DRACULA
PART 18
CHAPTER
XVIII
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
30
September.—I got home at five
o’clock, and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had
already studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker
and his wonderful wife had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from
his visit to the carriers’ men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs.
Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time
since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we had
finished, Mrs. Harker said:—
“Dr.
Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me
see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!” She
looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and there was no
possible reason why I should; so I took her with me. When I went into the room,
I told the man that a lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered:
“Why?”
“She is
going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,” I answered. “Oh,
very well,” he said; “let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute
till I tidy up the place.” His method of tidying was peculiar: he simply
swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It
was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he
had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully: “Let the lady come
in,” and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but with his
eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought
that he might have some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been
just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I
could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She came into
the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command the respect of
any lunatic—for easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect. She
walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand.
“Good-evening,
Mr. Renfield,” said she. “You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of
you.” He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set
frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder,
which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he said:—
“You’re
not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can’t be, you know, for
she’s dead.” Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:—
“Oh no! I
have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward,
or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.”
“Then what
are you doing here?”
“My
husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.”
“Then
don’t stay.”
“But why
not?” I thought that this style of conversation might not be pleasant to Mrs.
Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:—
“How did
you know I wanted to marry any one?” His reply was simply contemptuous, given
in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly
turning them back again:—
“What an
asinine question!”
“I don’t
see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me. He
replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to
me:—
“You will,
of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honoured as
our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community.
Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his
patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to
distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic
asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its
inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi.”
I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet
lunatic—the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with—talking
elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I wonder if
it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touched some chord in his memory. If
this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence,
she must have some rare gift or power.
We
continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly quite
reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him
to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the
question with the impartiality of the completest sanity; he even took himself
as an example when he mentioned certain things.
“Why, I
myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no
wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under
control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and
that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low in the scale of
creation, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so
strongly that I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me
out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening
my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the
medium of his blood—relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, ‘For the
blood is the life.’ Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has
vulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn’t that true, doctor?”
I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to either think or
say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up his spiders and flies
not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I saw that I should go to the
station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave.
She came at once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: “Good-bye, and I
hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself,” to which, to
my astonishment, he replied:—
“Good-bye,
my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and
keep you!”
When I
went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art
seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is
more like his own bright self than he has been for many a long day.
Van
Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a boy. He saw me
at once, and rushed up to me, saying:—
“Ah,
friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come here to stay
if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have much to tell. Madam
Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Arthur and my friend
Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!”
As I drove
to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to
be of some use through Mrs. Harker’s suggestion; at which the Professor
interrupted me:—
“Ah, that
wonderful Madam Mina! She has man’s brain—a brain that a man should have were
he much gifted—and a woman’s heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose,
believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after
to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good
that she run a risk so great. We men are determined—nay, are we not pledged?—to
destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed,
her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may
suffer—both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And,
besides, she is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things
to think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must
consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, and we go alone.”
I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we had found in his
absence: that the house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own.
He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on him. “Oh that we had known
it before!” he said, “for then we might have reached him in time to save poor
Lucy. However, ‘the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,’ as you say.
We shall not think of that, but go on our way to the end.” Then he fell into a
silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare
for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker:—
“I am
told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have put up in
exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.”
“Not up to
this moment, Professor,” she said impulsively, “but up to this morning.”
“But why
not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the little things have
made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for
it.”
Mrs.
Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she said:—
“Dr. Van
Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of
to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down at present everything, however
trivial; but there is little in this except what is personal. Must it go in?”
The Professor read it over gravely, and handed it back, saying:—
“It need
not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It can but make your
husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more honour you—as well as
more esteem and love.” She took it back with another blush and a bright smile.
And so now,
up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete and in order. The
Professor took away one copy to study after dinner, and before our meeting,
which is fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of us have
already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall all be informed
as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this terrible and
mysterious enemy.
Mina Harker’s Journal.
30
September.—When we met in Dr.
Seward’s study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o’clock, we unconsciously
formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the
table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me
sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan sat
next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris—Lord
Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre. The Professor
said:—
“I may, I
suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these
papers.” We all expressed assent, and he went on:—
“Then it
were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we
have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this
man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall
act, and can take our measure according.
“There are
such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we
not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of
the past give proof enough for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was
sceptic. Were it not that through long years I have train myself to keep an
open mind, I could not have believe until such time as that fact thunder on my
ear. ‘See! see! I prove; I prove.’ Alas! Had I known at the first what now I
know—nay, had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many
of us who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that other poor
souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not die like the
bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being stronger, have yet more
power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in
person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the
growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his
etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come
nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil
in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at
will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are
to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the
thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the
bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he
can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to
destroy him? How shall we find his where; and having found it, how can we
destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible task that we undertake, and
there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our
fight he must surely win; and then where end we? Life is nothings; I heed him
not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him;
that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him—without heart or
conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us
for ever are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again? We
go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God’s sunshine; an
arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty;
and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no; but then I am old, and
life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his
love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow; but there
are fair days yet in store. What say you?”
