Dracula by Bram Stoker(3)

somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter
will interest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But
my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I
saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and
begin to crawl down the castle wall over the dreadful
abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him
like great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I
thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some weird
effect of shadow, but I kept looking, and it could be no
delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the
stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and
by thus using every projection and inequality move
downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves
along a wall.
What manner of man is this, or what manner of
creature, is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of
this horrible place overpowering me. I am in fear, in awful
fear, and there is no escape for me. I am encompassed
about with terrors that I dare not think of.

15 May.—Once more I have seen the count go out in
his lizard fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong
way, some hundred feet down, and a good deal to the left.
He vanished into some hole or window. When his head
had disappeared, I leaned out to try and see more, but
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without avail. The distance was too great to allow a
proper angle of sight. I knew he had left the castle now,
and thought to use the opportunity to explore more than I
had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, and
taking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked, as
I had expected, and the locks were comparatively new.
But I went down the stone stairs to the hall where I had
entered originally. I found I could pull back the bolts
easily enough and unhook the great chains. But the door
was locked, and the key was gone! That key must be in
the Count’s room. I must watch should his door be
unlocked, so that I may get it and escape. I went on to
make a thorough examination of the various stairs and
passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One
or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was
nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with
age and moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at
the top of the stairway which, though it seemed locked,
gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder, and found
that it was not really locked, but that the resistance came
from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the
heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity
which I might not have again, so I exerted myself, and
with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. I
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was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than
the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the
windows I could see that the suite of rooms lay along to
the south of the castle, the windows of the end room
looking out both west and south. On the latter side, as
well as to the former, there was a great precipice. The
castle was built on the corner of a great rock, so that on
three sides it was quite impregnable, and great windows
were placed here where sling, or bow, or culverin could
not reach, and consequently light and comfort, impossible
to a position which had to be guarded, were secured. To
the west was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great
jagged mountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer
rock studded with mountain ash and thorn, whose roots
clung in cracks and crevices and crannies of the stone. This
was evidently the portion of the castle occupied by the
ladies in bygone days, for the furniture had more an air of
comfort than any I had seen.
The windows were curtainless, and the yellow
moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes,
enabled one to see even colours, whilst it softened the
wealth of dust which lay over all and disguised in some
measure the ravages of time and moth. My lamp seemed
to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was
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glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in
the place which chilled my heart and made my nerves
tremble. Still, it was better than living alone in the rooms
which I had come to hate from the presence of the Count,
and after trying a little to school my nerves, I found a soft
quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak
table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen,
with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love
letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has
happened since I closed it last. It is the nineteenth century
up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses
deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of
their own which mere ‘modernity’ cannot kill.
Later: The morning of 16 May.—God preserve my
sanity, for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of
safety are things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is
but one thing to hope for, that I may not go mad, if,
indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely it is
maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in
this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me,
that to him alone I can look for safety, even though this be
only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great God! Merciful
God, let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness
indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which
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have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what
Shakespeare meant when he made Hamlet say, ‘My
tablets! Quick, my tablets! ‘tis meet that I put it down,’
etc., For now, feeling as though my own brain were
unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in
its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of
entering accurately must help to soothe me.
The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the
time. It frightens me more not when I think of it, for in
the future he has a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to
doubt what he may say!
When I had written in my diary and had fortunately
replaced the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The
Count’s warning came into my mind, but I took pleasure
in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me, and
with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The
soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without
gave a sense of freedom which refreshed me. I determined
not to return tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to
sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived
sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their
menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a
great couch out of its place near the corner, so that as I
lay, I could look at the lovely view to east and south, and
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unthinking of and uncaring for the dust, composed myself
for sleep. I suppose I must have fallen asleep. I hope so,
but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly real, so real
that now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the
morning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.
