, or of any city in the world, and if you do it as such things
are rightly done, and at the time such things are rightly done, no one will
interfere. I have read of a gentleman who owned a so fine house in London, and
when he went for months of summer to Switzerland and lock up his house, some
burglar come and broke window at back and got in. Then he went and made open
the shutters in front and walk out and in through the door, before the very
eyes of the police. Then he have an auction in that house, and advertise it,
and put up big notice. And when the day come he sell off by a great auctioneer
all the goods of that other man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he sell
him that house, making an agreement that he pull it down and take all away
within a certain time. And your police and other authority help him all they
can. And when that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerland he find only
an empty hole where his house had been. This was all done en regle, and in our
work we shall be en regle too. We shall not go so early that the policemen who
have then little to think of, shall deem it strange. But we shall go after ten
o'clock, when there are many about, and such things would be done were we
indeed owners of the house."
I could not but see how right he was and
the terrible despair of Mina's face became relaxed in thought. There was hope
in such good counsel.
Van Helsing went on, "When once within
that house we may find more clues. At any rate some of us can remain there
whilst the rest find the other places where there be more earth boxes, at
Bermondsey and Mile End."
Lord Godalming stood up. "I can be of
some use here," he said. "I shall wire to my people to have horses
and carriages where they will be most convenient."
"Look here, old fellow," said
Morris, "it is a capital idea to have all ready in case we want to go
horse backing, but don't you think that one of your snappy carriages with its
heraldic adornments in a byway of Walworth or Mile End would attract too much
attention for our purpose? It seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go
south or east. And even leave them somewhere near the neighborhood we are going
to."
"Friend Quincey is right!" said
the Professor. "His head is what you call in plane with the horizon. It is
a difficult thing that we go to do, and we do not want no peoples to watch us
if so it may."
Mina took a growing interest in everything
and I was rejoiced to see that the exigency of affairs was helping her to
forget for a time the terrible experience of the night. She was very, very
pale, almost ghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her
teeth in somewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should
give her needless pain, but it made my blood run cold in my veins to think of
what had occurred with poor Lucy when the Count had sucked her blood. As yet
there was no sign of the teeth growing sharper, but the time as yet was short,
and there was time for fear.
When we came to the discussion of the
sequence of our efforts and of the disposition of our forces, there were new
sources of doubt. It was finally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we
should destroy the Count's lair close at hand. In case he should find it out
too soon, we should thus be still ahead of him in our work of destruction. And
his presence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest, might give us
some new clue.
A s to the disposal of forces, it was
suggested by the Professor that, after our visit to Carfax, we should all enter
the house in Piccadilly. That the two doctors and I should remain there, whilst
Lord Godalming and Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End and
destroyed them. It was possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the
Count might appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we might be
able to cope with him then and there. At any rate, we might be able to follow
him in force. To this plan I strenuously objected, and so far as my going was
concerned, for I said that I intended to stay and protect Mina. I thought that
my mind was made up on the subject, but Mina would not listen to my objection.
She said that there might be some law matter in which I could be useful. That amongst
the Count's papers might be some clue which I could understand out of my
experience in Transylvania. And that, as it was, all the strength we could
muster was required to cope with the Count's extraordinary power. I had to give
in, for Mina's resolution was fixed. She said that it was the last hope for her
that we should all work together.
"As for me," she said, "I
have no fear. Things have been as bad as they can be. And whatever may happen
must have in it some element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, if He
wishes it, guard me as well alone as with any one present."
So I started up crying out, "Then in
God's name let us come at once, for we are losing time. The Count may come to
Piccadilly earlier than we think."
"Not so!" said Van Helsing,
holding up his hand.
"But why?" I asked.
"Do you forget," he said, with
actually a smile, "that last night he banqueted heavily, and will sleep
late?"
Did I forget! Shall I ever . . . can I
ever! Can any of us ever forget that terrible scene! Mina struggled hard to
keep her brave countenance, but the pain overmastered her and she put her hands
before her face, and shuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had not intended
to recall her frightful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part
in the affair in his intellectual effort.
When it struck him what he said, he was
horrified at his thoughtlessness and tried to comfort her.
"Oh, Madam Mina," he
said,"dear, dear, Madam Mina, alas! That I of all who so reverence you
should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old lips of mine and this
stupid old head do not deserve so, but you will forget it, will you not?"
He bent low beside her as he spoke.
She took his hand, and looking at him
through her tears, said hoarsely, "No, I shall not forget, for it is well
that I remember. And with it I have so much in memory of you that is sweet,
that I take it all together. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is
ready, and we must all eat that we may be strong."
Breakfast was a strange meal to us all. We
tried to be cheerful and encourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and
most cheerful of us. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said,
"Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are we all
armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our enemy's lair. Armed
against ghostly as well as carnal attack?"
We all assured him.
"Then it is well. Now, Madam Mina, you
are in any case quite safe here until the sunset. And before then we shall
return . . . if . . . We shall return! But before we go let me see you armed
against personal attack. I have myself, since you came down, prepared your
chamber by the placing of things of which we know, so that He may not enter.
Now let me guard yourself. On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer
in the name of the Father, the Son, and . . .
There was a fearful scream which almost
froze our hearts to hear. As he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had
seared it . . . had burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece of
whitehot metal. My poor darling's brain had told her the significance of the
fact as quickly as her nerves received the pain of it, and the two so
overwhelmed her that her overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful
scream.
But the words to her thought came quickly.
The echo of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the
reaction, and she sank on her knees on the floor in an agony of abasement.
Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she
wailed out.
"Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty
shuns my polluted flesh! I must bear this mark of shame upon my forehead until
the Judgement Day."
They all paused. I had thrown myself beside
her in an agony of helpless grief, and putting my arms around held her tight.
For a few minutes our sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around
us turned away their eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van Helsing turned and
said gravely. So gravely that I could not help feeling that he was in some way
inspired, and was stating things outside himself.
"It may be that you may have to bear
that mark till God himself see fit, as He most surely shall, on the Judgement
Day, to redress all wrongs of the earth and of His children that He has placed
thereon. And oh, Madam Mina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you be there to
see, when that red scar, the sign of God's knowledge of what has been, shall
pass away, and leave your forehead as pure as the heart we know. For so surely
as we live, that scar shall pass away when God sees right to lift the burden
that is hard upon us. Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son did in obedience
to His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of His good pleasure, and
that we ascend to His bidding as that other through stripes and shame. Through
tears and blood. Through doubts and fear, and all that makes the difference
between God and man."
There was hope in his words, and comfort.
And they made for resignation. Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we
each took one of the old man's hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without
a word we all knelt down together, and all holding hands, swore to be true to
each other. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the head
of her whom, each in his own way, we loved. And we prayed for help and guidance
in the terrible task which lay before us. It was then time to start. So I said
farewell to Mina, a parting which neither of us shall forget to our dying day,
and we set out.
To one thing I have made up my mind. If we
find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into
that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times
one vampire meant many. Just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth,
so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.
We entered Carfax without trouble and found
all things the same as on the first occasion. It was hard to believe that
amongst so prosaic surroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any
ground for such fear as already we knew. Had not our minds been made up, and
had there not been terrible memories to spur us on, we could hardly have
proceeded with our task. We found no papers, or any sign of use in the house.
And in the old chapel the great boxes looked just as we had seen them last.
Dr. Van Helsing said to us solemnly as we
stood before him, "And now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must
sterilize this earth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a
far distant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it has
been holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make it more holy
still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we sanctify it to God."
As he spoke he took from his bag a
screwdriver and a wrench, and very soon the top of one of the cases was thrown
open. The earth smelled musty and close, but we did not somehow seem to mind,
for our attention was concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his box a
piece of the Scared Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth, and then shutting
down the lid began to screw it home, we aiding him as he worked.
One by one we treated in the same way each
of the great boxes, and left them as we had found them to all appearance. But
in each was a portion of the Host. When we closed the door behind us, the
Professor said solemnly, "So much is already done. It may be that with all
the others we can be so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine
of Madam Mina's forehead all white as ivory and with no stain!"
As we passed across the lawn on our way to
the station to catch our train we could see the front of the asylum. I looked
eagerly, and in the window of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her, and
nodded to tell that our work there was successfully accomplished. She nodded in
reply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she was waving her hand in
farewell. It was with a heavy heart that we sought the station and just caught
the train, which was steaming in as we reached the platform. I have written
this in the train.
Piccadilly, 12:30 o'clock.—Just before we
reached Fenchurch Street Lord Godalming said to me, "Quincey and I will
find a locksmith. You had better not come with us in case there should be any
difficulty. For under the circumstances it wouldn't seem so bad for us to break
into an empty house. But you are a solicitor and the Incorporated Law Society
might tell you that you should have known better."
I demurred as to my not sharing any danger
even of odium, but he went on, "Besides, it will attract less attention if
there are not too many of us. My title will make it all right with the
locksmith, and with any policeman that may come along. You had better go with
Jack and the Professor and stay in the Green Park. Somewhere in sight of the
house, and when you see the door opened and the smith has gone away, do you all
come across. We shall be on the lookout for you, and shall let you in."
"The advice is good!" said Van
Helsing, so we said no more. Godalming and Morris hurried off in a cab, we
following in another. At the corner of Arlington Street our contingent got out
and strolled into the Green Park. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so
much of our hope was centered, looming up grim and silent in its deserted
condition amongst its more lively and spruce-looking neighbors. We sat down on
a bench within good view , and began to smoke cigars so as to attract as little
attention as possible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as we waited
for the coming of the others.
At length we saw a four-wheeler drive up.
Out of it, in leisurely fashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris. And down from
the box descended a thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of tools.
Morris paid the cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Together the two
ascended the steps, and Lord Godalming pointed out what he wanted done. The
workman took off his coat leisurely and hung it on one of the spikes of the
rail, saying something to a policeman who just then sauntered along. The
policeman nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling down placed his bag beside
him. After searching through it, he took out a selection of tools which he
proceeded to lay beside him in orderly fashion. Then he stood up, looked in the
keyhole, blew into it, and turning to his employers, made some remark. Lord
Godalming smiled, and the man lifted a good sized bunch of keys. Selecting one
of them, he began to probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After
fumbling about for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at once the
door opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two others entered the
hall. We sat still. My own cigar burnt furiously, but Van Helsing's went cold
altogether. We waited patiently as we saw the workman come out and bring his
bag. Then he held the door partly open, steadying it with his knees, whilst he
fitted a key to the lock. This he finally handed to Lord Godalming, who took
out his purse and gave him something. The man touched his hat, took his bag,
put on his coat and departed. Not a soul took the slightest notice of the whole
transaction.
When the man had fairly gone, we three
crossed the street and knocked at the door. It was immediately opened by
Quincey Morris, beside whom stood Lord Godalming lighting a cigar.
"The place smells so vilely,"
said the latter as we came in. It did indeed smell vilely. Like the old chapel
at Carfax. And with our previous experience it was plain to us that the Count
had been using the place pretty freely. We moved to explore the house, all
keeping together in case of attack, for we knew we had a strong and wily enemy
to deal with, and as yet we did not know whether the Count might not be in the
house.
In the dining room, which lay at the back
of the hall, we found eight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out of the nine
which we sought! Our work was not over, and would never be until we should have
found the missing box.
First we opened the shutters of the window
which looked out across a narrow stone flagged yard at the blank face of a
stable, pointed to look like the front of a miniature house. There were no
windows in it, so we were not afraid of being overlooked. We did not lose any
time in examining the chests. With the tools which we had brought with us we
opened them, one by one, and treated them as we had treated those others in the
old chapel. It was evident to us that the Count was not at present in the
house, and we proceeded to search for any of his effects.
After a cursory glance at the rest of the
rooms, from basement to attic, we came to the conclusion that the dining room
contained any effects which might belong to the Count. And so we proceeded to
minutely examine them. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on the great
dining room table.
There were title deeds of the Piccadilly
house in a great bundle, deeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile End and
Bermondsey, notepaper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were covered up in thin
wrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There were also a clothes brush, a
brush and comb, and a jug and basin. The latter containing dirty water which
was reddened as if with blood. Last of all was a little heap of keys of all
sorts and sizes, probably those belonging to the other houses.
When we had examined this last find, Lord
Godalming and Quincey Morris taking accurate notes of the various addresses of
the houses in the East and the South, took with them the keys in a great bunch,
and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The rest of us are, with what
patience we can, waiting their return, or the coming of the Count.
Chapter 23
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
3 October.—The time seemed teribly long
whilst we were waiting for the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The
Professor tried to keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could
see his beneficent purpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to
time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to
see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face,
full of energy, and with dark brown hair. Today he is a drawn, haggard old man,
whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and griefwritten
lines of his face. His energy is still intact. In fact, he is like a living
flame. This may yet be his salvation, for if all go well, it will tide him over
the despairing period. He will then, in a kind of way, wake again to the
realities o f life. Poor fellow, I thought my own trouble was bad enough, but
his . . .!
The Professor knows this well enough, and
is doing his best to keep his mind active. What he has been saying was, under
the circumstances, of absorbing interest. So well as I can remember, here it
is:
"I have studied, over and over again
since they came into my hands, all the papers relating to this monster, and the
more I have studied, the greater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out.
All through there are signs of his advance. Not only of his power, but of his
knowledge of it. As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminius of
Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful man. Soldier, statesman, and
alchemist. Which latter was the highest development of the science knowledge of
his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that
knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even to attend the Scholomance, and there
was no branch of knowledge of his time that he did not essay.
"Well, in him the brain powers
survived the physical death. Though it would seem that memory was not all
complete. In some faculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child. But he
is growing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of man's
stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well. And if it had not been that we
have crossed his path he would be yet, he may be yet if we fail, the father or
furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road must lead through Death, not
Life."
Harker groaned and said, "And this is
all arrayed against my darling! But how is he experimenting? The knowledge may
help us to defeat him!"
"He has all along, since his coming,
been trying his power, slowly but surely. That big child-brain of his is
working. Well for us, it is as yet, a child-brain. For had he dared, at the
first, to attempt certain things he would long ago have been beyond our power.
However, he means to succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford
to wait and to go slow. Festina lente may well be his motto."
"I fail to understand," said
Harker wearily. "Oh, do be more plain to me! Perhaps grief and trouble are
dulling my brain."
The Professor laid his hand tenderly on his
shoulder as he spoke, "Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how,
of late, this monster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he
has been making use of the zoophagous patient to effect his entry into friend
John's home. For your Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come when and
how he will, must at the first make entry only when asked thereto by an inmate.
But these are not his most important experiments. Do we not see how at the
first all these so great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that
must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and
he began to consider whether he might not himself move the box. So he began to help.
And then, when he found that this be all right, he try to move them all alone.
And so he progress, and he scatter these graves of him. And none but he know
where they are hidden.
"He may have intend to bury them deep
in the ground. So that only he use them in the night, or at such time as he can
change his form, they do him equal well, and none may know these are his hiding
place! But, my child, do not despair, this knowledge came to him just too late!
Already all of his lairs but one be sterilize as for him. And before the sunset
this shall be so. Then he have no place where he can move and hide. I delayed
this morning that so we might be sure. Is there not more at stake for us than
for him? Then why not be more careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and
already, if all be well, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us.
Today is our day, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See! There
are five of us when those absent ones return."
Whilst we were speaking we were startled by
a knock at the hall door, the double postman's knock of the telegraph boy. We
all moved out to the hall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his
hand to us to keep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The boy handed
in a dispatch. The Professor closed the door again, and after looking at the
direction, opened it and read aloud.
"Look out for D. He has just now,
12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems to
be going the round and may want to see you: Mina."
There was a pause, broken by Jonathan
Harker's voice, "Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!"
Van Helsing turned to him quickly and said,
"God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice as
yet. For what we wish for at the moment may be our own undoings."
"I care for nothing now," he
answered hotly, "except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation.
I would sell my soul to do it!"
