12 September.—How good they all are to me. I quite love that
dear Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these
flowers. He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he
must have been right, for I feel comfort from them already.
Somehow, I do not dread being alone tonight, and I can go to sleep
without fear. I shall not mind any flapping outside the window. Oh,
the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of
late, the pain of sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep,
and with such unknown horrors as it has for me! How blessed are
some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is
a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.
Well, here I am tonight, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia
in the play, with`virgin crants and maiden strewments.’ I never
liked garlic before, but tonight it is delightful! There is peace
in its smell. I feel sleep coming already. Goodnight,
everybody.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
13 September.—Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as
usual, up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting.
The Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him
now.
Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at
Hillingham at eight o’clock. It was a lovely morning. The bright
sunshine and all the fresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the
completion of nature’s annual work. The leaves were turning to all
kinds of beautiful colors, but had not yet begun to drop from the
trees. When we entered we met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the
morning room. She is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly
and said,
“You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is
still asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go
in, lest I should disturb her.” The Professor smiled, and looked
quite jubilant. He rubbed his hands together, and said, “Aha! I
thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working.”
To which she replied, “You must not take all the credit to
yourself, doctor. Lucy’s state this morning is due in part to
me.”
“How do you mean, ma’am?” asked the Professor.
“Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went
into her room. She was sleeping soundly, so soundly that even my
coming did not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There
were a lot of those horrible, strongsmelling flowers about
everywhere, and she had actually a bunch of them round her neck. I
feared that the heavy odor would be too much for the dear child in
her weak state, so I took them all away and opened a bit of the
window to let in a little fresh air. You will be pleased with her,
I am sure.”
She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted
early. As she had spoken, I watched the Professor’s face, and saw
it turn ashen gray. He had been able to retain his self-command
whilst the poor lady was present, for he knew her state and how
mischievous a shock would be. He actually smiled on her as he held
open the door for her to pass into her room. But the instant she
had disappeared he pulled me, suddenly and forcibly, into the
dining room and closed the door.
Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break
down. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair,
and then beat his palms together in a helpless way. Finally he sat
down on a chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to
sob, with loud, dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking
of his heart.
Then he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the whole
universe. “God! God! God!” he said. “What have we done, what has
this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate
amongst us still, send down from the pagan world of old, that such
things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing,
and all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her
daughter body and soul, and we must not tell her, we must not even
warn her, or she die, then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are
all the powers of the devils against us!”
Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said.”come, we must
see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it
matters not. We must fight him all the same.” He went to the hall
door for his bag, and together we went up to Lucy’s room.
Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards
the bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face
with the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of
stern sadness and infinite pity.
“As I expected,” he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of
his which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the
door, and then began to set out on the little table the instruments
for yet another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago
recognized the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he
stopped me with a warning hand. “No!” he said. “Today you must
operate. I shall provide. You are weakened already.” As he spoke he
took off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeve.
Again the operation. Again the narcotic. Again some return of
color to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy
sleep. This time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and
rested.
Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that
she must not remove anything from Lucy’s room without consulting
him. That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the
breathing of their odor was a part of the system of cure. Then he
took over the care of the case himself, saying that he would watch
this night and the next, and would send me word when to come.
After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright
and seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.
What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit
of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own
brain.
LUCY WESTENRA’S DIARY
17 September.—Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so
strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed
through some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the
beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me.
I have a dim half remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and
fearing, darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to
make present distress more poignant. And then long spells of
oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through
a great press of water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been
with me, all this bad dreaming seems to have passed away. The
noises that used to frighten me out of my wits, the flapping
against the windows, the distant voices which seemed so close to
me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and commanded
me to do I know not what, have all ceased. I go to bed now without
any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have grown
quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day
from Haarlem. Tonight Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to
be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched. I am well
enough to be left alone.
Thank God for Mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and for all our
friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change,
for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the
time. I found him asleep twice when I awoke. But I did not fear to
go to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something flapped
almost angrily against the window panes.
THE PALL MALL GAZETTE 18 September.