Whilst he
was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the
appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch
out; but it was life to me to feel its touch—so strong, so self-reliant, so
resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak for itself; it does not even need a
woman’s love to hear its music.
When the
Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I in his; there
was no need for speaking between us.
“I answer
for Mina and myself,” he said.
“Count me
in, Professor,” said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.
“I am with
you,” said Lord Godalming, “for Lucy’s sake, if for no other reason.”
Dr. Seward
simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on
the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord
Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across
to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my
heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our
places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed
that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken as
gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life:—
“Well, you
know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are not without strength. We
have on our side power of combination—a power denied to the vampire kind; we
have sources of science; we are free to act and think; and the hours of the day
and the night are ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are
unfettered, and we are free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and
an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.
“Now let
us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the
individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in
general, and of this one in particular.
“All we
have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not at the first
appear much, when the matter is one of life and death—nay of more than either
life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in the first place because we have to
be—no other means is at our control—and secondly, because, after all, these
things—tradition and superstition—are everything. Does not the belief in
vampires rest for others—though not, alas! for us—on them? A year ago which of
us would have received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific,
sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief that we
saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the
belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base.
For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece,
in old Rome; he flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the
Chernosese; and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the
peoples fear him at this day. He have follow the wake of the berserker
Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far,
then, we have all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of the
beliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy experience.
The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the time; he can
flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have
seen amongst us that he can even grow younger; that his vital faculties grow
strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum
is plenty. But he cannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even
friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never!
He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as
again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness again
Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him from the
diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship
arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina
saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so
near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. He can
come in mist which he create—that noble ship’s captain proved him of this; but,
from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can
only be round himself. He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again
Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we
ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space
at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or
into anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with
fire—solder you call it. He can see in the dark—no small power this, in a world
which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me through. He can do all
these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is even more prisoner than the slave
of the galley, than the madman in his cell. He cannot go where he lists; he who
is not of nature has yet to obey some of nature’s laws—why we know not. He may
not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who
bid him to come; though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases,
as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain
times can he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is
bound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things
are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus,
whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home, his
coffin-home, his hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the
grave of the suicide at Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the
time come. It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or
the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has
no power, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as this
symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them he
is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and silent with
respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest in our seeking
we may need them. The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move
not from it; a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill
him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake through him, we know already
of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest. We have seen it with our
eyes.
“Thus when
we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin
and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is clever. I have asked my
friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all
the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been
that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on
the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for
in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and
the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond the
forest.’ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave,
and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great
and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals
to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the
Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil
claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as
‘stregoica’—witch, ‘ordog,’ and ‘pokol’—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript
this very Dracula is spoken of as ‘wampyr,’ which we all understand too well.
There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and
their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it
is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good;
in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest.”
Whilst
they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got
up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a little pause, and then the
Professor went on:—
“And now
we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay
out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to
Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we
also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me,
that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the
house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been
removed. If the latter, we must trace——”
Here we
were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a
pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which,
ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the
far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out.
The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and
threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris’s voice without:—
“Sorry! I
fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it.” A minute later
he came in and said:—
“It was an
idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely;
I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the
Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. I have
got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand
them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings,
whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.”
“Did you
hit it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing.
“I don’t
know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.” Without saying any more he
took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his statement:—
“We must
trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must either capture or
kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so
that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his
form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when
he is at his most weak.
“And now
for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too
precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you no more must
question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to bear;
but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall act all the more free that
you are not in the danger, such as we are.”
All the
men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me good that they
should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their safety—strength being the best
safety—through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, though it was a
bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their
chivalrous care of me.
Mr. Morris
resumed the discussion:—
“As there
is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is
everything with him; and swift action on our part may save another victim.”
I own that
my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not
say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a
hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of
their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get
into the house.
Manlike,
they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can sleep when those she
loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have
added anxiety about me when he returns.
Dr. Seward’s Diary.
1
October, 4 a. m.—Just as we were
about to leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to
know if I would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance
to say to me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in
the morning; I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added:—
“He seems
very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don’t know but what,
if you don’t see him soon, he will have one of his violent fits.” I knew the
man would not have said this without some cause, so I said: “All right; I’ll go
now”; and I asked the others to wait a few minutes for me, as I had to go and
see my “patient.”
“Take me
with you, friend John,” said the Professor. “His case in your diary interest me
much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like
to see him, and especial when his mind is disturbed.”
“May I
come also?” asked Lord Godalming.
