DRACULA
PART 2
CHAPTER II
JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL—continued
5 May.—I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been
fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the
gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led
from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I
have not yet been able to see it by daylight.
When the
calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to
alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually
seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he
took out my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to
a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting
doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was
massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather.
As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins; the
horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark
openings.
I stood in
silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there
was no sign; through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not
likely that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I
felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and
among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had
embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor’s clerk sent
out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor’s
clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got
word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I
began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed
like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake,
and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in
through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of
overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be
deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was
to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.
Just as I
had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great
door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was
the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A
key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door
swung back.
Within,
stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in
black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.
He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without
chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered
in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand
with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange
intonation:—
“Welcome
to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!” He made no motion of stepping
to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed
him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he
moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a
strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that
it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again
he said:—
“Welcome
to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you
bring!” The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had
noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted
if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking; so to make sure, I said
interrogatively:—
“Count
Dracula?” He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:—
“I am
Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air
is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.” As he was speaking, he put the
lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage; he had
carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested but he insisted:—
“Nay, sir,
you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to
your comfort myself.” He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and
then up a great winding stair, and along another great
passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this he
threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which
a table was spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs,
freshly replenished, flamed and flared.
The Count
halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing the room, opened
another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and
seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another
door, and motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight; for here was a great
bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire,—also added to but
lately, for the top logs were fresh—which sent a hollow roar up the wide
chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before
he closed the door:—
“You will
need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust
you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where
you will find your supper prepared.”
The light and
warmth and the Count’s courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my
doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was
half famished with hunger; so making a hasty toilet, I went into the other
room.
I found
supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace,
leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table,
and said:—
“I pray
you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do
not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”
I handed
to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it
and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read.
One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure.
“I must
regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer,
forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am
happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible
confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of
a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into
manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during
his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.”
The Count
himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish,
and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and
a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper.
During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many questions as to my
journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced.
By this
time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s desire had drawn up a chair by
the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time
excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing
him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.
His face
was a strong—a very strong—aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and
peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing
scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very
massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl
in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy
moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white
teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed
astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale,
and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the
cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.
Hitherto I
had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight,
and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I
could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers.
Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long
and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands
touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was
rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I
could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a grim
sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protuberant teeth,
sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent
for a while; and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of
the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I
listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many
wolves. The Count’s eyes gleamed, and he said:—
“Listen to
them—the children of the night. What music they make!” Seeing, I suppose, some
expression in my face strange to him, he added:—
“Ah, sir,
you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.” Then he
rose and said:—
“But you
must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you shall sleep as late
as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon; so sleep well and dream
well!” With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal
room, and I entered my bedroom....
I am all
in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not
confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!
7 May.—It is again early morning, but I have rested and
enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of
my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had
supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot
being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which was
written:—
“I have to
be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.—D.” I set to and enjoyed a hearty
meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants
know I had finished; but I could not find one. There are certainly odd
deficiencies in the house, considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth
which are round me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought
that it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and
sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful
fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are
centuries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton
Court, but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of
the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and
I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave
or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near
the castle except the howling of wolves. Some time after I had finished my
meal—I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, for it was between five
and six o’clock when I had it—I looked about for something to read, for I did
not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count’s permission. There
was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials;
so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of library. The door
opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.
In the
library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of
English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and
newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines and
newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the
most varied kind—history, geography, politics, political economy, botany,
geology, law—all relating to England and English life and customs and manners.
There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the “Red” and
“Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and—it somehow
gladdened my heart to see it—the Law List.
Whilst I
was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me
in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night’s rest. Then he went
on:—
“I am glad
you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you.
These companions”—and he laid his hand on some of the books—“have been good
friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to
London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to
know your great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go through
the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and
rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes
it what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. To you,
my friend, I look that I know it to speak.”
“But,
Count,” I said, “you know and speak English thoroughly!” He bowed gravely.
“I thank
you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am
but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the
words, but yet I know not how to speak them.”
“Indeed,”
I said, “you speak excellently.”