I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in
any way since I came into it. I could see along the floor, in
the brilliant moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I
had disturbed the long accumulation of dust. In the
moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies
by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I
must be dreaming when I saw them, they threw no
shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and looked
at me for some time, and then whispered together. Two
were dark, and had high aquiline noses, like the Count,
and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed to be almost red
when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other
was fair, as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair
and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know
her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy
fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or
where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like
pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was
something about them that made me uneasy, some
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longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my
heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me
with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest
some day it should meet Mina’s eyes and cause her pain,
but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they
all three laughed, such a silvery, musical laugh, but as hard
as though the sound never could have come through the
softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, tingling
sweetness of waterglasses when played on by a cunning
hand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the
other two urged her on.
One said, ‘Go on! You are first, and we shall follow.
Yours is the right to begin.’
The other added, ‘He is young and strong. There are
kisses for us all.’
I lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an
agony of delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and
bent over me till I could feel the movement of her breath
upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and
sent the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but
with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as
one smells in blood.
I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw
perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and
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bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate
voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive,
and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like
an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture
shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it
lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her
head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and
chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused,
and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it
licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot breath
on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as
one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it
approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering
touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat,
and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and
pausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and
waited, waited with beating heart.
But at that instant, another sensation swept through me
as quick as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of
the Count, and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury.
As my eyes opened involuntarily I saw his strong hand
grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with giant’s
power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury,
the white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks
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blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I
imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the
pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them
was lurid, as if the flames of hell fire blazed behind them.
His face was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like
drawn wires. The thick eyebrows that met over the nose
now seemed like a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a
fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him,
and then motioned to the others, as though he were
beating them back. It was the same imperious gesture that
I had seen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though
low and almost in a whisper seemed to cut through the air
and then ring in the room he said,
‘How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you
cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you
all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle
with him, or you’ll have to deal with me.’
The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to
answer him. ‘You yourself never loved. You never love!’
On this the other women joined, and such a mirthless,
hard, soulless laughter rang through the room that it
almost made me faint to hear. It seemed like the pleasure
of fiends.
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Then the Count turned, after looking at my face
attentively, and said in a soft whisper, ‘Yes, I too can love.
You yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so? Well,
now I promise you that when I am done with him you
shall kiss him at your will. Now go! Go! I must awaken
him, for there is work to be done.’
‘Are we to have nothing tonight?’ said one of them,
with a low laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had
thrown upon the floor, and which moved as though there
were some living thing within it. For answer he nodded
his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened
it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a
low wail, as of a half smothered child. The women closed
round, whilst I was aghast with horror. But as I looked,
they disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag. There
was no door near them, and they could not have passed
me without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into
the rays of the moonlight and pass out through the
window, for I could see outside the dim, shadowy forms
for a moment before they entirely faded away.
Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down
unconscious.
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Chapter 4
Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued
I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt,
the Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy
myself on the subject, but could not arrive at any
unquestionable result. To be sure, there were certain small
evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by
in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still
unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the
last thing before going to bed, and many such details. But
these things are no proof, for they may have been
evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, for some
cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must
watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad. If it was that the
Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have
been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am
sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which
he would not have brooked. He would have taken or
destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has
been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for
nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women,
who were, who are, waiting to suck my blood.
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18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again
in daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the
doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had
been so forcibly driven against the jamb that part of the
woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of the
lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the
inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this
surmise.
19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count
asked me in the suavest tones to write three letters, one
saying that my work here was nearly done, and that I
should start for home within a few days, another that I was
starting on the next morning from the time of the letter,
and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at
Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the
present state of things it would be madness to quarrel
openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his
power. And to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and
to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and
that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him. My only
chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may
occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his
eyes something of that gathering wrath which was
manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He
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explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and
that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my
friends. And he assured me with so much impressiveness
that he would countermand the later letters, which would
be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance
would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose
him would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore
pretended to fall in with his views, and asked him what
dates I should put on the letters.
He calculated a minute, and then said, ‘The first should
be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June 29.’
I know now the span of my life. God help me!
28 May.—There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of
being able to send word home. A band of Szgany have
come to the castle, and are encamped in the courtyard.