“Me too?”
said Quincey Morris. “May I come?” said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down
the passage together.
We found
him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more rational in his speech
and manner than I had ever seen him. There was an unusual understanding of
himself, which was unlike anything I had ever met with in a lunatic; and he
took it for granted that his reasons would prevail with others entirely sane.
We all four went into the room, but none of the others at first said anything.
His request was that I would at once release him from the asylum and send him
home. This he backed up with arguments regarding his complete recovery, and adduced
his own existing sanity. “I appeal to your friends,” he said, “they will,
perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have not
introduced me.” I was so much astonished, that the oddness of introducing a
madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment; and, besides, there was a
certain dignity in the man’s manner, so much of the
habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction: “Lord Godalming;
Professor Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas; Mr. Renfield.” He shook hands
with each of them, saying in turn:—
“Lord
Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at the Windham; I grieve
to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and
honoured by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor
of a burnt rum punch, much patronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be
proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which
may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold
alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast
engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a
political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing?
Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an
individual has revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous
evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would
seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by
heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your
respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as
at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And
I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as
scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as
under exceptional circumstances.” He made this last appeal with a courtly air
of conviction which was not without its own charm.
I think we
were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the conviction, despite my
knowledge of the man’s character and history, that his reason had been
restored; and I felt under a strong impulse to tell him that I was satisfied as
to his sanity, and would see about the necessary formalities for his release in
the morning. I thought it better to wait, however, before making so grave a
statement, for of old I knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient
was liable. So I contented myself with making a general statement that he
appeared to be improving very rapidly; that I would have a longer chat with him
in the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction of meeting
his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he said quickly:—
“But I
fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I
desire to go at once—here—now—this very hour—this very moment, if I may. Time
presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the
essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put before so
admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so momentous a wish, to
ensure its fulfilment.” He looked at me keenly, and seeing the negative in my
face, turned to the others, and scrutinised them closely. Not meeting any
sufficient response, he went on:—
“Is it
possible that I have erred in my supposition?”
“You
have,” I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally. There was a
considerable pause, and then he said slowly:—
“Then I
suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask for this
concession—boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore in such a
case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. I am not at liberty
to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I assure you, take it from me
that they are good ones, sound and unselfish, and spring from the highest sense
of duty. Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the
sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and
truest of your friends.” Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing
conviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method was but
yet another form or phase of his madness, and so determined to let him go on a
little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like all lunatics, give
himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of utmost
intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of
his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time,
but only when I thought of it afterwards—for it was as of one addressing an
equal:—
“Can you
not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free to-night? I will undertake
that if you will satisfy even me—a stranger, without prejudice, and with the
habit of keeping an open mind—Dr. Seward will give you, at his own risk and on
his own responsibility, the privilege you seek.” He shook his head sadly, and
with a look of poignant regret on his face. The Professor went on:—
“Come,
sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in the highest degree,
since you seek to impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this,
whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from
medical treatment for this very defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can we perform the duty
which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help us; and if we can we shall aid
you to achieve your wish.” He still shook his head as he said:—
“Dr. Van
Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free
to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my own master in the
matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility
does not rest with me.” I thought it was now time to end the scene, which was
becoming too comically grave, so I went towards the door, simply saying:—
“Come, my
friends, we have work to do. Good-night.”
As,
however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. He moved
towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that he was about to make
another homicidal attack. My fears, however, were groundless, for he held up
his two hands imploringly, and made his petition in a moving manner. As he saw
that the very excess of his emotion was militating against him, by restoring us
more to our old relations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van
Helsing, and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes; so I became a little more
fixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that his efforts
were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same constantly growing
excitement in him when he had to make some request of which at the time he had
thought much, such, for instance, as when he wanted a cat; and I was prepared
to see the collapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion. My
expectation was not realised, for, when he found that his appeal would not be
successful, he got into quite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his
knees, and held up his hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and
poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and
his whole face and form expressive of the deepest emotion:—
“Let me
entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at
once. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with
whips and chains; let them take me in a strait-waistcoat, manacled and
leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You don’t know what you
do by keeping me here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart—of my very
soul. You don’t know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I
may not tell. By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that lives—for the sake of the
Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can’t you hear me,
man? Can’t you understand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know that I am sane
and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for
his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!”
I thought
that the longer this went on the wilder he would get, and so would bring on a
fit; so I took him by the hand and raised him up.
“Come,” I
said sternly, “no more of this; we have had quite enough already. Get to your
bed and try to behave more discreetly.”
He
suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then, without a
word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the bed. The collapse
had come, as on former occasion, just as I had expected.
When I was
leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in a quiet, well-bred
voice:—
“You will,
I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did
what I could to convince you to-night.”
To be
continued
