/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 to 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 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, 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 much 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!” and, 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.” So 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
for the howling of wolves. When 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 Almanack, 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 friends”--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 sees me, or pause in
his speaking if he hear my words, to say, ‘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 a while, 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 here 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 we had seen the
blue flames. Was it indeed true that they showed where gold was hidden?
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. 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 were 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 that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles
love not to think that our bones may be 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 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 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 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 that 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!