"Oh, hush, hush, my child!" said
Van Helsing. "God does not purchase souls in this wise, and the Devil,
though he may purchase, does not keep faith. But God is merciful and just, and
knows your pain and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her
pain would be doubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us,
we are all devoted to this cause, and today shall see the end. The time is
coming for action. Today this Vampire is limit to the powers of man, and till
sunset he may not change. It will take him time to arrive here, see it is
twenty minutes past one, and there are yet some times before he can hither
come, be he never so quick. What we must hope for is that my Lord Arthur and
Quincey arrive first."
About half an hour after we had received
Mrs. Harker's telegram, there came a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It
was just an ordinary knock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen,
but it made the Professor's heart and mine beat loudly. We looked at each
other, and together moved out into the hall. We each held ready to use our
various armaments, the spiritual in the left hand, the mortal in the right. Van
Helsing pulled back the latch, and holding the door half open, stood back,
having both hands ready for action. The gladness of our hearts must have shown
upon our faces when on the step, close to the door, we saw Lord Godalming and
Quincey Morris. They came quickly in and closed the door behind them, the
former saying, as they moved along the hall.
"It is all right. We found both
places. Six boxes in each and we destroyed them all."
"Destroyed?" asked the Professor.
"For him!" We were silent for a
minute, and then Quincey said, "There's nothing to do but to wait here.
If, however, he doesn't turn up by five o'clock, we must start off. For it
won't do to leave Mrs. Harker alone after sunset."
"He will be here before long now,'
said Van Helsing, who had been consulting his pocketbook. "Nota bene, in
Madam's telegram he went south from Carfax. That means he went to cross the
river, and he could only do so at slack of tide, which should be something before
one o'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet only
suspicious, and he went from Carfax first to the place where he would suspect
interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey only a short time before
him. That he is not here already shows that he went to Mile End next. This took
him some time, for he would then have to be carried over the river in some way.
Believe me, my friends, we shall not have long to wait now. We should have
ready some plan of attack, so that we may throw away no chance. Hush, there is
no time now. Have all your arms! Be ready!" He held up a warning hand as
he spoke, for we all could hear a key softly inserted in the lock of the hall
door.
I could not but admire, even at such a
moment, the way in which a dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting
parties and adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had
always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had been
accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed
instinctively. With a swift glance around the room, he at once laid out our
plan of attack, and without speaking a word, with a gesture, placed us each in
position. Van Helsing, Harker, and I were just behind the door, so that when it
was opened the Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between the
incomer and the door. Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of
sight ready to move in front of the window. We waited in a suspense that made
the seconds pass with nightmare slowness. The slow, careful steps came along
the hall. The Count was evidently prepared for some surprise, at least he
feared it.
Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into
the room. Winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay
him. There was something so pantherlike in the movement, something so unhuman,
that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act
was Harker, who with a quick movement, threw himself before the door leading
into the room in the front of the house. As the Count saw us, a horrible sort
of snarl passed over his face, showing the eyeteeth long and pointed. But the
evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His
expression again changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon him.
It was a pity that we had not some better organized plan of attack, for even at
the moment I wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know whether our
lethal weapons would avail us anything.
Harker evidently meant to try the matter,
for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him.
The blow was a powerful one. Only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap
back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorn through his coat,
making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank notes and a stream of gold fell out.
The expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared
for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another
stroke. Instinctively I moved forward with a protective impulse, holding the
Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand. I felt a mighty power fly along my arm, and
it was without surprise that I saw the monster cower back before a similar
movement made spontaneously by each one of us. It would be impossible to
describe the expression of hate and baffled malignity, of anger and hellish
rage, which came over the Count's face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by
the contrast of his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on
the pallid skin like a palpitating wound. The next instant, with a sinuous dive
he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and grasping a handful of
the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window.
Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled into the flagged
area below. Through the sound of the shivering glass I could hear the
"ting" of the gold, as some of the sovereigns fell on the flagging.
We ran over and saw him spring unhurt from
the ground. He, rushing up the steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open
the stable door. There he turned and spoke to us.
"You think to baffle me, you with your
pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet,
each one of you! You think you have left me without a place to rest, but I have
more. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my
side. Your girls that you all love are mine already. And through them you and
others shall yet be mine, my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals
when I want to feed. Bah!"
With a contemptuous sneer, he passed
quickly through the door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as he fastened it
behind him. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of us to speak was the
Professor. Realizing the difficulty of following him through the stable, we
moved toward the hall.
"We have learnt something . . . much!
Notwithstanding his brave words, he fears us. He fears time, he fears want! For
if not, why he hurry so? His very tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take
that money? You follow quick. You are hunters of the wild beast, and understand
it so. For me, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that
he returns."
As he spoke he put the money remaining in
his pocket, took the title deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and
swept the remaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them
with a match.
Godalming and Morris had rushed out into
the yard, and Harker had lowered himself from the window to follow the Count.
He had, however, bolted the stable door, and by the time they had forced it
open there was no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the
back of the house. But the mews was deserted and no one had seen him depart.
It was now late in the afternoon, and
sunset was not far off. We had to recognize that our game was up. With heavy
hearts we agreed with the Professor when he said, "Let us go back to Madam
Mina. Poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can do just now is done, and we can
there, at least, protect her. But we need not despair. There is but one more
earth box, and we must try to find it. When that is done all may yet be
well."
I could see that he spoke as bravely as he
could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow was quite broken down, now and again
he gave a low groan which he could not suppress. He was thinking of his wife.
With sad hearts we came back to my house,
where we found Mrs. Harker waiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which
did honor to her bravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her own
became as pale as death. For a second or two her eyes were closed as if she
were in secret prayer.
And then she said cheerfully, "I can
never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!"
As she spoke, she took her husband's grey
head in her hands and kissed it.
"Lay your poor head here and rest it.
All will yet be well, dear! God will protect us if He so will it in His good
intent." The poor fellow groaned. There was no place for words in his
sublime misery.
We had a sort of perfunctory supper
together, and I think it cheered us all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere
animal heat of food to hungry people, for none of us had eaten anything since
breakfast, or the sense of companionship may have helped us, but anyhow we were
all less miserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope.
True to our promise, we told Mrs. Harker
everything which had passed. And although she grew snowy white at times when
danger had seemed to threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion
to her was manifested she listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to
the part where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung to her
husband's arm, and held it tight as though her clinging could protect him from
any harm that might come. She said nothing, however, till the narration was all
done,and matters had been brought up to the present time.
Then without letting go her husband's hand
she stood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of the scene.
Of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the radiant beauty of her youth
and animation, with the red scar on her forehead, of which she was conscious,
and which we saw with grinding of our teeth, remembering whence and how it
came. Her loving kindness against our grim hate. Her tender faith against all
our fears and doubting. And we, knowing that so far as symbols went, she with
all her goodness and purity and faith, was outcast from God.
"Jonathan," she said, and the
word sounded like music on her lips it was so full of love and tenderness,
"Jonathan dear, and you all my true, true friends, I want you to bear
something in mind through all this dreadful time. I know that you must fight.
That you must destroy even as you destroyed the false Lucy so that the true
Lucy might live hereafter. But it is not a work of hate. That poor soul who has
wrought all this misery is the saddest case of all. Just think what will be his
joy when he, too, is destroyed in his worser part that his better part may have
spiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to him, too,though it may not hold
your hands from his destruction."
As she spoke I could see her husband's face
darken and draw together, as though the passion in him were shriveling his
being to its core. Instinctively the clasp on his wife's hand grew closer, till
his knuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain which I knew she
must have suffered, but looked at him with eyes that were more appealing than
ever.
As she stopped speaking he leaped to his
feet, almost tearing his hand from hers as he spoke.
"May God give him into my hand just
for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If
beyond it I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do
it!"
"Oh, hush! Oh, hush in the name of the
good God. Don't say such things, Jonathan, my husband, or you will crush me
with fear and horror. Just think, my dear . . . I have been thinking all this
long, long day of it . . . that . . . perhaps . . .some day . . . I, too, may
need such pity, and that some other like you, and with equal cause for anger,
may deny it to me! Oh, my husband! My husband, indeed I would have spared you
such a thought had there been another way. But I pray that God may not have
treasured your wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving and
sorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidence of what
he has suffered, who all his life has done no wrong, and on whom so many sorrows
have come."
We men were all in tears now. There was no
resisting them, and we wept openly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter
counsels had prevailed. Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and
putting his arms round her, hid his face in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing
beckoned to us and we stole out of the room, leaving the two loving hearts
alone with their God.
Before they retired the Professor fixed up
the room against any coming of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might
rest in peace. She tried to school herself to the belief, and manifestly for
her husband's sake, tried to seem content. It was a brave struggle, and was, I
think and believe, not without its reward. Van Helsing had placed at hand a
bell which either of them was to sound in case of any emergency. When they had
retired, Quincey, Godalming, and I arranged that we should sit up, dividing the
night between us, and watch over the safety of the poor stricken lady. The
first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest of us shall be off to bed as soon as
we can.
Godalming has already turned in, for his is
the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall go to bed.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
3-4 October, close to midnight.—I thought
yesterday would never end. There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort
of blind belief that to wake would be to find things changed, and that any
change must now be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next
step was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew was that one
earth box remained, and that the Count alone knew where it was. If he chooses
to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years. And in the meantime, the thought is
too horrible, I dare not think of it even now. This I know, that if ever there
was a woman who was all perfection, that one is my poor wronged darling. I
loved her a thousand times more for her sweet pity of last night, a pity that
made my own hate of the monster seem despicable. Surely God will not permit the
world to be the poorer by the loss of such a creature. This is hope to me. We
are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor. Thank God! Mina
is sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what her dreams might be like,
with such terrible memories to ground them in. She has not been so calm, within
my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came over her face a
repose which was like spring after the blasts of March. I thought at the time
that it was the softness of the red sunset on her face, but somehow now I think
it has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepy myself, though I am weary . . . weary
to death. However, I must try to sleep. For there is tomorrow to think of, and
there is no rest for me until . . .
Later—I must have fallen asleep, for I was
awakened by Mina, who was sitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face.
I could see easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness. She had placed a
warning hand over my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear, "Hush! There
is someone in the corridor!" I got up softly, and crossing the room,
gently opened the door.
Just outside, stretched on a mattress, lay
Mr. Morris, wide awake. He raised a warning hand for silence as he whispered to
me, "Hush! Go back to bed. It is all right. One of us will be here all
night. We don't mean to take any chances!"
His look and gesture forbade discussion, so
I came back and told Mina. She sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole
over her poor, pale face as she put her arms round me and said softly,
"Oh, thank God for good brave men!" With a sigh she sank back again
to sleep. I write this now as I am not sleepy, though I must try again.
4 October, morning.—Once again during the
night I was wakened by Mina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the
grey of the coming dawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas
flame was like a speck rather than a disc of light.
She said to me hurriedly, "Go, call
the Professor. I want to see him at once."
"Why?" I asked.
"I have an idea. I suppose it must
have come in the night, and matured without my knowing it. He must hypnotize me
before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest, the time
is getting close."
I went to the door. Dr. Seward was resting
on the mattress, and seeing me, he sprang to his feet.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked, in
alarm.
"No," I replied. "But Mina
wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once."
"I will go," he said, and hurried
into the Professor's room.
Two or three minutes later Van Helsing was
in the room in his dressing gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with
Dr. Seward at the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina a smile, a
positive smile ousted the anxiety of his face.
He rubbed his hands as he said, "Oh,
my dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See! Friend Jonathan, we have got
our dear Madam Mina, as of old, back to us today!" Then turning to her, he
said cheerfully, "And what am I to do for you? For at this hour you do not
want me for nothing."
"I want you to hypnotize me!" she
said. "Do it before the dawn, for I feel that then I can speak, and speak
freely. Be quick, for the time is short!" Without a word he motioned her
to sit up in bed.
Looking fixedly at her, he commenced to
make passes in front of her, from over the top of her head downward, with each
hand in turn. Mina gazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own
heart beat like a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand.
Gradually her eyes closed, and she sat, stock still. Only by the gentle heaving
of her bosom could one know that she was alive. The Professor made a few more
passes and then stopped, and I could see that his forehead was covered with
great beads of perspiration. Mina opened her eyes, but she did not seem the
same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, and her voice had a sad
dreaminess which was new to me. Raising his hand to impose silence, the
Professor motioned to me to bring the others in. They came on tiptoe, closing
the door behind them, and stood at the foot of the bed, looking on. Mina
appeared not to see them. The stillness was broken by Van Helsing's voice
speaking in a low level tone which would not break the current of her thoughts.
"Where are you?" The answer came
in a neutral way.
"I do not know. Sleep has no place it
can call its own." For several minutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid,
and the Professor stood staring at her fixedly.
The rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The
room was growing lighter. Without taking his eyes from Mina's face, Dr. Van Helsing
motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the day seemed just upon us. A
red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed to diffuse itself through the room.
On the instant the Professor spoke again.
"Where are you now?"
The answer came dreamily, but with
intention. It were as though she were interpreting something. I have heard her
use the same tone when reading her shorthand notes.
"I do not know. It is all strange to
me!"
"What do you see?"
"I can see nothing. It is all
dark."
"What do you hear?" I could
detect the strain in the Professor's patient voice.
"The lapping of water. It is gurgling
by, and little waves leap. I can hear them on the outside."
"Then you are on a ship?'"
We all looked at each other, trying to
glean something each from the other. We were afraid to think.
The answer came quick, "Oh, yes!"
"What else do you hear?"
"The sound of men stamping overhead as
they run about. There is the creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the
check of the capstan falls into the ratchet."
"What are you doing?"
"I am still, oh so still. It is like
death!" The voice faded away into a deep breath as of one sleeping, and
the open eyes closed again.
By this time the sun had risen, and we were
all in the full light of day. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina's
shoulders, and laid her head down softly on her pillow. She lay like a sleeping
child for a few moments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder
to see us all around her.
"Have I been talking in my
sleep?" was all she said. She seemed, however, to know the situation
without telling,though she was eager to know what she had told. The Professor
repeated the conversation, and she said, "Then there is not a moment to
lose. It may not be yet too late!"
Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming started for
the door but the Professor's calm voice called them back.
"Stay, my friends. That ship, wherever
it was, was weighing anchor at the moment in your so great Port of London.
Which of them is it that you seek? God be thanked that we have once again a
clue, though whither it may lead us we know not. We have been blind somewhat.
Blind after the manner of men, since we can look back we see what we might have
seen looking forward if we had been able to see what we might have seen! Alas,
but that sentence is a puddle, is it not? We can know now what was in the
Count's mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan's so fierce knife put
him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hear me, ESCAPE! He saw
that with but one earth box left, and a pack of men following like dogs after a
fox, this London was no place for him. He have take his last earth box on board
a ship, and he leave the land. He think to escape, but no! We follow him. Tally
Ho! As friend Arthur would say when he put on his red frock! Our old fox is
wily. Oh! So wily, and we must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think
his mind in a little while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are
between us which he do not want to pass, and which he could not if he would.
Unless the ship were to touch the land, and then only at full or slack tide.
See, and the sun is just rose, and all day to sunset is us. Let us take bath,
and dress, and have breakfast which we all need, and which we can eat
comfortably since he be not in the same land with us."
Mina looked at him appealingly as she
asked, "But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away from
us?"
He took her hand and patted it as he
replied, "Ask me nothing as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all
questions." He would say no more, and we separated to dress.
After breakfast Mina repeated her question.
He looked at her gravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully, "Because
my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we have
to follow him to the jaws of Hell!"
She grew paler as she asked faintly,
"Why?"
"Because," he answered solemnly,
"he can live for centuries, and you are but mortal woman. Time is now to
be dreaded, since once he put that mark upon your throat."
I was just in time to catch her as she fell
forward in a faint.
Chapter 24
DR. SEWARD'S PHONOGRAPH DIARY
SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING
This to Jonathan Harker.
You are to stay with your dear Madam Mina.