THE ESCAPED WOLF PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER
INTERVIEW WITH THE KEEPER IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS
After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and
perpetually using the words `PALL MALL GAZETTE ‘ as a sort of
talisman, I managed to find the keeper of the section of the
Zoological Gardens in which the wold department is included. Thomas
Bilder lives in one of the cottages in the enclosure behind the
elephant house, and was just sitting down to his tea when I found
him. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk, elderly, and without
children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their hospitality be of
the average kind, their lives must be pretty comfortable. The
keeper would not enter on what he called business until the supper
was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the table was
cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said,
“Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You’ll
excoose me refoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjucts afore meals. I
gives the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section
their tea afore I begins to arsk them questions.”
“How do you mean, ask them questions?” I queried, wishful to get
him into a talkative humor.
” `Ittin’ of them over the `ead with a pole is one way.
Scratchin’ of their ears in another, when gents as is flush wants a
bit of a show-orf to their gals. I don’t so much mind the fust, the
`ittin of the pole part afore I chucks in their dinner, but I waits
till they’ve `ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak,afore I
tries on with the ear scratchin’. Mind you,” he added
philosophically, “there’s a deal of the same nature in us as in
them theer animiles. Here’s you a-comin’ and arskin’ of me
questions about my business, and I that grump-like that only for
your bloomin’ `arf-quid I’d `a’ seen you blowed fust `fore I’d
answer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic like if I’d like you
to arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without
offence did I tell yer to go to `ell?”
“You did.”
“An’ when you said you’d report me for usin’ obscene language
that was `ittin’ me over the `ead. But the `arfquid made that all
right. I weren’t a-goin’ to fight, so I waited for the food, and
did with my `owl as the wolves and lions and tigers does. But, lor’
love yer `art, now that the old `ooman has stuck a chunk of her
tea-cake in me, an’ rinsed me out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and
I’ve lit hup, you may scratch my ears for all you’re worth, and
won’t even get a growl out of me. Drive along with your questions.
I know what yer a-comin’ at, that `ere escaped wolf.”
“Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me
how it happened, and when I know the facts I’ll get you to say what
you consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole
affair will end.”
“All right, guv’nor. This `ere is about the `ole story. That`ere
wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three gray ones that came
from Norway to Jamrach’s, which we bought off him four years ago.
He was a nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk
of. I’m more surprised at `im for wantin’ to get out nor any other
animile in the place. But, there, you can’t trust wolves no more
nor women.”
“Don’t you mind him, Sir!” broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery
laugh. ” `E’s got mindin’ the animiles so long that blest if he
ain’t like a old wolf `isself! But there ain’t no `arm in `im.”
“Well, Sir, it was about two hours after feedin’ yesterday when
I first hear my disturbance. I was makin’ up a litter in the monkey
house for a young puma which is ill. But when I heard the yelpin’
and `owlin’ I kem away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin’ like
a mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn’t
much people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a
tall, thin chap, with a `ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few
white hairs runnin’ through it. He had a `ard, cold look and red
eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it seemed as if it
was `im as they was hirritated at. He `ad white kid gloves on `is
`ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says, `Keeper,
these wolves seem upset at something.’
“`Maybe it’s you,’ says I, for I did not like the airs as he
give `isself. He didn’t get angry, as I `oped he would, but he
smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp
teeth. `Oh no, they wouldn’t like me,’ `e says.
” `Ow yes, they would,’ says I, a-imitatin’of him.`They always
like a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea time, which
you `as a bagful.’
“Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us
a-talkin’ they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let
me stroke his ears same as ever. That there man kem over, and
blessed but if he didn’t put in his hand and stroke the old wolf’s
ears too!
” `Tyke care,’ says I. `Bersicker is quick.’
” `Never mind,’ he says. I’m used to `em!’
” `Are you in the business yourself?”I says, tyking off my `at,
for a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to
keepers.
