April 27, 2011

Dracula by Bram Stoker(2)


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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.’
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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
questions 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
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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
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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 protruberant 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.
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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
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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 or 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 centre 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,
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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
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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.’
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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
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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.
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‘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, an 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
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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
neighbourhood, 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 byroad, 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
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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, darklooking
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.’
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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!
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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
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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
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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
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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, 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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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?’
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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
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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 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
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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
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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
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Adventures of Huckleberry Finn