We shall go to make our search, if I can call it so, for it is not search but
knowing, and we seek confirmation only. But do you stay and take care of her
today. This is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing can find him
here.
Let me tell you that so you will know what
we four know already, for I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away. He
have gone back to his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a great
hand of fire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare for this in some way, and
that last earth box was ready to ship somewheres. For this he took the money.
For this he hurry at the last, lest we catch him before the sun go down. It was
his last hope, save that he might hide in the tomb that he think poor Miss
Lucy, being as he thought like him, keep open to him. But there was not of
time. When that fail he make straight for his last resource, his last earthwork
I might say did I wish double entente. He is clever, oh so clever! He know that
his game here was finish. And so he decide he go back home. He find ship going
by the route he came, and he go in it.
We go off now to find what ship, and
whither bound. When we have discover that, we come back and tell you all. Then
we will comfort you and poor Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hope when
you think it over, that all is not lost. This very creature that we pursue, he
take hundreds of years to get so far as London. And yet in one day, when we
know of the disposal of him we drive him out. He is finite, though he is
powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But we are strong, each in
our purpose, and we are all more strong together. Take heart afresh, dear
husband of Madam Mina. This battle is but begun and in the end we shall win. So
sure as that God sits on high to watch over His children. Therefore be of much
comfort till we return.
VAN HELSING.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
4 October.—When I read to Mina, Van
Helsing's message in the phonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably.
Already the certainty that the Count is out of the country has given her comfort.
And comfort is strength to her. For my own part, now that his horrible danger
is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible to believe in it. Even
my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem like a long forgotten dream.
Here in the crisp autumn air in the bright sunlight.
Alas! How can I disbelieve! In the midst of
my thought my eye fell on the red scar on my poor darling's white forehead.
Whilst that lasts, there can be no disbelief. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we
have been over all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality
seem greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is something of
a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting. Mina says that
perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to
think as she does. We have never spoken to each other yet of the future. It is
better to wait till we see the Professor and the others after their
investigations.
The day is running by more quickly than I
ever thought a day could run for me again. It is now three o'clock.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
5 October, 5 p. m.—Our meeting for report.
Present: Professor Van Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris,
Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker.
Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were
taken during the day to discover on what boat and whither bound Count Dracula
made his escape.
"As I knew that he wanted to get back
to Transylvania, I felt sure that he must go by the Danube mouth, or by
somewhere in the Black Sea, since by that way he come. It was a dreary blank
that was before us. Omme Ignotum pro magnifico. And so with heavy hearts we
start to find what ships leave for the Black Sea last night. He was in sailing
ship, since Madam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so important as to go
in your list of the shipping in the Times, and so we go, by suggestion of Lord
Godalming, to your Lloyd's, where are note of all ships that sail, however so
small. There we find that only one Black Sea bound ship go out with the tide. She
is the Czarina Catherine, and she sail from Doolittle's Wharf for Varna, and
thence to other ports and up the Danube. `So!' said I, `this is the ship
whereon is the Count.' So off we go to Doolittle's Wharf, and there we find a
man in an office. From him we inquire o f the goings of the Czarina Catherine.
He swear much, and he red face and loud of voice, but he good fellow all the
same. And when Quincey give him something from his pocket which crackle as he
roll it up, and put it in a so small bag which he have hid deep in his
clothing, he still better fellow and humble servant to us. He come with us, and
ask many men who are rough and hot. These be better fellows too when they have
been no more thirsty. They say much of blood and bloom, and of others which I
comprehend not, though I guess what they mean. But nevertheless they tell us
all things which we want to know.
"They make known to us among them, how
last afternoon at about five o'clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and
pale, with high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That
he be all in black, except that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or
the time. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry as to what ship
sails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took him to the office and then to
the ship, where he will not go aboard but halt at shore end of gangplank, and
ask that the captain come to him. The captain come, when told that he will be
pay well, and though he swear much at the first he agree to term. Then the thin
man go and some one tell him where horse and cart can be hired. He go there and
soon he come again, himself driving cart on which a great box. This he himself
lift down, though it take several to put it on truck for the ship. He give much
talk to captain as to how and where his box is to be place. But the captain
like it not and swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if he like he
can come and see where it shall be. But he say `no,' that he come not yet, for
that he have much to do. Whereupon the captain tell him that he had better be
quick, with blood, for that his ship will leave the place, of blood, before the
turn of the tide, with blood. Then the thin man smile and say that of course he
must go when he think fit, but he will be surprise if he go quite so soon. The
captain swear again, polyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank him,
and say that he will so far intrude on his kindness as to come aboard before
the sailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues, tell
him that he doesn't want no Frenchmen, with bloom upon them and also with
blood, in his ship, with blood on her also. And so, after asking where he might
purchase ship forms, he departed.
"No one knew where he went `or
bloomin' well cared' as they said, for they had something else to think of,
well with blood again. For it soon became apparent to all that the Czarina
Catherine would not sail as was expected. A thin mist began to creep up from
the river, and it grew, and grew. Till soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and
all around her. The captain swore polyglot, very polyglot, polyglot with bloom
and blood, but he could do nothing. The water rose and rose, and he began to
fear that he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood, when
just at full tide, the thin man came up the gangplank again and asked to see
where his box had been stowed. Then the captain replied that he wished that he
and his box, old and with much bloom and blood, were in hell. But the thin man
did not be offend, and went down with the mate and saw where it was place, and
came up and stood awhile on deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for
none notice him. Indeed they thought not of him, for soon the fog begin to melt
away, and all was clear again. My friends of the thirst and the language that
was of bloom and blood laughed, as they told how the captain's swears exceeded
even his usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on
questioning other mariners who were on movement up and down the river that
hour, he found that few of them had seen any of fog at all, except where it lay
round the wharf. However, the ship went out on the ebb tide, and was doubtless
by morning far down the river mouth. She was then, when they told us, well out
to sea.
"And so, my dear Madam Mina, it is
that we have to rest for a time, for our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at
his command, on his way to the Danube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she
never so quick. And when we start to go on land more quick, and we meet him
there. Our best hope is to come on him when in the box between sunrise and
sunset. For then he can make no struggle, and we may deal with him as we
should. There are days for us, in which we can make ready our plan. We know all
about where he go. For we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us
invoices and all papers that can be. The box we seek is to be landed in Varna,
and to be given to an agent, one Ristics who will there present his
credentials. And so our merchant friend will have done his part. When he ask if
there be any wrong, for that so, he can telegraph and have inquiry made at
Varna, we say `no,' for what is to be done is not for police or of the customs.
It must be done by us alone and in our own way."
When Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I
asked him if he were certain that the Count had remained on board the ship. He
replied, "We have the best proof of that, your own evidence, when in the
hypnotic trance this morning."
I asked him again if it were really necessary
that they should pursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and I
know that he would surely go if the others went. He answered in growing
passion, at first quietly. As he went on, however, he grew more angry and more
forceful, till in the end we could not but see wherein was at least some of
that personal dominance which made him so long a master amongst men.
"Yes, it is necessary, necessary,
necessary! For your sake in the first, and then for the sake of humanity. This
monster has done much harm already, in the narrow scope where he find himself,
and in the short time when as yet he was only as a body groping his so small
measure in darkness and not knowing. All this have I told these others. You, my
dear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my friend John, or in that
of your husband. I have told them how the measure of leaving his own barren
land, barren of peoples,and coming to a new land where life of man teems till
they are like the multitude of standing corn, was the work of centuries. Were
another of the Undead, like him, to try to do what he has done, perhaps not all
the centuries of the world that have been, or that will be, could aid him. With
this one, all the forces of nature that are occult and deep and strong must have
worked together in some wonderous way. The very place, where he have been
alive, Undead for all these centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic
and chemical world. There are deep caverns and fissures that reach none know
whither. There have been volcanoes, some of whose openings still send out
waters of strange properties, and gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless,
there is something magnetic or electric in some of these combinations of occult
forces which work for physical life in strange way, and in himself were from
the first some great qualities. In a hard and warlike time he was celebrate
that he have more iron nerve, more subtle brain, more braver heart, than any
man. In him some vital principle have in strange way found their utmost. And as
his body keep strong and grow and thrive, so his brain grow too. All this
without that diabolic aid which is surely to him. For it have to yield to the
powers that come from, and are, symbolic of good. And now this is what he is to
us. He have infect you, oh forgive me, my dear, that I must say such, but it is
for good of you that I speak. He infect you in such wise, that even if he do no
more, you have only to live, to live in your own old, sweet way, and so in
time, death, which is of man's common lot and with God's sanction, shall make
you like to him. This must not be! We have sworn together that it must not.
Thus are we ministers of God's own wish. That the world, and men for whom His
Son die, will not be given over to monsters, whose very existence would defame
Him. He have allowed us to redeem one soul already, and we go out as the old
knights of the Cross to redeem more. Like them we shall travel towards the
sunrise. And like them, if we fall, we fall in good cause."
He paused and I said, "But will not
the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he has been driven from England, will
he not avoid it, as a tiger does the village from which he has been
hunted?"
"Aha!" he said, "your simile
of the tiger good, for me, and I shall adopt him. Your maneater, as they of
India call the tiger who has once tasted blood of the human, care no more for
the other prey, but prowl unceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from our
village is a tiger, too, a maneater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay, in himself
he is not one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life, he go over
the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground. He be beaten back,
but did he stay? No! He come again, and again, and again. Look at his
persistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was to him he have long
since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What does he do? He find out
the place of all the world most of promise for him. Then he deliberately set
himself down to prepare for the task. He find in patience just how is his
strength, and what are his powers. He study new tongues. He learn new social
life, new environment of old ways, the politics, the law, the finance, the
science, the habit of a new land and a new people who have come to be since he
was. His glimpse that he have had, whet his appetite only and enkeen his
desire. Nay, it help him to grow as to his brain. For it all prove to him how
right he was at the first in his surmises. He have done this alone, all alone!
From a ruin tomb in a forgotten land. What more may he not do when the greater
world of thought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know him.
Who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole peoples. Oh! If
such an one was to come from God, and not the Devil, what a force for good
might he not be in this old world of ours. But we are pledged to set the world
free. Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret. For in this
enlightened age, when men believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise
men would be his greatest strength. It would be at once his sheath and his
armor, and his weapons to destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril
even our own souls for the safety of one we love. For the good of mankind, and
for the honor and glory of God."
After a general discussion it was
determined that for tonight nothing be definitely settled. That we should all
sleep on the facts, and try to think out the proper conclusions. Tomorrow, at
breakfast, we are to meet again, and after making our conclusions known to one
another, we shall decide on some definite cause of action . . .
I feel a wonderful peace and rest tonight.
It is as if some haunting presence were removed from me. Perhaps . . .
My surmise was not finished, could not be,
for I caught sight in the mirror of the red mark upon my forehead, and I knew
that I was still unclean.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
5 October.—We all arose early, and I think
that sleep did much for each and all of us. When we met at early breakfast
there was more general cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to
experience again.
It is really wonderful how much resilience
there is in human nature. Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed
in any way, even by death, and we fly back to first principles of hope and
enjoyment. More than once as we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder
whether the whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was only when I
caught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker's forehead that I was brought
back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving the matter, it is almost
impossible to realize that the cause of all our trouble is still existent. Even
Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her trouble for whole spells. It is only now
and again, when something recalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her
terrible scar. We are to meet here in my study in half an hour and decide on
our course of action. I see only one immediate difficulty, I know it by
instinct rather than reason. We shall all have to speak frankly. And yet I fear
that in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I know that she
forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can guess how
brilliant and how true they must be. But she will not, or cannot, give them
utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, and he and I are to talk it
over when we are alone. I suppose it is some of that horrid poison which has
got into her veins beginning to work. The Count had his own purposes when he
gave her what Van Helsing called "the Vampire's baptism of blood."
Well, there may be a poison that distills itself out of good things. In an age
when the existence of ptomaines is a mystery we should not wonder at anything!
One thing I know, that if my instinct be true regarding poor Mrs. Harker's
silences, then there is a terrible difficulty, an unknown danger, in the work
before us. The same power that compels her silence may compel her speech. I
dare not think further, for so I should in my thoughts dishonor a noble woman!
Later.—When the Professor came in, we
talked over the state of things. I could see that he had something on his mind,
which he wanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject.
After beating about the bush a little, he said,"Friend John, there is something
that you and I must talk of alone, just at the first at any rate. Later, we may
have to take the others into our confidence."
Then he stopped, so I waited. He went on,
"Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing."
A cold shiver ran through me to find my
worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsing continued.
"With the sad experience of Miss Lucy,
we must this time be warned before things go too far. Our task is now in
reality more difficult than ever, and this new trouble makes every hour of the
direst importance. I can see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her
face. It is now but very, very slight. But it is to be seen if we have eyes to
notice without prejudge. Her teeth are sharper, and at times her eyes are more
hard. But these are not all, there is to her the silence now often, as so it
was with Miss Lucy. She did not speak, even when she wrote that which she
wished to be known later. Now my fear is this. If it be that she can, by our
hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see and hear, is it not more true that he
who have hypnotize her first, and who have drink of her very blood and make her
drink of his, should if he will, compel her mind to disclose to him that which
she know?"
I nodded acquiescence. He went on,
"Then, what we must do is to prevent this. We must keep her ignorant of
our intent, and so she cannot tell what she know not. This is a painful task!
Oh, so painful that it heartbreak me to think of it, but it must be. When today
we meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will not to speak she must
not more be of our council, but be simply guarded by us."
He wiped his forehead, which had broken out
in profuse perspiration at the thought of the pain which he might have to
inflict upon the poor soul already so tortured. I knew that it would be some
sort of comfort to him if I told him that I also had come to the same
conclusion. For at any rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told him,
and the effect was as I expected.
It is now close to the time of our general
gathering. Van Helsing has gone away to prepare for the meeting, and his
painful part of it. I really believe his purpose is to be able to pray alone.
Later.—At the very outset of our meeting a
great personal relief was experienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs.
Harker had sent a message by her husband to say that she would not join us at
present, as she thought it better that we should be free to discuss our
movements without her presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I looked at
each other for an instant, and somehow we both seemed relieved. For my own
part, I thought that if Mrs. Harker realized the danger herself, it was much
pain as well as much danger averted. Under the circumstances we agreed, by a
questioning look and answer, with finger on lip, to preserve silence in our
suspicions, until we should have been able to confer alone again. We went at
once into our Plan of Campaign.
Van Helsing roughly put the facts before us
first,"The Czarina Catherine left the Thames yesterday morning. It will
take her at the quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks to reach
Varna. But we can travel overland to the same place in three days. Now, if we
allow for two days less for the ship's voyage, owing to such weather influences
as we know that the Count can bring to bear, and if we allow a whole day and
night for any delays which may occur to us, then we have a margin of nearly two
weeks.
"Thus, in order to be quite safe, we
must leave here on 17th at latest. Then we shall at any rate be in Varna a day
before the ship arrives, and able to make such preparations as may be
necessary. Of course we shall all go armed, armed against evil things,
spiritual as well as physical."
Here Quincey Morris added,"I
understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, and it may be that he
shall get there before us. I propose that we add Winchesters to our armament. I
have a kind of belief in a Winchester when there is any trouble of that sort
around. Do you remember, Art, when we had the pack after us at Tobolsk?What
wouldn't we have given then for a repeater apiece!"
"Good!" said Van Helsing,
"Winchesters it shall be. Quincey's head is level at times, but most so
when there is to hunt, metaphor be more dishonor to science than wolves be of
danger to man. In the meantime we can do nothing here. And as I think that
Varna is not familiar to any of us, why not go there more soon? It is as long
to wait here as there. Tonight and tomorrow we can get ready, and then if all
be well, we four can set out on our journey."
"We four?" said Harker
interrogatively, looking from one to another of us.
"Of course!" answered the
Professor quickly. "You must remain to take care of your so sweet
wife!"
Harker was silent for awhile and then said
in a hollow voice, "Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want
to consult with Mina."