” `Nom’ says he, `not exactly in the business, but I `ave made
pets of several.’ and with that he lifts his `at as perlite as a
lord, and walks away. Old Bersicker kep’ a-lookin’ arter `im till
`e was out of sight, and then went and lay down in a corner and
wouldn’t come hout the `ole hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as
the moon was hup, the wolves here all began a-`owling. There warn’t
nothing for them to `owl at. There warn’t no one near, except some
one that was evidently a-callin’ a dog somewheres out back of the
gardings in the Park road. Once or twice I went out to see that all
was right, and it was, and then the `owling stopped. Just before
twelve o’clock I just took a look round afore turnin’ in, an’, bust
me, but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker’s cage I see the rails
broken and twisted about and the cage empty. And that’s all I know
for certing.”
“Did any one else see anything?”
“One of our gard`ners was a-comin’ `ome about that time from a
`armony, when he sees a big gray dog comin’ out through the garding
`edges. At least, so he says, but I don’t give much for it myself,
for if he did `e never said a word about it to his missis when `e
got `ome, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made
known, and we had been up all night a-huntin’ of the Park for
Bersicker, that he remembered seein’ anything. My own belief was
that the `armony `ad got into his `ead.”
“Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of
the wolf?”
“Well, Sir,”he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, “I think
I can, but I don’t know as `ow you’d be satisfied with the
theory.”
“Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals
from experience, can’t hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even
to try?”
“well then, Sir, I accounts for it this way. It seems to me that
`ere wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get out.”
From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the
joke I could see that it had done service before, and that the
whole explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn’t cope in
badinage with the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way
to his heart, so I said,”Now, Mr. Bilder, we’ll consider that first
half-sovereign worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to be
claimed when you’ve told me what you think will happen.”
“Right y`are, Sir,” he said briskly. “Ye`ll excoose me, I know,
for a-chaffin’ of ye, but the old woman her winked at me, which was
as much as telling me to go on.”
“Well, I never!” said the old lady.
“My opinion is this. That `ere wolf is a`idin’ of, somewheres.
The gard`ner wot didn’t remember said he was a-gallopin’ northward
faster than a horse could go, but I don’t believe him, for, yer
see, Sir, wolves don’t gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein’
built that way. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay
when they gets in packs and does be chivyin’ somethin’ that’s more
afeared than they is they can make a devil of a noise and chop it
up, whatever it is. But, Lor’ bless you, in real life a wolf is
only a low creature, not half so clever or bold as a good dog, and
not half a quarter so much fight in `im. This one ain’t been used
to fightin’ or even to providin’ for hisself, and more like he’s
somewhere round the Park a’hidin’ an’ a’shiverin’ of, and if he
thinks at all, wonderin’ where he is to get his breakfast from. Or
maybe he’s got down some area and is in a coal cellar. My eye,
won’t some cook get a rum start when she sees his green eyes
a-shinin’ at her out of the dark! If he can’t get food he’s bound
to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher’s
shop in time. If he doesn’t, and some nursemaid goes out walkin’ or
orf with a soldier, leavin’ of the hinfant in the
perambulator—well, then I shouldn’t be surprised if the census is
one babby the less. That’s all.”
I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came
bobbing up against the window, and Mr. Bilder’s face doubled its
natural length with surprise.
“God bless me!” he said. “If there ain’t old Bersicker come back
by `isself!”
He went to the door and opened it, a most unnecessary proceeding
it seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never
looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is
between us. A personal experience has intensified rather than
diminished that idea.
After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither
Bilder nor his wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a
dog. The animal itself was a peaceful and well-behaved as that
father of all picture-wolves, Red Riding Hood’s quondam friend,
whilst moving her confidence in masquerade.
The whole scene was a unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos.
The wicked wolf that for a half a day had paralyzed London and set
all the children in town shivering in their shoes, was there in a
sort of penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of
vulpine prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most
tender solicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent
said,
“There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of
trouble. Didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head all cut and
full of broken glass. `E’s been a-gettin’ over some bloomin’ wall
or other. It’s a shyme that people are allowed to top their walls
with broken bottles. This `ere’s what comes of it. Come along,
Bersicker.”
He took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece of
meat that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary
conditions of the fatted calf, and went off to report.
I came off too, to report the only exclusive information that is
given today regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
17 September.—I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up
my books, which, through press of other work and the many visits to
Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst
open, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with
passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting
of his own accord into the Superintendent’s study is almost
unknown.
