When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came
over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and
peering out of every window I could find, but after a little the
conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When
I look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the
time, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however,
the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down
quietly, as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life, and
began to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still,
and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only
am I certain. That it is no use making my ideas known to the Count.
He knows well that I am imprisoned, and as he has done it himself,
and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me
if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only
plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my
eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my
own fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be
so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.
I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door
below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come
at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and
found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I
had all along thought, that there are no servants in the house.
When later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door
laying the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if he
does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that
there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count
himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This
is a terrible thought, for if so, what does it mean that he could
control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand for
silence? How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the
coach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the
crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash?
Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck!
For it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is
odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour
and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of
help. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing
itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying
memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must
examine this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In the
meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may
help me to understand. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn
the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to
awake his suspicion.
Midnight.—I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a
few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the
subject wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and
especially of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them
all. This he afterwards explained by saying that to a Boyar the
pride of his house and name is his own pride, that their glory is
his glory, that their fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his
house he always said “we”, and spoke almost in the plural, like a
king speaking. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he
said it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it
a whole history of the country. He grew excited as he spoke, and
walked about the room pulling his great white moustache and
grasping anything on which he laid his hands as though he would
crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I shall put down
as nearly as I can, for it tells in its way the story of his
race.
“We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows
the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for
lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe
bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin
game them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on
the seaboards of Europe, aye, and of Asia and Africa too, till the
peoples thought that the werewolves themselves had come. Here, too,
when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept
the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in
their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from
Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What
devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in
these veins?” He held up his arms. “Is it a wonder that we were a
conquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the
Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on
our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad
and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us
here when he reached the frontier, that the Honfoglalas was
completed there?And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the
Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to
us for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of
Turkeyland. Aye, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier
guard, for as the Turks say, `water sleeps, and the enemy is
sleepless.’ Who more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations
received the `bloody sword,’ or at its warlike call flocked quicker
to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of
my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and
the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent?Who was it but one of my
own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his
own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own
unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk
and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula,
indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age
again and again brought his forces over the great river into
Turkeyland, who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again,
though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops
were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could
ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah!
What good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without
a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of
Mohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood
were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we
were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys, and the Dracula as
their heart’s blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a
record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs
can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a
thing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the
great races are as a tale that is told.”
It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem.,
this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the “Arabian
Nights,” for everything has to break off at cockcrow, or like the
ghost of Hamlet’s father.)
12 May.—Let me begin with facts, bare, meager facts, verified by
books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not
confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own
observation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came
from his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and
on the doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day
wearily over books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over
some of the matters I had been examined in at Lincoln’s Inn. There
was a certain method in the Count’s inquiries, so I shall try to
put them down in sequence. The knowledge may somehow or some time
be useful to me.
First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or
more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it
would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one
transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change
would be certain to militate against his interest. He seemed
thoroughly to understand, and went on to ask if there would be any
practical difficulty in having one man to attend, say, to banking,
and another to look after shipping, in case local help were needed
in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I asked to
explain more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead him,
so he said,
“I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins,
from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which
is far from London, buys for me through your good self my place at
London. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it
strange that I have sought the services of one so far off from
London instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that
no local interest might be served save my wish only, and as one of
London residence might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or
friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours
should be only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of
affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or
Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be
done by consigning to one in these ports?”
I answered that certainly it would be most easy, but that we
solicitors had a system of agency one for the other, so that local
work could be done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so
that the client, simply placing himself in the hands of one man,
could have his wishes carried out by him without further
trouble.
“But,” said he,”I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it
not so?”
“Of course, ” I replied, and “Such is often done by men of
business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by
any one person.”
“Good!” he said, and then went on to ask about the means of
making consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all
sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could
be guarded against. I explained all these things to him to the best
of my ability, and he certainly left me under the impression that
he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing
that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the
country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business,
his knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When he had satisfied
himself on these points of which he had spoken, and I had verified
all as well as I could by the books available, he suddenly stood up
and said, “Have you written since your first letter to our friend
Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?”
