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 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
tomorrow 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 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.
The castle is a veritable prison,
and I am a prisoner!
