Замок Дракулы в Румынии 5 страница

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! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and

second father; good-bye, 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 the narrow ledge of stone which runs

around the building 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 knew 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 search for

any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went 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 the 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._--To-day 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 alone 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 can

look as he said:--

 

"To-morrow, 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; to-morrow 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 asked him point-blank:--

 

"Why may I not go to-night?"

 

"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 then 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 a last chance I cried out:--

 

"Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!" and 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! To-night is mine. To-morrow 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? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I am

dear!

 

* * * * *

 

_30 June, morning._--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 my door and ran down to 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 drew 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 that 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 renewed, for the white hair

and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; 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 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 way 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 full

upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to

paralyse 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 is 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, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the key

in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: 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 awful 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 this 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 these monsters, and the

precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep--as a man.

Good-bye, all! Mina!

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

_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 practising 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 practising 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 so 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. Good-bye.

 

"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 to 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 good 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. Some one 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 _parti_, 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 says 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; 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, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your

prayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.

 

"LUCY.

 

"P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night 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 to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have 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 straightforwardly. 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 that 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

quite 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, an 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 had such adventures. I sympathise

with poor Desdemona when she had such a dangerous 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. Quincey 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