I thought that now was the time for Van
Helsing to warn him not to disclose our plan to her, but he took no notice. I
looked at him significantly and coughed.For answer he put his finger to his
lips and turned away.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
October, afternoon.—For some time after our
meeting this morning I could not think. The new phases of things leave my mind
in a state of wonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina's determination
not to take any part in the discussion set me thinking. And as I could not
argue the matter with her, I could only guess. I am as far as ever from a
solution now. The way the others received it, too puzzled me. The last time we
talked of the subject we agreed that there was to be no more concealment of
anything amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly and sweetly like a little
child. Her lips are curved and her face beams with happiness. Thank God, there
are such moments still for her.
Later.—How strange it all is. I sat
watching Mina's happy sleep, and I came as near to being happy myself as I
suppose I shall ever be. As the evening drew on, and the earth took its shadows
from the sun sinking lower, the silence of the room grew more and more solemn to
me.
All at once Mina opened her eyes, and
looking at me tenderly said, "Jonathan, I want you to promise me something
on your word of honor. A promise made to me, but made holily in God's hearing,
and not to be broken though I should go down on my knees and implore you with
bitter tears. Quick, you must make it to me at once."
"Mina," I said, "a promise
like that, I cannot make at once. I may have no right to make it."
"But, dear one," she said, with
such spiritual intensity that her eyes were like pole stars, "it is I who
wish it. And it is not for myself. You can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not
right. If he disagrees you may do as you will. Nay, more if you all agree,
later you are absolved from the promise."
"I promise!"I said, and for a
moment she looked supremely happy. Though to me all happiness for her was
denied by the red scar on her forehead.
She said, "Promise me that you will
not tell me anything of the plans formed for the campaign against the Count.
Not by word, or inference, or implication, not at any time whilst this remains
to me!" And she solemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in
earnest, and said solemnly, "I promise!" and as I said it I felt that
from that instant a door had been shut between us.
Later, midnight.—Mina has been bright and
cheerful all the evening. So much so that all the rest seemed to take courage,
as if infected somewhat with her gaiety. As a result even I myself felt as if
the pall of gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted. We all retired
early. Mina is now sleeping like a little child. It is wonderful thing that her
faculty of sleep remains to her in the midst of her terrible trouble. Thank God
for it, for then at least she can forget her care. Perhaps her example may
affect me as her gaiety did tonight. I shall try it. Oh! For a dreamless sleep.
6 October, morning.—Another surprise. Mina
woke me early, about the same time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van
Helsing. I thought that it was another occassion for hypnotism, and without
question went for the Professor. He had evidently expected some such call, for
I found him dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so that he could hear the
opening of the door of our room. He came at once. As he passed into the room,
he asked Mina if the others might come, too.
"No," she said quite simply,
"it will not be necessary. You can tell them just as well. I must go with
you on your journey."
Dr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was.
After a moment's pause he asked, "But why?"
"You must take me with you. I am safer
with you, and you shall be safer, too."
"But why, dear Madam Mina? You know
that your safety is our solemnest duty. We go into danger, to which you are, or
may be, more liable than any of us from . . . from circumstances . . . things
that have been." He paused embarrassed.
As she replied, she raised her finger and
pointed to her forehead. "I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you
now, whilst the sun is coming up. I may not be able again. I know that when the
Count wills me I must go. I know that if he tells me to come in secret, I must
by wile. By any device to hoodwink, even Jonathan." God saw the look that
she turned on me as she spoke, and if there be indeed a Recording Angel that
look is noted to her ever-lasting honor. I could only clasp her hand. I could
not speak. My emotion was too great for even the relief of tears.
She went on. "You men are brave and
strong. You are strong in your numbers, for you can defy that which would break
down the human endurance of one who had to guard alone. Besides, I may be of
service, since you can hypnotize me and so learn that which even I myself do
not know."
Dr. Van Helsing said gravely, "Madam
Mina, you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come. And together we
shall do that which we go forth to achieve."
When he had spoken, Mina's long spell of
silence made me look at her. She had fallen back on her pillow asleep. She did
not even wake when I had pulled up the blind and let in the sunlight which
flooded the room. Van Helsing motioned to me to come with him quietly. We went
to his room, and within a minute Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris
were with us also.
He told them what Mina had said, and went
on. "In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with a
new factor, Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an agony to tell
us so much as she has done. But it is most right, and we are warned in time.
There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must be ready to act the instant
when that ship arrives."
"What shall we do exactly?"asked
Mr. Morris laconically.
The Professor paused before replying,
"We shall at the first board that ship. Then, when we have identified the
box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shall fasten, for
when it is there none can emerge, so that at least says the superstition. And
to superstition must we trust at the first. It was man's faith in the early,
and it have its root in faith still. Then, when we get the opportunity that we
seek, when none are near to see, we shall open the box, and . . . and all will
be well."
"I shall not wait for any
opportunity," said Morris. "When I see the box I shall open it and
destroy the monster, though there were a thousand men looking on, and if I am
to be wiped out for it the next moment!" I grasped his hand instinctively
and found it as firm as a piece of steel. I think he understood my look. I hope
he did.
"Good boy," said Dr. Van Helsing.
"Brave boy. Quincey is all man. God bless him for it. My child, believe me
none of us shall lag behind or pause from any fear. I do but say what we may do
. . . what we must do. But, indeed, indeed we cannot say what we may do. There
are so many things which may happen, and their ways and their ends are so
various that until the moment we may not say. We shall all be armed, in all
ways. And when the time for the end has come, our effort shall not be lack. Now
let us today put all our affairs in order. Let all things which touch on others
dear to us, and who on us depend, be complete. For none of us can tell what, or
when, or how, the end may be. As for me, my own affairs are regulate, and as I
have nothing else to do, I shall go make arrangements for the travel. I shall
have all tickets and so forth for our journey."
There was nothing further to be said, and
we parted. I shall now settle up all my affairs of earth, and be ready for
whatever may come.
Later.—It is done. My will is made, and all
complete. Mina if she survive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the
others who have been so good to us shall have remainder.
It is now drawing towards the sunset.
Mina's uneasiness calls my attention to it. I am sure that there is something
on her mind which the time of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are
becoming harrowing times for us all. For each sunrise and sunset opens up some
new danger, some new pain, which however, may in God's will be means to a good
end. I write all these things in the diary since my darling must not hear them
now. But if it may be that she can see them again, they shall be ready. She is
calling to me.
Chapter 25
DR SEWARD'S DIARY
11 October, Evening.—Jonathan Harker has
asked me to note this, as he says he is hardly equal to the task, and he wants
an exact record kept.
I think that none of us were surprised when
we were asked to see Mrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of
late come to understand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar
freedom. When her old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduing
or restraining her, or inciting her to action. This mood or condition begins
some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sunset, and lasts till either
the sun is high, or whilst the clouds are still aglow with the rays streaming
above the horizon. At first there is a sort of negative condition, as if some
tie were loosened, and then the absolute freedom quickly follows. When,
however, the freedom ceases the change back or relapse comes quickly, preceeded
only by a spell of warning silence.
Tonight, when we met, she was somewhat
constrained, and bore all the signs of an internal struggle. I put it down
myself to her making a violent effort at the earliest instant she could do so.
A very few minutes, however, gave her
complete control of herself. Then, motioning her husband to sit beside her on
the sofa where she was half reclining, she made the rest of us bring chairs up
close.
Taking her husband's hand in hers, she
began, "We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I
know that you will always be with me to the end." This was to her husband
whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon her. "In the morning we go
out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be in store for any of us. You
are going to be so good to me to take me with you. I know that all that brave
earnest men can do for a poor weak woman, whose soul perhaps is lost, no, no,
not yet, but is at any rate at stake, you will do. But you must remember that I
am not as you are. There is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy
me, which must destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, my friends, you
know as well as I do, that my soul is at stake. And though I know there is one
way out for me, you must not and I must not take it!" She looked appealingly
to us all in turn, beginning and ending with her husband.
"What is that way?" asked Van
Helsing in a hoarse voice. "What is that way, which we must not, may not,
take?"
"That I may die now, either by my own
hand or that of another, before the greater evil is entirely wrought. I know,
and you know, that were I once dead you could and would set free my immortal
spirit, even as you did my poor Lucy's. Were death, or the fear of death, the
only thing that stood in the way I would not shrink to die here now, amidst the
friends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe that to die in such
a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to be done, is God's
will. Therefore, I on my part, give up here the certainty of eternal rest, and
go out into the dark where may be the blackest things that the world or the
nether world holds!"
We were all silent, for we knew
instinctively that this was only a prelude. The faces of the others were set,
and Harker's grew ashen grey. Perhaps, he guessed better than any of us what
was coming.
She continued, "This is what I can
give into the hotchpot." I could not but note the quaint legal phrase
which she used in such a place, and with all seriousness. "What will each
of you give? Your lives I know," she went on quickly, "that is easy
for brave men. Your lives are God's, and you can give them back to Him, but
what will you give to me?" She looked again questionly, but this time
avoided her husband's face. Quincey seemed to understand, he nodded, and her face
lit up. "Then I shall tell you plainly what I want, for there must be no
doubtful matter in this connection between us now. You must promise me, one and
all, even you, my beloved husband, that should the time come, you will kill
me."
"What is that time?" The voice
was Quincey's, but it was low and strained.
"When you shall be convinced that I am
so changed that it is better that I die that I may live. When I am thus dead in
the flesh, then you will, without a moment's delay, drive a stake through me
and cut off my head, or do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!"
Quincey was the first to rise after the
pause. He knelt down before her and taking her hand in his said solemnly,
"I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should to
win such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred and dear
that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the duty that you have
set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I am only
doubtful I shall take it that the time has come!"
"My true friend!" was all she
could say amid her fastfalling tears, as bending over, she kissed his hand.
"I swear the same, my dear Madam
Mina!"said Van Helsing. "And I!" said Lord Godalming, each of
them in turn kneeling to her to take the oath. I followed, myself.
Then her husband turned to her wan-eyed and
with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of his hair, and
asked, "And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?"
"You too, my dearest,"she said,
with infinite yearning of pity in her voice and eyes. "You must not
shrink. You are nearest and dearest and all the world to me. Our souls are knit
into one, for all life and all time. Think, dear, that there have been times
when brave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them from
falling into the hands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more
because those that they loved implored them to slay them. It is men's duty
towards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial! And oh, my dear, if
it is to be that I must meet death at any hand, let it be at the hand of him
that loves me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy in poor
Lucy's case to him who loved." She stopped with a flying blush, and
changed her phrase, "to him who had best right to give her peace. If that
time shall come again, I look to you to make it a happy memory of my husband's
life that it was his loving hand which set me free from the awful thrall upon
me."
"Again I swear!" came the
Professor's resonant voice.
Mrs. Harker smiled, positively smiled, as
with a sigh of relief she leaned back and said, "And now one word of
warning, a warning which you must never forget. This time, if it ever come, may
come quickly and unexpectedly, and in such case you must lose no time in using
your opportunity. At such a time I myself might be . . . nay! If the time ever
come, shall be, leagued with your enemy against you.
"One more request," she became
very solemn as she said this, "it is not vital and necessary like the
other, but I want you to do one thing for me, if you will."
We all acquiesced, but no one spoke. There
was no need to speak.
"I want you to read the Burial
Service." She was interrupted by a deep groan from her husband. Taking his
hand in hers, she held it over her heart, and continued. "You must read it
over me some day. Whatever may be the issue of all this fearful state of
things, it will be a sweet thought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will
I hope read it, for then it will be in your voice in my memory forever, come
what may!"
"But oh, my dear one," he
pleaded, "death is afar off from you."
"Nay," she said, holding up a
warning hand. "I am deeper in death at this moment than if the weight of
an earthly grave lay heavy upon me!"
"Oh, my wife, must I read it?"he
said, before he began.
"It would comfort me, my
husband!" was all she said, and he began to read when she had got the book
ready.
How can I, how could anyone, tell of that
strange scene, its solemnity, its gloom,its sadness, its horror, and withal,
its sweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of bitter
truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the heart had he
seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneeling round that stricken
and sorrowing lady. Or heard the tender passion of her husband's voice, as in
tones so broken and emotional that often he had to pause, he read the simple
and beautiful service from the Burial of the Dead. I cannot go on . . . words .
. . and v-voices . . . f-fail m-me!
She was right in her instinct. Strange as
it was, bizarre as it may hereafter seem even to us who felt its potent
influence at the time, it comforted us much. And the silence, which showed Mrs.
Harker's coming relapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so full of
despair to any of us as we had dreaded.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
15 October, Varna.—We left Charing Cross on
the morning of the 12th, got to Paris the same night, and took the places
secured for us in the Orient Express. We traveled night and day, arriving here
at about five o'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any
telegram had arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel,
"the Odessus." The journey may have had incidents. I was, however,
too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the Czarina Catherine comes into
port there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world. Thank God!
Mina is well, and looks to be getting stronger. Her color is coming back. She
sleeps a great deal. Throughout the journey she slept nearly all the time.
Before sunrise and sunset, however, she is very wakeful and alert. And it has
become a habit for Van Helsing to hypnotize her at such times. At first, some
effort was needed, and he had to make many passes. But now, she seems to yield
at once, as if by habit, and scarcely any action is needed. He seems to have
power at these particular moments to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. He
always asks her what she can see and hear.
She answers to the first, "Nothing,
all is dark."
And to the second,"I can hear the
waves lapping against the ship, and the water rushing by. Canvas and cordage
strain and masts and yards creak. The wind is high . . . I can hear it in the
shrouds, and the bow throws back the foam."
It is evident that the Czarina Catherine is
still at sea, hastening on her way to Varna. Lord Godalming has just returned.
He had four telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same
effect. That the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to Lloyd's from
anywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that his agent should send him
every day a telegram saying if the ship had been reported. He was to have a
message even if she were not reported, so that he might be sure that there was
a watch being kept at the other end of the wire.
We had dinner and went to bed early.
Tomorrow we are to see the Vice Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about
getting on board the ship as soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our
chance will be to get on the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even
if he takes the form of a bat, cannot cross the running water of his own
volition, and so cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to man's form
without suspicion, which he evidently wishes to avoid, he must remain in the
box. If, then, we can come on board after sunrise, he is at our mercy, for we
can open the box and make sure of him, as we did of poor Lucy, before he wakes.
What mercy he shall get from us all will not count for much. We think that we
shall not have much trouble with officials or the seamen. Thank God! This is
the country where bribery can do anything, and we are well supplied with money.
We have only to make sure that the ship cannot come into port between sunset
and sunrise without our being warned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag will
settle this case, I think!
16 October.—Mina's report still the same.
Lapping waves and rushing water, darkness and favoring winds. We are evidently
in good time, and when we hear of the Czarina Catherine we shall be ready. As
she must pass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.
17 October.—Everything is pretty well fixed
now, I think, to welcome the Count on his return from his tour. Godalming told
the shippers that he fancied that the box sent aboard might contain something
stolen from a friend of his, and got a half consent that he might open it at
his own risk. The owner gave him a paper telling the Captain to give him every
facility in doing whatever he chose on board the ship, and also a similar
authorization to his agent at Varna. We have seen the agent, who was much
impressed with Godalming's kindly manner to him, and we are all satisfied that
whatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done.
We have already arranged what to do in case
we get the box open. If the Count is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off
his head at once and drive a stake through his heart. Morris and Godalming and
I shall prevent interference, even if we have to use the arms which we shall have
ready. The Professor says that if we can so treat the Count's body, it will
soon after fall into dust. In such case there would be no evidence against us,
in case any suspicion of murder were aroused. But even if it were not, we
should stand or fall by our act, and perhaps some day this very script may be
evidence to come between some of us and a rope. For myself, I should take the
chance only too thankfully if it were to come. We mean to leave no stone
unturned to carry out our intent. We have arranged with certain officials that
the instant the Czarina Catherine is seen, we are to be informed by a special
messenger.