“Not so,”
he answered. “Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none
there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here
I am noble; I am boyar; the common people know me, and I am master. But
a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men know him not—and to know not is
to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he
see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, ‘Ha, ha! a stranger!’ I
have been so long master that I would be master still—or at least that none
other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend
Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new
estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our
talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I
make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be
away so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many
important affairs in hand.”
Of course
I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that
room when I chose. He answered: “Yes, certainly,” and added:—
“You may
go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of
course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they
are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps
better understand.” I said I was sure of this, and then he went on:—
“We are in
Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and
there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of
your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may
be.”
This led
to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for
talking’s sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already
happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject,
or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally he
answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat
bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as,
for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue
flames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain
night of the year—last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to
have unchecked sway—a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been
concealed. “That treasure has been hidden,” he went on, “in the region through
which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was the ground
fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why,
there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by
the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times,
when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went
out to meet them—men and women, the aged and the children too—and waited their
coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them
with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was
triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in
the friendly soil.”
“But how,”
said I, “can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index
to it if men will but take the trouble to look?” The Count smiled, and as his
lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out
strangely; he answered:—
“Because
your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one
night; and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir
without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do.
Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame
would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would
not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?”
“There you
are right,” I said. “I know no more than the dead where even to look for them.”
Then we drifted into other matters.
“Come,” he
said at last, “tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for
me.” With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the
papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of
china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the
table had been cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the
dark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the Count
lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw’s
Guide. When I came in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with
him I went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in
everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its
surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject
of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I
did. When I remarked this, he answered:—
“Well,
but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all
alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan—nay, pardon me, I fall into my country’s
habit of putting your patronymic first—my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by
my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably
working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!”
We went
thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the
estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the
necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to Mr.
Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read
to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here:—
“At Purfleet,
on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and
where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It is
surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has
not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy
old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.
“The
estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face,
as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass.
It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall
above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy,
and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some
springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house
is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediæval times, for one
part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily
barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel
or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it
from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it from various points.
The house has been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess
at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few
houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and
formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.”
When I had
finished, he said:—
“I am glad
that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new
house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all,
how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of
old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie
amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright
voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and
gay. I am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over
the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken;
the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements
and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and
would be alone with my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his look did
not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile look
malignant and saturnine.
Presently,
with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my papers together. He was
some little time away, and I began to look at some of the books around me. One
was an atlas, which I found opened naturally at England, as if that map had
been much used. On looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked,
and on examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east side,
manifestly where his new estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and
Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.
It was the
better part of an hour when the Count returned. “Aha!” he said; “still at your
books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I am informed that your supper
is ready.” He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an
excellent supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had
dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and
chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the
Count stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject,
hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say
anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host’s wishes in every way. I
was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me; but I could not
help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the coming of the dawn,
which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are
near death die generally at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide;
any one who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this
change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of
a cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air;
Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said:—
“Why,
there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You
must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England less
interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us,” and, with a
courtly bow, he quickly left me.
I went into
my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little to notice; my window
opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the warm grey of quickening sky.
So I pulled the curtains again, and have written of this day.
8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was
getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first,
for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot
but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had never come. It may
be that this strange night-existence is telling on me; but would that that were
all! If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I
have only the Count to speak with, and he!—I fear I am myself the only living
soul within the place. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help
me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost.
Let me say at once how I stand—or seem to.
I only
slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could not sleep any
more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning
to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count’s voice
saying to me, “Good-morning.” I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen
him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In
starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having
answered the Count’s salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had
been mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me,
and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the
mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there was no sign of a man
in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming on the top of so many
strange things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness
which I always have when the Count is near; but at the instant I saw that the
cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over my chin. I laid down
the razor, turning as I did so half round to look for some sticking plaster.
When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and
he suddenly made a grab at my throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the
string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for
the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.
“Take
care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you
think in this country.” Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on: “And this
is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s
vanity. Away with it!” and opening the heavy window with one wrench of his
terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand
pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he
withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to
shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately
of metal.
When I
went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I could not find the
Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not
seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I
did a little exploring in the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a
room looking towards the South. The view was magnificent, and from where I
stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge
of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand
feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green
tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there
are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.
But I am
not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored
further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place
save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit.
To be continued