It was with some bitterness in my heart that I answered that I
had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of sending
letters to anybody.
“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, laying a heavy hand
on my shoulder, “write to our friend and to any other, and say, if
it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from
now.”
“Do you wish me to stay so long?” I asked, for my heart grew
cold at the thought.
“I desire it much, nay I will take no refusal. When your master,
employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his
behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted.
I have not stinted. Is it not so?”
What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins’
interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself, and
besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his
eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a
prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count
saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my
face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth,
resistless way.
“I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse
of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless
please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look
forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?” As he spoke he
handed me three sheets of note paper and three envelopes. They were
all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him,
and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying
over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken
that I should be more careful what I wrote, for he would be able to
read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to
write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her
I could write shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did
see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a
book whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote
them to some books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed
them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which,
the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and
looked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no
compunction in doing so for under the circumstances I felt that I
should protect myself in every way I could.
One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7,
The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna. The third was
to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock
& Billreuth, bankers, Buda 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 leave these rooms you will not by any
chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and
has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep
unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be
like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for
your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this
respect, then,” He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he
motioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite
understood. My only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more
terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery
which seemed closing around me.
Later.—I endorse the last words written, but this time there is
no doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where
he is not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed, I
imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams, and there it shall
remain.
When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not
hearing any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where
I could look out towards the South. There was some sense of freedom
in the vast expanse, inaccessible though it was to me, as compared
with the narrow darkness of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I
felt that I was indeed in prison, and I seemed to want a breath of
fresh air, though it were of the night. I am beginning to feel this
nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start
at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings.
God knows that there is ground for my terrible fear in this
accursed place!I looked out over the beautiful expanse, bathed in
soft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as day. In the
soft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadows in the
valleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to
cheer me. There was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As I
leaned from the window my eye was caught by something moving a
storey below me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from
the order of the rooms, that the windows of the Count’s own room
would look out. The window at which I stood was tall and deep,
stone-mullioned, and though weatherworn, was still complete. But it
was evidently many a day since the case had been there. I drew back
behind the stonework, and looked carefully out.
What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the window. I
did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the
movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the
hands which I had had some many opportunities of studying. I was at
first interested and somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small
a matter will interest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But
my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the
whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the
castle wall over the dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak
spreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not
believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some
weird effect of shadow, but I kept looking, and it could be no
delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the
stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by
thus using every projection and inequality move downwards with
considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.
What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature, is it in
the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place
overpowering me. I am in fear, in awful fear, and there is no
escape for me. I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not
think of.
15 May.—Once more I have seen the count go out in his lizard
fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet
down, and a good deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or
window. When his head had disappeared, I leaned out to try and see
more, but without avail. The distance was too great to allow a
proper angle of sight. I knew he had left the castle now, and
thought to use the opportunity to explore more than I had dared to
do as yet. I went back to the room, and taking a lamp, tried all
the doors. They were all locked, as I had expected, and the locks
were comparatively new. But I went down the stone stairs to the
hall where I had entered originally. I found I could pull back the
bolts easily enough and unhook the great chains. But the door was
locked, and the key was gone! That key must be in the Count’s room.
I must watch should his door be unlocked, so that I may get it and
escape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the various
stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them.
One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was
nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and
moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at the top of the
stairway which, though it seemed locked, gave a little under
pressure. I tried it harder, and found that it was not really
locked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges
had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here
was an opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted
myself, and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter.
I was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than the
rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I could see
that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the
windows of the end room looking out both west and south. On the
latter side, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice.
The castle was built on the corner of a great rock, so that on
three sides it was quite impregnable, and great windows were placed
here where sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach, and
consequently light and comfort, impossible to a position which had
to be guarded, were secured. To the west was a great valley, and
then, rising far away, great jagged mountain fastnesses, rising
peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with mountain ash and thorn,
whose roots clung in cracks and crevices and crannies of the stone.