24 October.—A whole week of waiting. Daily
telegrams to Godalming, but only the same story. "Not yet reported."
Mina's morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried. Lapping waves, rushing
water, and creaking masts.
TELEGRAM, OCTOBER 24TH RUFUS SMITH,
LLOYD'S, LONDON, TO LORD GODALMING, CARE OF
H. B. M. VICE CONSUL, VARNA
"Czarina Catherine reported this
morning from Dardanelles."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
25 October.—How I miss my phonograph! To
write a diary with a pen is irksome to me! But Van Helsing says I must. We were
all wild with excitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from
Lloyd's. I know now what men feel in battle when the call to action is heard.
Mrs.Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emotion. After all,
it is not strange that she did not, for we took special care not to let her
know anything about it, and we all tried not to show any excitement when we
were in her presence. In old days she would, I am sure, have noticed, no matter
how we might have tried to conceal it. But in this way she is greatly changed
during the past three weeks. The lethargy grows upon her, and though she seems
strong and well, and is getting back some of her color, Van Helsing and I are
not satisfied. We talk of her often. We have not, however, said a word to the
others. It would break poor Harker's heart, certainly his nerve, if he knew
that we had even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me,
her teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition, for he says
that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no active danger of a
change in her. If this change should come, it would be necessary to take steps!
We both know what those steps would have to be, though we do not mention our
thoughts to each other. We should neither of us shrink from the task, awful
though it be to contemplate. "Euthanasia" is an excellent and a
comforting word! I am grateful to whoever invented it.
It is only about 24 hours' sail from the
Dardanelles to here, at the rate the Czarina Catherine has come from London.
She should therefore arrive some time in the morning, but as she cannot
possibly get in before noon, we are all about to retire early. We shall get up
at one o'clock, so as to be ready.
25 October, Noon.—No news yet of the ship's
arrival. Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so
it is possible that we may get news at any moment. We men are all in a fever of
excitement, except Harker, who is calm. His hands are cold as ice, and an hour
ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now
always carries with him. It will be a bad lookout for the Count if the edge of
that "Kukri" ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold
hand!
Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed
about Mrs. Harker today. About noon she got into a sort of lethargy which we
did not like. Although we kept silence to the others, we were neither of us
happy about it. She had been restless all the morning, so that we were at first
glad to know that she was sleeping. When, however, her husband mentioned
casually that she was sleeping so soundly that he could not wake her, we went to
her room to see for ourselves. She was breathing naturally and looked so well
and peaceful that we agreed that the sleep was better for her than anything
else. Poor girl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonder that sleep, if
it brings oblivion to her, does her good.
Later.—Our opinion was justified, for when
after a refreshing sleep of some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and
better than she had been for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic
report. Wherever he may be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his
destination. To his doom, I trust!
26 October.—Another day and no tidings of
the Czarina Catherine. She ought to be here by now. That she is still
journeying somewhere is apparent, for Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report at sunrise
was still the same. It is possible that the vessel may be lying by, at times,
for fog. Some of the steamers which came in last evening reported patches of
fog both to north and south of the port. We must continue our watching, as the
ship may now be signalled any moment.
27 October, Noon.—Most strange. No news yet
of the ship we wait for. Mrs. Harker reported last night and this morning as
usual. "Lapping waves and rushing water," though she added that
"the waves were very faint." The telegrams from London have been the
same, "no further report." Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told
me just now that he fears the Count is escaping us.
He added significantly, "I did not
like that lethargy of Madam Mina's. Souls and memories can do strange things
during trance." I was about to as k him more, but Harker just then came
in, and he held up a warning hand. We must try tonight at sunset to make her
speak more fully when in her hypnotic state.
28 October.—Telegram. Rufus Smith, London,
to Lord Godalming, care H. B. M. Vice Consul, Varna "Czarina Catherine
reported entering Galatz at one o'clock today."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
28 October.—When the telegram came
announcing the arrival in Galatz I do not think it was such a shock to any of
us as might have been expected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when,
the bolt would come. But I think we all expected that something strange would
happen. The day of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied that things
would not be just as we had expected. We only waited to learn where the change
would occur. None the less, however, it was a surprise. I suppose that nature
works on such a hopeful basis that we believe against ourselves that things
will be as they ought to be, not as we should know that they will be. Transcendentalism
is a beacon to the angels, even if it be a will-o'-the-wisp to man. Van Helsing
raised his hand over his head for a moment, as though in remonstrance with the
Almighty. But he said not a word, and in a few seconds stood up with his face sternly
set.
Lord Godalming grew very pale, and sat
breathing heavily. I was myself half stunned and looked in wonder at one after
another. Quincey Morris tightened his belt with that quick movement which I
knew so well. In our old wandering days it meant "action." Mrs.
Harker grew ghastly white, so that the scar on her forehead seemed to burn, but
she folded her hands meekly and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled, actually
smiled, the dark, bitter smile of one who is without hope, but at the same time
his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the
great Kukri knife and rested there.
"When does the next train start for
Galatz?" said Van Helsing to us generally.
"At 6:30 tomorrow morning!" We
all started, for the answer came from Mrs. Harker.
"How on earth do you know?" said
Art.
"You forget, or perhaps you do not
know, though Jonathan does and so does Dr. Van Helsing, that I am the train
fiend. At home in Exeter I always used to make up the time tables, so as to be
helpful to my husband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a
study of the time tables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to Castle
Dracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate through Bucharest, so I learned
the times very carefully. Unhappily there are not many to learn, as the only
train tomorrow leaves as I say."
"Wonderful woman!" murmured the
Professor.
"Can't we get a special?" asked
Lord Godalming.
Van Helsing shook his head, "I fear
not. This land is very different from yours or mine. Even if we did have a
special, it would probably not arrive as soon as our regular train. Moreover,
we have something to prepare. We must think. Now let us organize. You, friend
Arthur, go to the train and get the tickets and arrange that all be ready for
us to go in the morning. Do you, friend Jonathan, go to the agent of the ship
and get from him letters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to make a
search of the ship just as it was here. Quincey Morris, you see the Vice
Consul, and get his aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our
way smooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. John will stay with
Madam Mina and me, and we shall consult. For so if time be long you may be
delayed. And it will not matter when the sun set, since I am here with Madam to
make report."
"And I," said Mrs. Harker
brightly, and more like her old self than she had been for many a long day,
"shall try to be of use in all ways, and shall think and write for you as
I used to do. Something is shifting from me in some strange way, and I feel
freer than I have been of late!"
The three younger men looked happier at the
moment as they seemed to realize the significance of her words. But Van Helsing
and I, turning to each other, met each a grave and troubled glance. We said
nothing at the time, however.
When the three men had gone out to their
tasks Van Helsing asked Mrs. Harker to look up the copy of the diaries and find
him the part of Harker's journal at the Castle. She went away to get it.
When the door was shut upon her he said to
me, "We mean the same! Speak out!"
"Here is some change. It is a hope
that makes me sick, for it may deceive us."
"Quite so. Do you know why I asked her
to get the manuscript?"
"No!" said I, "unless it was
to get an opportunity of seeing me alone."
"You are in part right, friend John,
but only in part. I want to tell you something. And oh, my friend, I am taking
a great, a terrible, risk. But I believe it is right. In the moment when Madam
Mina said those words that arrest both our understanding, an inspiration came
to me. In the trance of three days ago the Count sent her his spirit to read
her mind. Or more like he took her to see him in his earth box in the ship with
water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. He learn then that we
are here, for she have more to tell in her open life with eyes to see ears to
hear than he, shut as he is, in his coffin box. Now he make his most effort to
escape us. At present he want her not.
"He is sure with his so great
knowledge that she will come at his call. But he cut her off, take her, as he
can do, out of his own power, that so she come not to him. Ah! There I have
hope that our man brains that have been of man so long and that have not lost
the grace of God, will come higher than his child-brain that lie in his tomb
for centuries, that grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish
and therefore small. Here comes Madam Mina. Not a word to her of her trance!
She knows it not, and it would overwhelm her and make despair just when we want
all her hope, all her courage, when most we want all her great brain which is
trained like man's brain, but is of sweet woman and have a special power which
the Count give her, and which he may not take away altogether, though he think
not so. Hush! Let me speak, and you shall learn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in
awful straits. I fear, as I never feared before. We can only trust the good
God. Silence! Here she comes!"
I thought that the Professor was going to
break down and have hysterics, just as he had when Lucy died, but with a great
effort he controlled himself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker
tripped into the room, bright and happy looking and, in the doing of work,
seemingly forgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of
sheets of typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them gravely, his face
brightening up as he read.
Then holding the pages between his finger
and thumb he said, "Friend John, to you with so much experience already,
and you too, dear Madam Mina, that are young, here is a lesson. Do not fear
ever to think. A half thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear to
let him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to where that
half thought come from and I find that he be no half thought at all. That be a
whole thought, though so young that he is not yet strong to use his little
wings. Nay, like the `Ugly Duck' of my friend Hans Andersen, he be no duck
thought at all, but a big swan thought that sail nobly on big wings, when the
time come for him to try them. See I read here what Jonathan have written.
"That other of his race who, in a
later age, again and again, brought his forces over The Great River into Turkey
Land, who when he was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he
had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being
slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph.
"What does this tell us? Not much? No!
The Count's child thought see nothing, therefore he speak so free. Your man
thought see nothing. My man thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there
comes another word from some one who speak without thought because she, too,
know not what it mean, what it might mean. Just as there are elements which
rest, yet when in nature's course they move on their way and they touch, the
pouf! And there comes a flash of light, heaven wide, that blind and kill and
destroy some. But that show up all earth below for leagues and leagues. Is it
not so? Well, I shall explain. To begin, hav e you ever study the philosophy of
crime? `Yes' and `No.' You, John, yes, for it is a study of insanity. You, no,
Madam Mina, for crime touch you not, not but once. Still, your mind works true,
and argues not a particulari ad universale. There is this peculiarity in
criminals. It is so constant, in all countries and at all times, that even
police, who know not much from philosophy, come to know it empirically, that it
is. That is to be empiric. The criminal always work at one crime, that is the
true criminal who seems predestinate to crime, and who will of none other. This
criminal has not full man brain. He is clever and cunning and resourceful, but
he be not of man stature as to brain. He be of child brain in much. Now this
criminal of ours is pre-destinate to crime also. He, too, have child brain, and
it is of the child to do what he have done. The little bird, the little fish,
the little animal learn not by principle, but empirically. And when he learn to
do, then there is to him the ground to start from to do more. `Dos pou sto,'
said Archimedes. `Give me a fulcrum, and I shall move the world!' To do once,
is the fulcrum whereby child brain become man brain. And until he have the
purpose to do more, he continue to do the same again every time, just as he
have done before! Oh, my dear, I see that your eyes are opened, and that to you
the lightning flash show all the leagues,"for Mrs. Harker began to clap
her hands and her eyes sparkled.
He went on, "Now you shall speak. Tell
us two dry men of science what you see with those so bright eyes." He took
her hand and held it whilst he spoke. His finger and thumb closed on her pulse,
as I thought instinctively and unconsciously, as she spoke.
"The Count is a criminal and of
criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso would so classify him, and qua criminal he
is of an imperfectly formed mind. Thus, in a difficulty he has to seek resource
in habit. His past is a clue, and the one page of it that we know, and that
from his own lips, tells that once before, when in what Mr. Morris would call
a`tight place,' he went back to his own country from the land he had tried to
invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared himself for a new effort.
He came again better equipped for his work, and won. So he came to London to
invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all hope of success was lost, and
his existence in danger, he fled back over the sea to his home. Just as
formerly he had fled back over the Danube from Turkey Land."
"Good, good! Oh, you so clever
lady!" said Van Helsing, enthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her
hand. A moment later he said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a
sick room consultation, "Seventy-two only, and in all this excitement. I have
hope."
Turning to her again, he said with keen
expectation, "But go on. Go on! There is more to tell if you will. Be not
afraid. John and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right.
Speak, without fear!"
"I will try to. But you will forgive
me if I seem too egotistical."
"Nay! Fear not, you must be egotist,
for it is of you that we think."
"Then, as he is criminal he is
selfish. And as his intellect is small and his action is based on selfishness,
he confines himself to one purpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he fled
back over the Danube, leaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is
intent on being safe, careless of all. So his own selfishness frees my soul
somewhat from the terrible power which he acquired over me on that dreadful
night. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great mercy! My soul is
freer than it has been since that awful hour. And all that haunts me is a fear
lest in some trance or dream he may have used my knowledge for his ends."
The Professor stood up, "He has so
used your mind, and by it he has left us here in Varna, whilst the ship that
carried him rushed through enveloping fog up to Galatz, where, doubtless, he
had made preparation for escaping from us. But his child mind only saw so far.
And it may be that as ever is in God's Providence, the very thing that the evil
doer most reckoned on for his selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm.
The hunter is taken in his own snare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that
he think he is free from every trace of us all, and that he has escaped us with
so many hours to him, then his selfish child brain will whisper him to sleep.
He think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your mind, there can be
no knowledge of him to you. There is where he fail! That terrible baptism of
blood which he give you makes you free to go to him in spirit, as you have as
yet done in your times of freedom, when the sun rise and set. At such times you
go by my volition and not by his. And this power to good of you and others, you
have won from your suffering at his hands. This is now all more precious that
he know it not, and to guard himself have even cut himself off from his
knowledge of our where. We, however, are not selfish, and we believe that God
is with us through all this blackness, and these many dark hours. We shall
follow him, and we shall not flinch. Even if we peril ourselves that we become
like him. Friend John, this has been a great hour, and it have done much to
advance us on our way. You must be scribe and write him all down, so that when
the others return from their work you can give it to them, then they shall know
as we do."
And so I have written it whilst we wait
their return, and Mrs. Harker has written with the typewriter all since she
brought the MS to us.
Chapter 26
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
29 October.—This is written in the train
from Varna to Galatz. Last night we all assembled a little before the time of
sunset. Each of us had done his work as well as he could, so far as thought,
and endeavor, and opportunity go, we are prepared for the whole of our journey,
and for our work when we get to Galatz. When the usual time came round Mrs.
Harker prepared herself for her hypnotic effort, and after a longer and more
serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than has been usually necessary, she
sank into the trance. Usually she speaks on a hint, but this time the Professor
had to ask her questions, and to ask them pretty resolutely, before we could
learn anything. At last her answer came.
"I can see nothing. We are still.
There are no waves lapping, but only a steady swirl of water softly running
against the hawser. I can hear men's voices calling, near and far, and the roll
and creak of oars in the rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere, the echo of it
seems far away. There is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are
dragged along. What is this? There is a gleam of light. I can feel the air
blowing upon me."
Here she stopped. She had risen, as if
impulsively, from where she lay on the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms
upwards, as if lifting a weight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with
understanding. Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently,
whilst Harker's hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri. There
was a long pause. We all knew that the time when she could speak was passing,
but we felt that it was useless to say anything.
Suddenly she sat up, and as she opened her
eyes said sweetly, "Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be
so tired!"
We could only make her happy, and so
acqueisced. She bustled off to get tea. When she had gone Van Helsing said,
"You see, my friends. He is close to land. He has left his earth chest.
But he has yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie hidden somewhere, but
if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship do not touch it, he cannot
achieve the land. In such case he can, if it be in the night, change his form
and jump or fly on shore, then, unless he be carried he cannot escape. And if
he be carried, then the customs men may discover what the box contain. Thus, in
fine, if he escape not on shore tonight, or before dawn, there will be the
whole day lost to him. We may then arrive in time. For if he escape not at
night we shall come on him in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy. For he dare
not be his true self, awake and visible, lest he be discovered."
There was no more to be said, so we waited
in patience until the dawn, at which time we might learn more from Mrs. Harker.
Early this morning we listened, with
breathless anxiety, for her response in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even
longer in coming than before, and when it came the time remaining until full
sunrise was so short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his
whole soul into the effort. At last, in obedience to his will she made reply.