These are gipsies. I have notes of them in my book. They
are peculiar to this part of the world, though allied to the
ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands of
them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost
outside all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some
great noble or boyar, and call themselves by his name.
They are fearless and without religion, save superstition,
and they talk only their own varieties of the Romany
tongue.
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I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get
them to have them posted. I have already spoken to them
through my window to begin acquaintanceship. They
took their hats off and made obeisance and many signs,
which however, I could not understand any more than I
could their spoken language …
I have written the letters. Mina’s is in shorthand, and I
simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her
I have explained my situation, but without the horrors
which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten
her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the
letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my
secret or the extent of my knowledge….
I have given the letters. I threw them through the bars
of my window with a gold piece, and made what signs I
could to have them posted. The man who took them
pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them
in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study,
and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have
written here …
The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said
in his smoothest voice as he opened two letters, ‘The
Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not
whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!’—He
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must have looked at it.—‘One is from you, and to my
friend Peter Hawkins. The other,’—here he caught sight
of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the
dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed
wickedly,—‘The other is a vile thing, an outrage upon
friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! So it
cannot matter to us.’ And he calmly held letter and
envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were
consumed.
Then he went on, ‘The letter to Hawkins, that I shall,
of course send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred
to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did
break the seal. Will you not cover it again?’ He held out
the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a
clean envelope.
I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence.
When he went out of the room I could hear the key turn
softly. A minute later I went over and tried it, and the
door was locked.
When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly
into the room, his coming awakened me, for I had gone
to sleep on the sofa. He was very courteous and very
cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been sleeping,
he said, ‘So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is
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the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight,
since there are many labours to me, but you will sleep, I
pray.’
I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to
say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms.
31 May.—This morning when I woke I thought I
would provide myself with some papers and envelopes
from my bag and keep them in my pocket, so that I might
write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a
surprise, again a shock!
Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes,
my memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter
of credit, in fact all that might be useful to me were I once
outside the castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and then
some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my
portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my
clothes.
The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also
my overcoat and rug. I could find no trace of them
anywhere. This looked like some new scheme of villainy
…
17 June.—This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of
my bed cudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling
of whips and pounding and scraping of horses’ feet up the
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rocky path beyond the courtyard. With joy I hurried to
the window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiterwagons,
each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the
head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nailstudded
belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had
also their long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending
to descend and try and join them through the main hall, as
I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a
shock, my door was fastened on the outside.
Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They
looked up at me stupidly and pointed, but just then the
‘hetman’ of the Szgany came out, and seeing them
pointing to my window, said something, at which they
laughed.
Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or
agonized entreaty, would make them even look at me.
They resolutely turned away. The leiter-wagons contained
great, square boxes, with handles of thick rope. These
were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks
handled them, and by their resonance as they were
roughly moved.
When they were all unloaded and packed in a great
heap in one corner of the yard, the Slovaks were given
some money by the Szgany, and spitting on it for luck,
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lazily went each to his horse’s head. Shortly afterwards, I
heard the crackling of their whips die away in the distance.
24 June.—Last night the Count left me early, and
locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran
up the winding stair, and looked out of the window,
which opened South. I thought I would watch for the
Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are
quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of
some kind. I know it, for now and then, I hear a far-away
muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is,
it must be the end of some ruthless villainy.
I had been at the window somewhat less than half an
hour, when I saw something coming out of the Count’s
window. I drew back and watched carefully, and saw the
whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to find that
he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst
travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag
which I had seen the women take away. There could be
no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then,
is his new scheme of evil, that he will allow others to see
me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that
I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own
letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by
the local people be attributed to me.
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It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and
whilst I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without
that protection of the law which is even a criminal’s right
and consolation.
I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and
for a long time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began
to notice that there were some quaint little specks floating
in the rays of the moonlight. They were like the tiniest
grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in
clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a
sense of soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I
leaned back in the embrasure in a more comfortable
position, so that I could enjoy more fully the aerial
gambolling.
Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of
dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was
hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my
ears, and the floating moats of dust to take new shapes to
the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself
struggling to awake to some call of my instincts. Nay, my
very soul was struggling, and my half-remembered
sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I was
becoming hypnotised!