This was evidently the portion of the castle occupied by the ladies
in bygone days, for the furniture had more an air of comfort than
any I had seen.
The windows were curtainless, and the yellow moonlight, flooding
in through the diamond panes, enabled one to see even colours,
whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over all and
disguised in some measure the ravages of time and moth. My lamp
seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was
glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the
place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it
was better than living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate
from the presence of the Count, and after trying a little to school
my nerves, I found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting
at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady
sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love
letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened
since I closed it last. It is the nineteenth century up-to-date
with a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old
centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere “modernity”
cannot kill.
Later: The morning of 16 May.—God preserve my sanity, for to
this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of
the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for,
that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be
sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul
things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least
dreadful to me, that to him alone I can look for safety, even
though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great God!
Merciful God, let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness
indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which have
puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant
when he made Hamlet say, “My tablets! Quick, my tablets! `tis meet
that I put it down,” etc., For now, feeling as though my own brain
were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its
undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering
accurately must help to soothe me.
The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the time. It
frightens me more not when I think of it, for in the future he has
a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!
When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the
book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count’s warning came
into my mind, but I took pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of
sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as
outrider. The soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without
gave a sense of freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to
return tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here,
where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst
their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst
of remorseless wars. I drew a great couch out of its place near the
corner, so that as I lay, I could look at the lovely view to east
and south, and unthinking of and uncaring for the dust, composed
myself for sleep. I suppose I must have fallen asleep. I hope so,
but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly real, so real
that now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I
cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.
I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way
since I came into it. I could see along the floor, in the brilliant
moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long
accumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young
women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that
I must be dreaming when I saw them, they threw no shadow on the
floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some time, and
then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline
noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed
to be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The
other was fair, as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair
and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face,
and to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not
recollect at the moment how or where. All three had brilliant white
teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous
lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some
longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a
wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red
lips.It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet
Mina’s eyes and cause her pain, but it is the truth. They whispered
together, and then they all three laughed, such a silvery, musical
laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have come
through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable,
tingling sweetness of waterglasses when played on by a cunning
hand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two
urged her on.
One said, “Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Yours’ is
the right to begin.”
The other added, “He is young and strong. There are kisses for
us all.”
I lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of
delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me
till I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was
in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the
nerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a
bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.
I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw
perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent
over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness
which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck
she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in
the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the
red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went
her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and
seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear
the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips,
and I could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my
throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to
tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft,
shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my
throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and
pausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited,
waited with beating heart.
But at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick
as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of
his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened
involuntarily I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the
fair woman and with giant’s power draw it back, the blue eyes
transformed with fury, the white teeth champing with rage, and the
fair cheeks blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I
imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His
eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as
if the flames of hell fire blazed behind them. His face was deathly
pale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires. The thick
eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving bar of
white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the
woman from him, and then motioned to the others, as though he were
beating them back. It was the same imperious gesture that I had
seen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in
a whisper seemed to cut through the air and then ring in the room
he said,
“How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on
him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs
to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you’ll have to deal with
me.”
The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer
him. “You yourself never loved. You never love!” On this the other
women joined, and such a mirthless,hard, soulless laughter rang
through the room that it almost made me faint to hear. It seemed
like the pleasure of fiends.
Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and
said in a soft whisper, “Yes, I too can love. You yourselves can
tell it from the past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that
when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go!
Go! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done.”
“Are we to have nothing tonight?”said one of them, with a low
laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the
floor, and which moved as though there were some living thing
within it. For answer he nodded his head. One of the women jumped
forward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a
gasp and a low wail, as of a half smothered child. The women closed
round, whilst I was aghast with horror. But as I looked, they
disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag. There was no door near
them, and they could not have passed me without my noticing. They
simply seemed to fade into the rays of the moonlight and pass out
through the window, for I could see outside the dim, shadowy forms
for a moment before they entirely faded away.
Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.