"All is dark. I hear lapping water,
level with me, and some creaking as of wood on wood." She paused, and the
red sun shot up. We must wait till tonight.
And so it is that we are travelling towards
Galatz in an agony of expectation. We are due to arrive between two and three
in the morning. But already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we
cannot possibly get in till well after sunup. Thus we shall have two more
hypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker! Either or both may possibly throw more
light on what is happening.
Later.—Sunset has come and gone.
Fortunately it came at a time when there was no distraction. For had it
occurred whilst we were at a station, we might not have secured the necessary
calm and isolation. Mrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less
readily than this morning. I am in fear that her power of reading the Count's
sensations may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me that her
imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has been in the trance hitherto
she has confined herself to the simplest of facts. If this goes on it may
ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the Count's power over her would die
away equally with her power of knowledge it would be a happy thought. But I am
afraid that it may not be so.
When she did speak, her words were
enigmatical,"Something is going out. I can feel it pass me like a cold
wind. I can hear, far off, confused sounds, as of men talking in strange
tongues, fierce falling water, and the howling of wolves." She stopped and
a shudder ran through her, increasing in intensity for a few seconds, till at
the end, she shook as though in a palsy. She said no more, even in answer to
the Professor's imperative questioning. When she woke from the trance, she was
cold, and exhausted, and languid, but her mind was all alert. She could not
remember anything, but asked what she had said. When she was told, she pondered
over it deeply for a long time and in silence.
30 October, 7 a. m.—We are near Galatz now,
and I may not have time to write later. Sunrise this morning was anxiously
looked for by us all. Knowing of the increasing difficulty of procuring the
hypnotic trance, Van Helsing began his passes earlier than usual. They produced
no effect, however, until the regular time, when she yielded with a still
greater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. The Professor lost no
time in his questioning.
Her answer came with equal quickness,
"All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, and the
creaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. There is another sound, a queer
one like . . ." She stopped and grew white, and whiter still.
"Go on, go on! Speak, I command
you!" said Van Helsing in an agonized voice. At the same time there was
despair in his eyes, for the risen sun was reddening even Mrs. Harker's pale
face. She opened her eyes, and we all started as she said, sweetly and
seemingly with the utmost unconcern.
"Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what
you know I can't? I don't remember anything." Then, seeing the look of
amazement on our faces, she said, turning from one to the other with a troubled
look, "What have I said? What have I done? I know nothing, only that I was
lying here, half asleep, and heard you say `go on! speak, I command you!' It
seemed so funny to hear you order me about, as if I were a bad child!"
"Oh, Madam Mina," he said, sadly,
"it is proof, if proof be needed, of how I love and honor you, when a word
for your good, spoken more earnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is
to order her whom I am proud to obey!"
The whistles are sounding. We are nearing
Galatz. We are on fire with anxiety and eagerness.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 October.—Mr. Morris took me to the hotel
where our rooms had been ordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best
be spared, since he does not speak any foreign language. The forces were
distributed much as they had been at Varna, except that Lord Godalming went to
the Vice Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of some sort
to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jonathan and the two doctors went
to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrival of the Czarina
Catherine.
Later.—Lord Godalming has returned. The
Consul is away, and the Vice Consul sick. So the routine work has been attended
to by a clerk. He was very obliging, and offered to do anything in his power.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 October.—At nine o'clock Dr. Van
Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I called on Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the
agents of the London firm of Hapgood. They had received a wire from London, in
answer to Lord Godalming's telegraphed request, asking them to show us any
civility in their power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at
once on board the Czarina Catherine, which lay at anchor out in the river
harbor. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us of his voyage.
He said that in all his life he had never had so favorable a run.
"Man!" he said, "but it made
us afeard, for we expect it that we should have to pay for it wi' some rare
piece o' ill luck, so as to keep up the average. It's no canny to run frae
London to the Black Sea wi' a wind ahint ye, as though the Deil himself were
blawin' on yer sail for his ain purpose. An' a' the time we could no speer a
thing. Gin we were nigh a ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog fell on us and
travelled wi' us, till when after it had lifted and we looked out, the deil a
thing could we see. We ran by Gibraltar wi' oot bein' able to signal. An' til
we came to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get our permit to pass, we never
were within hail o' aught. At first I inclined to slack off sail and beat about
till the fog was lifted. But whiles, I thocht that if the Deil was minded to
get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it whether we would or no.
If we had a quick voyage it would be no to our miscredit wi'the owners, or no
hurt to our traffic, an' the Old Mon who had served his ain purpose wad be
decently grateful to us for no hinderin' him."
This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of
superstition and commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said,"Mine
friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought by some, and he know when
he meet his match!"
The skipper was not displeased with the
compliment, and went on, "When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to
grumble. Some o' them, the Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a
big box which had been put on board by a queer lookin' old man just before we
had started frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their
twa fingers when they saw him, to guard them against the evil eye. Man! but the
supersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly rideeculous! I sent them aboot their
business pretty quick, but as just after a fog closed in on us I felt a wee bit
as they did anent something, though I wouldn't say it was again the big box.
Well, on we went, and as the fog didn't let up for five days I joost let the
wind carry us, for if the Deil wanted to get somewheres, well, he would fetch
it up a'reet. An' if he didn't, well, we'd keep a sharp lookout anyhow. Sure
eneuch, we had a fair way and deep water all the time. And two days ago, when
the mornin' sun came through the fog, we found ourselves just in the river
opposite Galatz. The Roumanians were wild, and wanted me right or wrong to take
out the box and fling it in the river. I had to argy wi' them aboot it wi' a
handspike. An' when the last o' them rose off the deck wi' his head in his hand,
I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, the property and the trust
of my owners were better in my hands than in the river Danube. They had, mind
ye, taken the box on the deck ready to fling in, and as it was marked Galatz
via Varna, I thocht I'd let it lie till we discharged in the port an' get rid
o't althegither. We didn't do much clearin' that day, an' had to remain the
nicht at anchor. But in the mornin', braw an' airly, an hour before sunup, a
man came aboard wi' an order, written to him from England, to receive a box
marked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready to his hand.
He had his papers a' reet, an' gla d I was to be rid o' the dam' thing, for I
was beginnin' masel' to feel uneasy at it. If the Deil did have any luggage
aboord the ship, I'm thinkin' it was nane ither than that same!"
"What was the name of the man who took
it?" asked Dr. Van Helsing with restrained eagerness.
"I'll be tellin' ye quick!" he
answered, and stepping down to his cabin, produced a receipt signed
"Immanuel Hildesheim." Burgen-strasse 16 was the address. We found
out that this was all the Captain knew, so with thanks we came away.
We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew
of rather the Adelphi Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His
arguments were pointed with specie, we doing the punctuation, and with a little
bargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out to be simple but important.
He had received a letter from Mr. de Ville of London, telling him to receive,
if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a box which would arrive at
Galatz in the Czarina Catherine. This he was to give in charge to a certain
Petrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks who traded down the river to the
port. He had been paid for his work by an English bank note, which had been
duly cashed for gold at the Danube International Bank. When Skinsky had come to
him, he had taken him to the ship and handed over the box, so as to save
parterage. That was all he knew.
We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable
to find him. One of his neighbors, who did not seem to bear him any affection,
said that he had gone away two days before,no one knew whither. This was
corroborated by his landlord, who had received by messenger the key of the
house together with the rent due, in English money. This had been between ten
and eleven o'clock last night. We were at a standstill again.
Whilst we were talking one came running and
breathlessly gasped out that the body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall
of the churchyard of St. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as if by
some wild animal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to see the horror,
the women crying out. "This is the work of a Slovak!" We hurried away
lest we should have been in some way drawn into the affair, and so detained.
As we came home we could arrive at no
definite conclusion. We were all convinced that the box was on its way, by
water, to somewhere, but where that might be we would have to discover. With
heavy hearts we came home to the hotel to Mina.
When we met together, the first thing was
to consult as to taking Mina again into our confidence. Things are getting
desperate, and it is at least a chance, though a hazardous one. As a
preliminary step, I was released from my promise to her.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 October, evening.—They were so tired and
worn out and dispirited that there was nothing to be done till they had some
rest, so I asked them all to lie down for half an hour whilst I should enter
everything up to the moment. I feel so grateful to the man who invented the
"Traveller's" typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting this one for
me. I should have felt quite astray doing the work if I had to write with a pen
. . .
It is all done. Poor dear, dear Jonathan,
what he must have suffered, what he must be suffering now. He lies on the sofa
hardly seeming to breathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His brows
are knit. His face is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he is thinking, and I
can see his face all wrinkled up with the concentration of his thoughts. Oh! if
I could only help at all. I shall do what I can.
I have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has
got me all the papers that I have not yet seen. Whilst they are resting, I
shall go over all carefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I
shall try to follow the Professor's example, and think without prejudice on the
facts before me . . .
I do believe that under God's providence I
have made a discovery. I shall get the maps and look over them.
I am more than ever sure that I am right.
My new conclusion is ready, so I shall get our party together and read it. They
can judge it. It is well to be accurate, and every minute is precious.
MINA HARKER'S MEMORANDUM
(ENTERED IN HER JOURNAL)
Ground of inquiry.—Count Dracula's problem
is to get back to his own place.
(a) He must be brought back by some one.
This is evident. For had he power to move himself as he wished he could go
either as man, or wolf, or bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears
discovery or interference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be,
confined as he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box.
(b) How is he to be taken?—Here a process
of exclusions may help us. By road, by rail, by water?
1. By Road.—There are endless difficulties,
especially in leaving the city.
(x) There are people. And people are
curious, and investigate. A hint, a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the
box, would destroy him.
(y) There are, or there may be, customs and
octroi officers to pass.
(z) His pursuers might follow. This is his
highest fear. And in order to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so
far as he can, even his victim, me!
2. By Rail.—There is no one in charge of
the box. It would have to take its chance of being delayed, and delay would be
fatal, with enemies on the track. True, he might escape at night. But what
would he be, if left in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to?
This is not what he intends, and he does not mean to risk it.
3. By Water.—Here is the safest way, in one
respect, but with most danger in another. On the water he is powerless except
at night. Even then he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his wolves.
But were he wrecked, the living water would engulf him, helpless, and he would
indeed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land, but if it were
unfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his position would still be
desperate.
We know from the record that he was on the
water, so what we have to do is to ascertain what water.
The first thing is to realize exactly what
he has done as yet. We may, then, get a light on what his task is to be.
Firstly.—We must differentiate between what
he did in London as part of his general plan of action, when he was pressed for
moments and had to arrange as best he could.
Secondly we must see, as well as we can
surmise it from the facts we know of, what he has done here.
As to the first, he evidently intended to
arrive at Galatz, and sent invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should
ascertain his means of exit from England. His immediate and sole purpose then
was to escape. The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent ot
Immanuel Hildesheim to clear and take away the box before sunrise. There is
also the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at, but there
must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky came to Hildesheim.
That, so far, his plans were successful we
know. The Czarina Catherine made a phenomenally quick journey. So much so that
Captain Donelson's suspicions were aroused. But his superstition united with
his canniness played the Count's game for him, and he ran with his favoring
wind through fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. That the
Count's arrangements were well made, has been proved. Hildesheim cleared the
box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it, and here we lose the
trail. We only know that the box is somewhere on the water, moving along. The
customs and the octroi, if there be any, have been avoided.
Now we come to what the Count must have
done after his arrival, on land, at Galatz.
The box was given to Skinsky before
sunrise. At sunrise the Count could appear in his own form. Here, we ask why
Skinsky was chosen at all to aid in the work? In my husband's diary, Skinsky is
mentioned as dealing with the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port. And
the man's remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the general
feeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation.
My surmise is this, that in London the
Count decided to get back to his castle by water, as the most safe and secret
way. He was brought from the castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered
their cargo to Slovaks who took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped
to London. Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could arrange this
service. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, he came out
from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him what to do as to arranging the carriage
of the box up some river. When this was done, and he knew that all was in
train, he blotted out his traces, as he thought, by murdering his agent.
I have examined the map and find that the
river most suitable for the Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the
Sereth. I read in the typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water
swirling level with my ears and the creaking of wood. The Count in his box,
then, was on a river in an open boat, propelled probably either by oars or
poles, for the banks are near and it is working against stream. There would be
no such if floating down stream.
Of course it may not be either the Sereth
or the Pruth, but we may possibly investigate further. Now of these two, the
Pruth is the more easily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the
Bistritza which runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes is manifestly
as close to Dracula's castle as can be got by water.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL—CONTINUED
When I had done reading, Jonathan took me
in his arms and kissed me. The others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr.
Van Helsing said, "Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes
have been where we were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this
time we may succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless. And if we can come on
him by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, but he is
powerless to hasten, as he may not leave this box lest those who carry him may
suspect. For them to suspect would be to prompt them to throw him in the stream
where he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men, to our Council of War,
for here and now, we must plan what each and all shall do."
"I shall get a steam launch and follow
him," said Lord Godalming.
"And I, horses to follow on the bank
lest by chance he land," said Mr. Morris.
"Good!" said the Professor,
"both good. But neither must go alone. There must be force to overcome
force if need be. The Slovak is strong and rough, and he carries rude
arms." All the men smiled, for amongst them they carried a small arsenal.
Said Mr. Morris, "I have brought some
Winchesters. They are pretty handy in a crowd, and there may be wolves. The
Count, if you remember, took some other precautions. He made some requisitions
on others that Mrs. Harker could not quite hear or understand. We must be ready
at all points."
Dr. Seward said, "I think I had better
go with Quincey. We have been accustomed to hunt together, and we two, well
armed, will be a match for whatever may come along. You must not be alone, Art.
It may be necessary to fight the Slovaks, and a chance thrust, for I don't
suppose these fellows carry guns, would undo all our plans. There must be no
chances, this time. We shall not rest until the Count's head and body have been
separated, and we are sure that he cannot reincarnate."
He looked at Jonathan as he spoke, and
Jonathan looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was torn about in his
mind. Of course he wanted to be with me. But then the boat service would, most
likely, be the one which would destroy the . . . the . . . Vampire. (Why did I
hesitate to write the word?)
He was silent awhile, and during his
silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke, "Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice
reasons. First, because you are young and brave and can fight, and all energies
may be needed at the last. And again that it is your right to destroy him.
That, which has wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Madam
Mina. She will be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run
as once. And I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as need be, or to fight
with lethal weapons. But I can be of other service. I can fight in other way.
And I can die, if need be, as well as younger men. Now let me say that what I
would is this. While you, my Lord Godalming and friend Jonathan go in your so
swift little steamboat up the river, and whilst John and Quincey guard the bank
where perchance he might be landed, I will take Madam Mina right into the heart
of the enemy's country. Whilst the old fox is tied in his box, floating on the
running stream whence he cannot escape to land, where he dares not raise the
lid of his coffin box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him to
perish, we shall go in the track where Jonathan went, from Bistritz over the
Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam Mina's hypnotic
power will surely help, and we shall find our way, all dark and unknown
otherwise, after the first sunrise when we are near that fateful place. There
is much to be done, and other places to be made sanctify, so that that nest of
vipers be obliterated."
Here Jonathan interrupted him hotly,
"Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina, in
her sad case and tainted as she is with that devil's illness, right into the
jaws of his deathtrap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!"
He became almost speechless for a minute,
and then went on, "Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful
den of hellish infamy, with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and
ever speck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo? Have
you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?"
Here he turned to me, and as his eyes lit
on my forehead he threw up his arms with a cry, "Oh, my God, what have we
done to have this terror upon us?" and he sank down on the sofa in a
collapse of misery.
The Professor's voice, as he spoke in
clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed us all.
"Oh, my friend, it is because I would
save Madam Mina from that awful place that I would go. God forbid that I should
take her into that place. There is work, wild work, to be done before that
place can be purify. Remember that we are in terrible straits. If the Count
escape us this time, and he is strong and subtle and cunning, he may choose to
sleep him for a century, and then in time our dear one," he took my hand,
"would come to him to keep him company, and would be as those others that
you, Jonathan, saw. You have told us of their gloating lips. You heard their
ribald laugh as they clutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You
shudder, and well may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it is
necessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for that which I am giving, possibly
my life? If it, were that any one went into that place to stay, it is I who
would have to go to keep them company."