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Quicker and quicker danced the dust. The moonbeams
seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of
gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they
seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started,
broad awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran
screaming from the place.
The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually
materialised from the moonbeams, were those three
ghostly women to whom I was doomed.
I fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own room, where
there was no moonlight, and where the lamp was burning
brightly.
When a couple of hours had passed I heard something
stirring in the Count’s room, something like a sharp wail
quickly suppressed. And then there was silence, deep,
awful silence, which chilled me. With a beating heart, I
tried the door, but I was locked in my prison, and could
do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.
As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without, the
agonised cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and
throwing it up, peered between the bars.
There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair,
holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with
running. She was leaning against the corner of the
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gateway. When she saw my face at the window she threw
herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace,
‘Monster, give me my child!’
She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her
hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my
heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her breast, and
abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant
emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and though I
could not see her, I could hear the beating of her naked
hands against the door.
Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I
heard the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic
whisper. His call seemed to be answered from far and wide
by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes had
passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when
liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard.
There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of
the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away
singly, licking their lips.
I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become
of her child, and she was better dead.
What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape
from this dreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear?
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25 June.—No man knows till he has suffered from the
night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the
morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning
that it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my
window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as
if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell
from me as if it had been a vaporous garment which
dissolved in the warmth.
I must take action of some sort whilst the courage of
the day is upon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters
went to post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot
out the very traces of my existence from the earth.
Let me not think of it. Action!
It has always been at night-time that I have been
molested or threatened, or in some way in danger or in
fear. I have not yet seen the Count in the daylight. Can it
be that he sleeps when others wake, that he may be awake
whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room! But
there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no
way for me.
Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his
body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen
him myself crawl from his window. Why should not I
imitate him, and go in by his window? The chances are
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desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk
it. At the worst it can only be death, and a man’s death is
not a calf’s, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to
me. God help me in my task! Goodbye, Mina, if I fail.
Goodbye, my faithful friend and second father. Goodbye,
all, and last of all Mina!
Same day, later.—I have made the effort, and God
helping me, have come safely back to this room. I must
put down every detail in order. I went whilst my courage
was fresh straight to the window on the south side, and at
once got outside on this side. The stones are big and
roughly cut, and the mortar has by process of time been
washed away between them. I took off my boots, and
ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down once,
so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful
depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my
eyes away from it. I know pretty well the direction and
distance of the Count’s window, and made for it as well as
I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did
not feel dizzy, I suppose I was too excited, and the time
seemed ridiculously short till I found myself standing on
the window sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled
with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet
foremost in through the window. Then I looked around
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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
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passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled
open a heavy door which stood ajar, and found myself in
an old ruined chapel, which had evidently been used as a
graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were
steps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been
dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden boxes,
manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks.
There was nobody about, and I made a search over
every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I
went down even into the vaults, where the dim light
struggled, although to do so was a dread to my very soul.
Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except
fragments of old coffins and piles of dust. In the third,
however, I made a discovery.
There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were
fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He
was either dead or asleep. I could not say which, for eyes
were open and stony, but without the glassiness of death,
and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all their
pallor. The lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign
of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart.
I bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in
vain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy
smell would have passed away in a few hours. By the side
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of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and
there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but when
I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them dead
though they were, such a look of hate, though
unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the
place, and leaving the Count’s room by the window,
crawled again up the castle wall. Regaining my room, I
threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to think.
29 June.—Today is the date of my last letter, and the
Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for
again I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and
in my clothes. As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I
wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might
destroy him. But I fear that no weapon wrought along by
man’s hand would have any effect on him. I dared not
wait to see him return, for I feared to see those weird
sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell
asleep.
I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as
grimly as a man could look as he said, ‘Tomorrow, my
friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful
England, I to some work which may have such an end
that we may never meet. Your letter home has been
despatched. Tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be
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ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany,
who have some labours of their own here, and also come
some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall
come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to
meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in
hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.’
I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.
Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write
it in connection with such a monster, so I asked him
point-blank, ‘Why may I not go tonight?’
‘Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away
on a mission.’
‘But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at
once.’
He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I
knew there was some trick behind his smoothness. He
said, ‘And your baggage?’
‘I do not care about it. I can send for it some other
time.’
The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy
which made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real, ‘You
English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its
spirit is that which rules our boyars, ‘Welcome the
coming, speed the parting guest.’ Come with me, my dear
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young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house
against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that
you so suddenly desire it. Come!’ With a stately gravity,
he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along
the hall. Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hark!’
Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It
was almost as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his
hand, just as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap
under the baton of the conductor. After a pause of a
moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door,
drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy
chains, and began to draw it open.
To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked.
Suspiciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of
any kind.
As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves
without grew louder and angrier. Their red jaws, with
champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed feet as they
leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew than
that to struggle at the moment against the Count was
useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could
do nothing.
But still the door continued slowly to open, and only
the Count’s body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me
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that this might be the moment and means of my doom. I
was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation.
There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great
enough for the Count, and as the last chance I cried out,
‘Shut the door! I shall wait till morning.’ And I covered
my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter
disappointment.
With one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw
the door shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed
through the hall as they shot back into their places.
In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute
or two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count
Dracula was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of
triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell
might be proud of.
When I was in my room and about to lie down, I
thought I heard a whispering at my door. I went to it
softly and listened. Unless my ears deceived me, I heard
the voice of the Count.
‘Back! Back to your own place! Your time is not yet
come. Wait! Have patience! Tonight is mine. Tomorrow
night is yours!’
There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage
I threw open the door, and saw without the three terrible
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women licking their lips. As I appeared, they all joined in
a horrible laugh, and ran away.
I came back to my room and threw myself on my
knees. It is then so near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
Lord, help me, and those to whom I am dear!
30 June.—These may be the last words I ever write in
this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I
woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if
Death came he should find me ready.
At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that
the morning had come. Then came the welcome
cockcrow, and I felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I
opened the door and ran down the hall. I had seen that
the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me.
With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the
chains and threw back the massive bolts.
But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I
pulled and pulled at the door, and shook it till, massive as
it was, it rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot.
It had been locked after I left the Count.
Then a wild desire took me to obtain the key at any
risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall
again, and gain the Count’s room. He might kill me, but
death now seemed the happier choice of evils. Without a
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pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled
down the wall, as before, into the Count’s room. It was
empty, but that was as I expected. I could not see a key
anywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I went through
the door in the corner and down the winding stair and
along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well
enough where to find the monster I sought.
The great box was in the same place, close against the
wall, but the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but
with the nails ready in their places to be hammered home.
I knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised
the lid, and laid it back against the wall. And then I saw
something which filled my very soul with horror. There
lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half
restored. For the white hair and moustache were changed
to dark 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 down over
the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed
set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches
underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful
creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a
filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.
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I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every
sense in me revolted at the contact, but I had to search, or
I was lost. The coming night might see my own body a
banquet in a similar war to those horrid three. I felt all
over the body, but no sign could I find of the key. Then I
stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking
smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad.
This was the being I was helping to transfer to London,
where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst
its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a
new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten
on the helpless.
The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire
came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There
was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which
the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it
high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face.
But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell upon me,
with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to
paralyze me, and the shovel turned in my hand and
glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above
the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the
box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught
the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the
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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
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the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust
from the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I
found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner,
and the net of doom was closing round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a sound of
many tramping feet and the crash of weights being set
down heavily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of
earth. There was a sound of hammering. It is the box
being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet
tramping again along the hall, with with many other idle
feet coming behind them.
The door is shut, the chains rattle. There is a grinding
of the key in the lock. I can hear the key withdrawn, then
another door opens and shuts. I hear the creaking of lock
and bolt.
Hark! In the courtyard and down the rocky way the
roll of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of
the Szgany as they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those horrible women.
Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common.
They are devils of the Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them. I shall try to scale
the castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall
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