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various points. The house has 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 not

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 put all 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 at

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

the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one 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 a 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 own 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 that 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 than 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 heavy 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 terrible 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 III

 

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 were 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 to do them.

This gave me a fright, for if 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 in 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. To-night 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 gave them, which their

Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay,

and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the

were-wolves 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 Turkey-land; ay, and more

than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say,

'water sleeps, and 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 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! 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, meagre 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 him 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's 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 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 in 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-Pesth. 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 replace the letters as they had been and

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

so 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 that 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 have I 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