"Do as you will," said Jonathan,
with a sob that shook him all over, "we are in the hands of God!"
Later.—Oh, it did me good to see the way
that these brave men worked. How can women help loving men when they are so
earnest, and so true, and so brave! And, too, it made me think of the wonderful
power of money! What can it not do when basely used. I felt so thankful that
Lord Godalming is rich, and both he and Mr. Morris, who also has plenty of
money, are willing to spend it so freely. For if they did not, our little
expedition could not start,either so promptly or so well equipped, as it will
within another hour. It is not three hours since it was arranged what part each
of us was to do. And now Lord Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steam
launch, with steam up ready to start at a moment's notice. Dr. Seward and Mr.
Morris have half a dozen good horses, well appointed. We have all the maps and
appliances of various kinds that can be had. Professor Van Helsing and I are to
leave by the 11:40 train tonight for Veresti, where we are to get a carriage to
drive to the Borgo Pass. We are bringing a good deal of ready money, as we are
to buy a carriage and horses. We shall drive ourselves, for we have no one whom
we can trust in the matter. The Professor knows something of a great many
languages, so we shall get on all right. We have all got arms, even for me a
large bore revolver. Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like the
rest. Alas! I cannot carry one arm that the rest do, the scar on my forehead
forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling me that I am fully
armed as there may be wolves. The weather is getting colder every hour, and
there are snow flurries which come and go as warnings.
Later.—It took all my courage to say goodby
to my darling. We may never meet again. Courage, Mina! The Professor is looking
at you keenly. His look is a warning. There must be no tears now, unless it may
be that God will let them fall in gladness.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 October, night.—I am writing this in the
light from the furnace door of the steam launch. Lord Godalming is firing up.
He is an experienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a launch of his
own on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding our plans, we
finally decided that Mina's guess was correct, and that if any waterway was
chosen for the Count's escape back to his Castle, the Sereth and then the
Bistritza at its junction, would be the one. We took it, that somewhere about
the 47th degree, north latitude, would be the place chosen for crossing the
country between the river and the Carpathians. We have no fear in running at
good speed up the river at night. There is plenty of water, and the banks are
wide enough apart to make steaming, even in the dark, easy enough. Lord
Godalming tells me to sleep for a while, as it is enough for the present for
one to be on watch. But I cannot sleep, how can I with the terrible danger
hanging over my darling, and her going out into that awful place . . .
My only comfort is that we are in the hands
of God. Only for that faith it would be easier to die than to live, and so be
quit of all the trouble. Mr. Morris and Dr. Seward were off on their long ride
before we started. They are to keep up the right bank, far enough off to get on
higher lands where they can see a good stretch of river and avoid the following
of its curves. They have, for the first stages, two men to ride and lead their
spare horses, four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When they dismiss the
men, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves look after the horses. It
may be necessary for us to join forces. If so they can mount our whole party.
One of the saddles has a moveable horn, and can be easily adapted for Mina, if
required.
It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as
we are rushing along through the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming
to rise up and strike us, with all the mysterious voices of the night around
us, it all comes home. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown
ways. Into a whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godalming is shutting the
furnace door . . .
31 October.—Still hurrying along. The day
has come, and Godalming is sleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly
cold, the furnace heat is grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As yet we
have passed only a few open boats, but none of them had on board any box or
package of anything like the size of the one we seek. The men were scared every
time we turned our electric lamp on them, and fell on their knees and prayed.
1 November, evening.—No news all day. We
have found nothing of the kind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza,
and if we are wrong in our surmise our chance is gone. We have overhauled every
boat, big and little. Early this morning, one crew took us for a Government
boat, and treated us accordingly. We saw in this a way of smoothing matters, so
at Fundu,where the Bistritza runs into the Sereth, we got a Roumanian flag
which we now fly conspicuously. With every boat which we have over-hauled since
then this trick has succeeded. We have had every deference shown to us, and not
once any objection to whatever we chose to ask or do. Some of the Slovaks tell
us that a big boat passed them, going at more than usual speed as she had a
double crew on board. This was before they came to Fundu, so they could not
tell us whether the boat turned into the Bistritza or continued on up the
Sereth. At Fundu we could not hear of any such boat, so she must have passed
there in the night. I am feeling very sleepy. The cold is perhaps beginning to
tell upon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godalming insists that he
shall keep the first watch. God bless him for all his goodness to poor dear
Mina and me.
2 November, morning.—It is broad daylight.
That good fellow would not wake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I
slept peacefully and was forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to me
to have slept so long, and let him watch all night, but he was quite right. I
am a new man this morning. And, as I sit here and watch him sleeping, I can do
all that is necessary both as to minding the engine, steering, and keeping
watch. I can feel that my strength and energy are coming back to me. I wonder
where Mina is now, and Van Helsing. They should have got to Veresti about noon
on Wednesday. It would take them some time to get the carriage and horses. So
if they had started and travelled hard, they would be about now at the Borgo
Pass. God guide and help them! I am afraid to think what may happen. If we
could only go faster. But we cannot. The engines are throbbing and doing their
utmost. I wonder how Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem to be
endless streams running down the mountains into this river, but as none of them
are very large, at present, at all events, though they are doubtless terrible
in winter and when the snow melts, the horsemen may not have met much
obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may see them. For if by
that time we have not overtaken the Count, it may be necessary to take counsel
together what to do next.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
2 November.—Three days on the road. No news,
and no time to write it if there had been, for every moment is precious. We
have had only the rest needful for the horses. But we are both bearing it
wonderfully. Those adventurous days of ours are turning up useful. We must push
on. We shall never feel happy till we get the launch in sight again.
3 Novenber.—We heard at Fundu that the
launch had gone up the Bistritza. I wish it wasn't so cold. There are signs of
snow coming. And if it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must get a
sledge and go on, Russian fashion.
4 Novenber.—Today we heard of the launch
having been detained by an accident when trying to force a way up the rapids.
The Slovak boats get up all right, by aid of a rope and steering with
knowledge. Some went up only a few hours before. Godalming is an amateur fitter
himself, and evidently it was he who put the launch in trim again.
Finally, they got up the rapids all right,
with local help, and are off on the chase afresh. I fear that the boat is not
any better for the accident, the peasantry tell us that after she got upon
smooth water again, she kept stopping every now and again so long as she was in
sight. We must push on harder than ever. Our help may be wanted soon.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
31 October.—Arrived at Veresti at noon. The
Professor tells me that this morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotize me at
all, and that all I could say was, "dark and quiet." He is off now
buying a carriage and horses. He says that he will later on try to buy
additional horses, so that we may be able to change them on the way. We have
something more than 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most
interesting. If only we were under different conditions, how delightful it
would be to see it all. If Jonathan and I were driving through it alone what a
pleasure it would be. To stop and see people, and learn something of their
life, and to fill our minds and memories with all the color and picturesqueness
of the whole wild, beautiful country and the quaint people! But, alas!
Later.—Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has
got the carriage and horses. We are to have some dinner, and to start in an
hour. The landlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions. It seems
enough for a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and whispers to
me that it may be a week before we can get any food again. He has been shopping
too, and has sent home such a wonderful lot of fur coats and wraps, and all
sorts of warm things. There will not be any chance of our being cold.
We shall soon be off. I am afraid to think
what may happen to us. We are truly in the hands of God. He alone knows what
may be, and I pray Him, with all the strength of my sad and humble soul, that
He will watch over my beloved husband. That whatever may happen, Jonathan may
know that I loved him and honored him more than I can say, and that my latest
and truest thought will be always for him.
Chapter 27
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 November.—All day long we have travelled,
and at a good speed. The horses seem to know that they are being kindly
treated, for they go willingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had
so many changes and find the same thing so constantly that we are encouraged to
think that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van Helsing is laconic, he
tells the farmers that he is hurrying to Bistritz, and pays them well to make
the exchange of horses. We get hot soup, or coffee, or tea, and off we go. It
is a lovely country. Full of beauties of all imaginable kinds, and the people
are brave, and strong, and simple, and seem full of nice qualities. They are
very, very superstitious. In the first house where we stopped, when the woman
who served us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed herself and put out two
fingers towards me, to keep off the evil eye. I believe they went to the
trouble of putting an extra amount of garlic into our food, and I can't abide
garlic. Ever since then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and
so have escaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no driver
with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal. But I daresay that fear of the
evil eye will follow hard behind us all the way. The Professor seems tireless.
All day he would not take any rest, though he made me sleep for a long spell.
At sunset time he hypnotized me, and he says I answered as
usual,"darkness, lapping water and creaking wood." So our enemy is
still on the river. I am afraid to think of Jonathan, but somehow I have now no
fear for him, or for myself. I write this whilst we wait in a farmhouse for the
horses to be ready. Dr. Van Helsing is sleeping. Poor dear, he looks very tired
and old and grey, but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror's. Even in his
sleep he is intense with resolution. When we have well started I must make him
rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us, and he must
not break down when most of all his strength will be needed . . . All is ready.
We are off shortly.
2 November, morning.—I was successful, and
we took turns driving all night. Now the day is on us, bright though cold.
There is a strange heaviness in the air. I say heaviness for want of a better
word. I mean that it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only our warm furs
keep us comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotized me. He says I answered
"darkness, creaking wood and roaring water," so the river is changing
as they ascend. I do hope that my darling will not run any chance of danger,
more than need be, but we are in God's hands.
2 November, night.—All day long driving.
The country gets wilder as we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which
at Veresti seemed so far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather
round us and tower in front. We both seem in good spirits. I think we make an
effort each to cheer the other, in the doing so we cheer ourselves. Dr. Van
Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the Borgo Pass. The houses are very
few here now, and the Professor says that the last horse we got will have to go
on with us, as we may not be able to change. He got two in addition to the two
we changed, so that now we have a rude four-in-hand. The dear horses are
patient and good, and they give us no trouble. We are not worried with other
travellers, and so even I can drive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight. We
do not want to arrive before. So we take it easy, and have each a long rest in
turn. Oh, what will tomorrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor
darling suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and that He
will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both, and who are in
such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His sight. Alas! I am unclean
to His eyes, and shall be until He may deign to let me stand forth in His sight
as one of those who have not incurred His wrath.
MEMORANDUM BY ABRAHAM VAN HELSING
4 November.—This to my old and true friend
John Seward, M. D., of Purefleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may
explain. It is morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept
alive, Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold. So cold that the grey heavy sky
is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for all winter as the ground
is hardening to receive it. It seems to have affected Madam Mina. She has been
so heavy of head all day that she was not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps,
and sleeps! She who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day.
She even have lost her appetite. She make no entry into her little diary, she
who write so faithful at every pause. Something whisper to me that all is not
well. However, tonight she is more vif. Her long sleep all day have refresh and
restore her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever. At sunset I try to
hypnotize her, but alas! with no effect. The power has grown less and less with
each day, and tonight it fail me altogether. Well, God's will be done, whatever
it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!
Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina
write not in her stenography, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day
of us may not go unrecorded.
We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise
yesterday morning. When I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the
hypnotism. We stopped our carriage, and got down so that there might be no
disturbance. I made a couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield
herself as usual, but more slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic
sleep. As before, came the answer, "darkness and the swirling of
water." Then she woke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon
reach the Pass. At this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal. Some
new guiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say,
"This is the way."
"How know you it?" I ask.
"Of course I know it,' she answer, and
with a pause, add, "Have not my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his
travel?"
At first I think somewhat strange, but soon
I see that there be only one such byroad. It is used but little, and very
different from the coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide
and hard, and more of use.
So we came down this road. When we meet
other ways, not always were we sure that they were roads at all, for they be
neglect and light snow have fallen, the horses know and they only. I give rein
to them, and they go on so patient. By and by we find all the things which
Jonathan have note in that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, long
hours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep. She try, and she
succeed. She sleep all the time, till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious
grow, and attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may not wake her though
I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm her. For I know that she have
suffer much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself,
for all of sudden I feel guilt, as though I have done something. I find myself
bolt up, with the reins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just
as ever. I look down and find Madam Mina still asleep. It is now not far off
sunset time, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood,
so that we throw great long shadow on where the mountain rise so steep. For we
are going up, and up, and all is oh, so wild and rocky, as though it were the
end of the world.
Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she
wake with not much trouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But
she sleep not, being as though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at
once I find her and myself in dark, so I look round, and find that the sun have
gone down. Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite
awake, and look so well as I never saw her since that night at Carfax when we
first enter the Count's house. I am amaze, and not at ease then. But she is so
bright and tender and thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I light a fire,
for we have brought supply of wood with us, and she prepare food while I undo
the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, to feed. Then when I return to
the fire she have my supper ready. I go to help her, but she smile, and tell me
that she have eat already. That she was so hungry that she would not wait. I
like it not, and I have grave doubts. But I fear to affright her, and so I am
silent of it. She help me and I eat alone, and then we wrap in fur and lie
beside the fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget
all of watching. And when I sudden remember that I watch, I find her lying
quiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright eyes. Once, twice more the
same occur, and I get much sleep till before morning. When I wake I try to
hypnotize her, but alas! Though she shut her eyes obedient, she may not sleep.
The sun rise up, and up, and up, and then sleep come to her too late, but so
heavy that she will not wake. I have to lift her up, and place her sleeping in
the carriage when I have harnessed the horses and made all ready. Madam still
sleep, and she look in her sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And
I like it not. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid! I am afraid of all things, even
to think but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life and death, or
more than these, and we must not flinch.
5 November, morning.—Let me be accurate in
everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you
may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors and
the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.
All yesterday we travel, always getting
closer to the mountains, and moving into a more and more wild and desert land.
There are great, frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to
have held sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep. And though I
did have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her, even for food. I began
to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, tainted as she is with
that Vampire baptism. "Well," said I to myself, "if it be that
she sleep all the day, it shall also be that I do not sleep at night." As
we travel on the rough road, for a road of an ancient and imperfect kind there
was, I held down my head and slept.
Again I waked with a sense of guilt and of
time passed, and found Madam Mina still sleeping, and the sun low down. But all
was indeed changed. The frowning mountains seemed further away, and we were
near the top of a steep rising hill, on summit of which was such a castle as
Jonathan tell of in his diary. At once I exulted and feared. For now, for good
or ill, the end was near.
I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to
hypnotize her, but alas! unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark
came upon us, for even after down sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the
snow, and all was for a time in a great twilight. I took out the horses and fed
them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire, and near it I make Madam
Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amid her rugs. I
got ready food, but she would not eat, simply saying that she had not hunger. I
did not press her, knowing her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must
needs now be strong for all. Then, with the fear on me of what might be, I drew
a ring so big for her comfort, round where Madam Mina sat. And over the ring I
passed some of the wafer, and I broke it fine so that all was well guarded. She
sat still all the time, so still as one dead. And she grew whiter and even
whiter till the snow was not more pale, and no word she said. But when I drew
near, she clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head
to feet with a tremor that was pain to feel.
I said to her presently, when she had grown
more quiet, "Will you not come over to the fire?" for I wished to
make a test of what she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step
she stopped, and stood as one stricken.
"Why not go on?" I asked. She
shook her head, and coming back, sat down in her place. Then, looking at me
with open eyes, as of one waked from sleep, she said simply,"I
cannot!" and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she could
not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to her
body, yet her soul was safe!