Without an instant’s notice he made straight at me. He had a
dinner knife in his hand, and as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to
keep the table between us. He was too quick and too strong for me,
however, for before I could get my balance he had struck at me and
cut my left wrist rather severely.
Before he could strike again, however, I got in my right hand
and he was sprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist bled
freely, and quite a little pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw
that my friend was not intent on further effort, and occupied
myself binding up my wrist, keeping a wary eye on the prostrate
figure all the time. When the attendants rushed in, and we turned
our attention to him, his employment positively sickened me. He was
lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood
which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, and
to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, simply
repeating over and over again, “The blood is the life! The blood is
the life!”
I cannot afford to lose blood just at present. I have lost too
much of late for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of
Lucy’s illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over
excited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing
has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight I could
not well do without it.
TELEGRAM, VAN HELSING, ANTWERP, TO SEWARD, CARFAX
(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given, delivered late by
twenty-two hours.)
17 September.—Do not fail to be at Hilllingham tonight. If not
watching all the time, frequently visit and see that flowers are as
placed, very important, do not fail. Shall be with you as soon as
possible after arrival.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
18 September.—Just off train to London. The arrival of Van
Helsing’s telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I
know by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it
is possible that all may be well, but what may have happened?
Surely there is some horrible doom hanging over us that every
possible accident should thwart us in all we try to do. I shall
take this cylinder with me, and then I can complete my entry on
Lucy’s phonograph. MEMORANDUM LEFT BY LUCY WESTENRA
17 September, Night.—I write this and leave it to be seen, so
that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is
an exact record of what took place tonight. I feel I am dying of
weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if
I die in the doing.
I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed
as Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.
I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after
that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and
which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr.
Seward was in the next room, as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be,
so that I might have called him. I tried to sleep, but I could not.
Then there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I determined to
keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then when I did not
want it. So, as I feared to be alone, I opened my door and called
out. “Is there anybody there?” There was no answer. I was afraid to
wake mother, and so closed my door again. Then outside in the
shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog’s, but more fierce and
deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing,
except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings
against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined not
to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in.
Seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, she came in and sat by
me. She said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont,
“I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you
were all right.”
I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to
come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down
beside me. She did not take off her dressing gown, for she said she
would only stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay
there in my arms, and I in hers the flapping and buffeting came to
the window again. She was startled and a little frightened, and
cried out, “What is that?”
I tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet.
But I could hear her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After
a while there was the howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly
after there was a crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass
was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind
that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was
the head of a great, gaunt gray wolf.
Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting
posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her.
Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr.
Van Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away
from me. For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and
there was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat. Then she
fell over, as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my
forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two.
The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes
fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole
myriad of little specks seems to come blowing in through the broken
window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust
that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I
tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear Mother’s
poor body, which seemed to grow cold already, for her dear heart
had ceased to beat, weighed me down, and I remembered no more for a
while.
The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I
recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was
tolling. The dogs all round the neighborhood were howling, and in
our shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I
was dazed and stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the
sound of the nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother
come back to comfort me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the
maids, too, for I could hear their bare feet pattering outside my
door. I called to them, and they came in, and when they saw what
had happened, and what it was that lay over me on the bed, they
screamed out. The wind rushed in through the broken window, and the
door slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother, and
laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I had got up.
They were all so frightened and nervous that I directed them to go
to the dining room and each have a glass of wine. The door flew
open for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then
went in a body to the dining room, and I laid what flowers I had on
my dear mother’s breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr.
Van Helsing had told me, but I didn’t like to remove them, and
besides, I would have some of the servants to sit up with me now. I
was surprised that the maids did not come back. I called them, but
got no answer, so I went to the dining room to look for them.
My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay
helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry
was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell
about. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of
laudanum, and looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle
which Mother’s doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I
to do? What am I to do? I am back in the room with Mother. I cannot
leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom
some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I
can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.
The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the
draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am
I to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this
paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay
me out. My dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Goodbye,
dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you,
dear, and God help me!