Presently the horses began to scream, and
tore at their tethers till I came to them and quieted them. When they did feel
my hands on them, they whinnied low as in joy,and licked at my hands and were
quiet for a time. Many times through the night did I come to them, till it
arrive to the cold hour when all nature is at lowest, and every time my coming
was with quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I was about
stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with
it a chill mist. Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there ever
is over snow, and it seemed as though the snow flurries and the wreaths of mist
took shape as of women with trailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence
only that the horses whinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I
began to fear, horrible fears. But then came to me the sense of safety in that
ring wherein I stood. I began too, to think that my imaginings were of the
night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and all the
terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan's horrid
experience were befooling me. For the snow flakes and the mist began to wheel
and circle round, till I could get as though a shadowy glimpse of those women
that would have kissed him. And then the horses cowered lower and lower, and
moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even the madness of fright was not to them,
so that they could break away. I feared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird
figures drew near and circled round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and
smiled at me. When I would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught
me and held me back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so
low it was.
"No! No! Do not go without. Here you
are safe!"
I turned to her, and looking in her eyes
said, "But you? It is for you that I fear!"
Whereat she laughed, a laugh low and
unreal, and said, "Fear for me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the
world from them than I am,"and as I wondered at the meaning of her words,
a puff of wind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead.
Then, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the wheeling
figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever without the Holy circle.
Then they began to materialize till, if God have not taken away my reason, for
I saw it through my eyes. There were before me in actual flesh the same three women
that Jonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed his throat. I knew
the swaying round forms, the bright hard eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy
color, the voluptuous lips. They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina. And as
their laugh came through the silence of the night, they twined their arms and
pointed to her, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said
were of the intolerable sweetness of the water glasses, "Come, sister.
Come to us. Come!"
In fear I turned to my poor Madam Mina, and
my heart with gladness leapt like flame. For oh! the terror in her sweet eyes,
the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of hope. God
be thanked she was not, yet of them. I seized some of the firewood which was by
me, and holding out some of the Wafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They
drew back before me, and laughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and
feared them not. For I knew that we were safe within the ring, which she could
not leave no more than they could enter. The horses had ceased to moan, and lay
still on the ground. The snow fell on them softly, and they grew whiter. I knew
that there was for the poor beasts no more of terror.
And so we remained till the red of the dawn
began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of
woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was
to me again. At the first coming of the dawn the horrid figures melted in the
whirling mist and snow. The wreaths of transparent gloom moved away towards the
castle, and were lost.
Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I
turned to Madam Mina, intending to hypnotize her. But she lay in a deep and
sudden sleep, from which I could not wake her. I tried to hypnotize through her
sleep, but she made no response, none at all, and the day broke. I fear yet to
stir. I have made my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. Today I
have much to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up high. For there may
be places where I must go, where that sunlight, though snow and mist obscure
it, will be to me a safety.
I will strengthen me with breakfast, and
then I will do my terrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps, and God be thanked!
She is calm in her sleep . . .
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
4 November, evening.—The accident to the
launch has been a terrible thing for us. Only for it we should have overtaken
the boat long ago, and by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear to
think of her, off on the wolds near that horrid place. We have got horses, and
we follow on the track. I note this whilst Godalming is getting ready. We have
our arms. The Szgany must look out if they mean to fight. Oh, if only Morris
and Seward were with us. We must only hope! If I write no more Goodby Mina! God
bless and keep you.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
5 November.—With the dawn we saw the body
of Szgany before us dashing away from the river with their leiter wagon. They
surrounded it in a cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is
falling lightly and there is a strange excitement in the air. It may be our own
feelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling of wolves.
The snow brings them down from the mountains, and there are dangers to all of
us, and from all sides. The horses are nearly ready, and we are soon off. We
ride to death of some one. God alone knows who, or where, or what, or when, or
how it may be . . .
DR. VAN HELSING'S MEMORANDUM
5 November, afternoon.—I am at least sane.
Thank God for that mercy at all events, though the proving it has been
dreadful. When I left Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way
to the castle. The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti
was useful, though the doors were all open I broke them off the rusty hinges,
lest some ill intent or ill chance should close them, so that being entered I
might not get out. Jonathan's bitter experience served me here. By memory of
his diary I found my way to the old chapel, for I knew that here my work lay.
The air was oppressive. It seemed as if there was some sulphurous fume, which
at times made me dizzy. Either there was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar
off the howl of wolves. Then I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, and I was in
terrible plight. The dilemma had me between his horns.
Her, I had not dare to take into this
place, but left safe from the Vampire in that Holy circle. And yet even there
would be the wolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the
wolves we must submit, if it were God's will. At any rate it was only death and
freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself the choice
had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better to rest in than the grave of the
Vampire! So I make my choice to go on with my work.
I knew that there were at least three
graves to find, graves that are inhabit. So I search, and search, and I find
one of them. She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous
beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that
in the old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a
task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he
delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the
wanton Undead have hypnotize him. And he remain on and on, till sunset come,
and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open
and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss, and the man is weak.
And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold. One more to swell the
grim and grisly ranks of the Undead! . . .
There is some fascination, surely, when I
am moved by the mere presence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb
fretted with age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that
horrid odor such as the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was moved. I, Van
Helsing, with all my purpose and with my motive for hate. I was moved to a
yearning for delay which seemed to paralyze my faculties and to clog my very soul.
It may have been that the need of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of
the air were beginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing into
sleep, the open eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet fascination, when there
came through the snow stilled air a long, low wail, so full of woe and pity
that it woke me like the sound of a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear
Madam Mina that I heard.
Then I braced myself again to my horrid
task, and found by wrenching away tomb tops one other of the sisters, the other
dark one. I dared not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once
more I should begin to be enthrall. But I go on searching until, presently, I
find in a high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister
which, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of the mist.
She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous,
that the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to
protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion. But God be thanked,
that soul wail of my dear Madam Mina had not died out of my ears. And, before
the spell could be wrought further upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild
work. By this tim e I had searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I
could tell. And as there had been only three of these Undead phantoms around us
in the night, I took it that there were no more of active Undead existent.
There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest. Huge it was, and nobly
proportioned. On it was but one word: DRACULA
This then was the Undead home of the King
Vampire, to whom so many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make
certain what I knew. Before I began to restore these women to their dead selves
through my awful work, I laid in Dracula's tomb some of the Wafer, and so
banished him from it, Undead, for ever.
Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded
it. Had it been but one, it had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin
twice more after I had been through a deed of horror. For it was terrible with
the sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had
survived through centuries, and who had been strenghtened by the passing of the
years. Who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives . . .
Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher
work. Had I not been nerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over
whom hung such a pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble
even yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I
not seen the repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it
just ere the final dissolution came, as realization that the soul had been won,
I could not have gone further with my butchery. I could not have endured the
horrid screeching as the stake drove home, the plunging of writhing form, and
lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and left my work undone. But
it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them now and weep, as I think of
them placid each in her full sleep of death for a short moment ere fading. For,
friend John, hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before the whole
body began to melt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death
that should have come centuries agone had at last assert himself and say at
once and loud,"I am here!"
Before I left the castle I so fixed its
entrances that never more can the Count enter there Undead.
When I stepped into the circle where Madam
Mina slept, she woke from her sleep and, seeing me, cried out in pain that I
had endured too much.
"Come!" she said, "come away
from this awful place! Let us go to meet my husband who is, I know, coming
towards us." She was looking thin and pale and weak. But her eyes were
pure and glowed with fervor. I was glad to see her paleness and her illness,
for my mind was full of the fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.
And so with trust and hope, and yet full of
fear, we go eastward to meet our friends, and him, whom Madam Mina tell me that
she know are coming to meet us.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
6 November.—It was late in the afternoon
when the Professor and I took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan
was coming. We did not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for w e
had to take heavy rugs and wraps with us. We dared not face the possibility of
being left without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to take some of our
provisions too, for we were in a perfect desolation, and so far as we could see
through the snowfall, there was not even the sign of habitation. When we had
gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavy walking and sat down to rest.
Then we looked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula's castle cut the
sky. For we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the angle of
perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its
grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and with
seemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any
side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place. We could hear the
distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the sound, even though coming
muffled through the deadening snowfall, was full of terror. I knew from the way
Dr. Van Helsing was searching about that he was trying to seek some strategic
point, where we would be less exposed in case of attack. The rough roadway
still led downwards. We could trace it through the drifted snow.
In a little while the Professor signalled
to me, so I got up and joined him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of
natural hollow in a rock, with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders.
He took me by the hand and drew me in.
"See!" he said,"here you
will be in shelter. And if the wolves do come I can meet them one by one."
He brought in our furs, and made a snug
nest for me, and got out some provisions and forced them upon me. But I could
not eat, to even try to do so was repulsive to me, and much as I would have
liked to please him, I could not bring myself to the attempt. He looked very
sad, but did not reproach me. Taking his field glasses from the case, he stood
on the top of the rock, and began to search the horizon.
Suddenly he called out, "Look! Madam
Mina, look!Look!"
I sprang up and stood beside him on the
rock. He handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was now falling more
heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning to blow.
However, there were times when there were pauses between the snow flurries and
I could see a long way round. From the height where we were it was possible to
see a great distance. And far off, beyond the white waste of snow, I could see
the river lying like a black ribbon in kinks and curls as it wound its way.
Straight in front of us and not far off, in fact so near that I wondered we had
not noticed before, came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In the midst of
them was a cart, a long leiter wagon which swept from side to side, like a
dog's tail wagging, with each stern inequality of the road. Outlined against
the snow as they were, I could see from the men's clothes that they were
peasants or gypsies of some kind.
On the cart was a great square chest. My
heart leaped as I saw it, for I felt that the end was coming. The evening was
now drawing close, and well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till
then imprisoned there, would take new freedom and could in any of many forms
elude pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor. To my consternation, however,
he was not there. An instant later, I saw him below me. Round the rock he had
drawn a circle, such as we had found shelter in last night.
When he had completed it he stood beside me
again saying, "At least you shall be safe here from him!" He took the
glasses from me, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below
us. "See,"he said,"they come quickly. They are flogging the
horses, and galloping as hard as they can."
He paused and went on in a hollow voice,
"They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. God's will be
done!" Down came another blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole
landscape was blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more his glasses
were fixed on the plain.
Then came a sudden cry, "Look! Look!
Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, coming up from the south. It must be
Quincey and John. Take the glass. Look before the snow blots it all out!"
I took it and looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris. I knew at
all events that neither of them was Jonathan. At the same time I knew that
Jonathan was not far off. Looking around I saw on the north side of the coming
party two other men, riding at breakneck speed. One of them I knew was
Jonathan, and the other I took, of course, to be Lord Godalming. They too, were
pursuing the party with the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee
like a schoolboy, and after looking intently till a snow fall made sight
impossible, he laid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at
the opening of our shelter.
"They are all converging," he
said."When the time comes we shall have gypsies on all sides." I got
out my revolver ready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of
wolves came louder and closer. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again.
It was strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us, and
beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down towards the far
mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could see here and there dots
moving singly and in twos and threes and larger numbers. The wolves were
gathering for their prey.
Every instant seemed an age whilst we
waited. The wind came now in fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury
as it swept upon us in circling eddies. At times we could not see an arm's
length before us. But at others, as the hollow sounding wind swept by us, it
seemed to clear the air space around us so that we could see afar off. We had
of late been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that we knew with fair
accuracy when it would be. And we knew that before long the sun would set. It
was hard to believe that by our watches it was less than an hour that we waited
in that rocky shelter before the various bodies began to converge close upon
us. The wind came now with fiercer and more bitter sweeps, and more steadily
from the north. It seemingly had driven the snow clouds from us, for with only
occasional bursts, the snow fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals
of each party, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued did
not seem to realize, or at least to care, that they were pursued. They seemed,
however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun dropped lower and lower on
the mountain tops.
Closer and closer they drew. The Professor
and I crouched down behind our rock, and held our weapons ready. I could see
that he was determined that they should not pass. One and all were quite
unaware of our presence.
All at once two voices shouted out to,
"Halt!" One was my Jonathan's, raised in a high key of passion. The
other Mr. Morris' strong resolute tone of quiet command. The gypsies may not
have known the language, but there was no mistaking the tone, in whatever
tongue the words were spoken. Instinctively they reined in, and at the instant
Lord Godalming and Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris
on the other. The leader of the gypsies, a splendid looking fellow who sat his
horse like a centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his
companions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which sprang forward.
But the four men raised their Winchester rifles, and in an unmistakable way
commanded them to stop. At the same moment Dr. Van Helsing and I rose behind
the rock and pointed our weapons at them. Seeing that they were surrounded the
men tightened their reins and drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a
word at which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he carried, knife
or pistol,and held himself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an
instant.
The leader, with a quick movement of his
rein, threw his horse out in front, and pointed first to the sun, now close
down on the hill tops, and then to the castle, said something which I did not
understand. For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves from their
horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing
Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardor of battle must have been upon me as
well as the rest of them. I felt no fear, but only a wild, surging desire to do
something. Seeing the quick movement of our parties, the leader of the gypsies
gave a command. His men instantly formed round the cart in a sort of
undisciplined endeavor, each one shouldering and pushing the other in his
eagerness to carry out the order.
In the midst of this I could see that
Jonathan on one side of the ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing
a way to the cart. It was evident that they were bent on finishing their task
before the sun should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder
them.Neither the levelled weapons nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in
front, nor the howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their
attention. Jonathan's impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of his purpose,
seemed to overawe those in front of him. Instinctively they cowered aside and
let him pass. In an instant he had jumped upon the cart, and with a strength
which seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it over the wheel to
the ground. In the meantime, Mr. Morris had had to use force to pass through
his side of the ring of Szgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching
Jonathan I had, with the tail of my eye, seen him pressing desperately forward,
and had seen the knives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and
they cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first I
thought that he too had come through in safety. But as he sprang beside
Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see that with his left
hand he was clutching at his side, and that the blood was spurting through his
fingers. He did not delay notwithstanding this, for as Jonathan, with desperate
energy, attacked one end of the chest, attempting to prize off the lid with his
great Kukri knife, he attacked the other frantically with his bowie. Under the
efforts of both men the lid began to yield. The nails drew with a screeching
sound, and the top of the box was thrown back.
By this time the gypsies, seeing themselves
covered by the Winchesters, and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward,
had given in and made no further resistance. The sun was almost down on the
mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell upon the snow. I saw the
Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from
the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image,
and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.
As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun,
and the look of hate in them turned to triumph.
But, on the instant, came the sweep and
flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the
throat. Whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the
heart.
It was like a miracle, but before our very
eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust
and passed from our sight.
I shall be glad as long as I live that even
in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace,
such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.
The Castle of Dracula now stood out against
the red sky, and every stone of its broken battlements was articulated against
the light of the setting sun.
The gypsies, taking us as in some way the
cause of the extraordinary disappearance of the dead man, turned, without a
word, and rode away as if for their lives. Those who were unmounted jumped upon
the leiter wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to desert them. The wolves,
which had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leaving us
alone.
Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground,
leaned on his elbow, holding his hand pressed to his side. The blood still
gushed through his fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep
me back, so did the two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man
laid back his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a feeble effort,
my hand in that of his own which was unstained.
He must have seen the anguish of my heart
in my face, for he smiled at me and said, "I am only too happy to have
been of service! Oh, God!" he cried suddenly, struggling to a sitting
posture and pointing to me. "It was worth for this to die! Look!
Look!"
The sun was now right down upon the
mountain top, and the red gleams fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in
rosy light. With one impulse the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest
"Amen" broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of his
finger.
The dying man spoke, "Now God be
thanked that all has not been in vain! See! The snow is not more stainless than
her forehead! The curse has passed away!"
And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and
in silence, he died, a gallant gentleman.
NOTE
Seven years ago we all went through the
flames. And the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the
pain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday
is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know,
the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into him.
His bundle of names links all our little band of men together. But we call him
Quincey.
In the summer of this year we made a
journey to Transylvania, and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us
so full of vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe
that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears
were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The
castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.
When we got home we were talking of the old
time, which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward
are both happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been
ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all
the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one
authentic document. Nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later
notebooks of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum. We could
hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a
story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee.
"We want no proofs. We ask none to
believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his
mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care. Later on he will
understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.
JONATHAN HARKER
the end
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