I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the
Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on
the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To
be sure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my
clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which was not my
habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously
accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and
many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may
have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from
some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must
watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count
carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried
in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would
have been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked.
He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room,
although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of
sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful
women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again in
daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway
at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly
driven against the jamb that part of the woodwork was
splintered. I could see that the bolt of the lock had not been
shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. I fear it was no
dream, and must act on this surmise.
19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked
me in the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that
my work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home
within a few days, another that I was starting on the next
morning from the time of the letter, and the third that I had left
the castle and arrived at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but
felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to
quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his
power; and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to
arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I
must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to
prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give
me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that
gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair
woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and
uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind
to my friends; and he assured me with so much impressiveness
that he would countermand the later letters, which would be
held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admitof my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been
to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his
views, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters. He
calculated a minute, and then said:—
"The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third
June 29." I know now the span of my life. God help me!
28 May.—There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being
able to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the
castle, and are encamped in
the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes of them in
my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though
allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are
thousands of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are
almost outside all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some
great noble or boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are
fearless and without religion, save superstition, and they talk
only their own varieties of the Romany tongue.
I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to
have them posted. I have already spoken them through my
window to begin acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and
made obeisance and many signs, which, however, I could not
understand any more than I could their spoken language....
I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply
ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I haveexplained my situation, but without the horrors which I may
only surmise. It would shock and frighten her to death were I to
expose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then the
Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my
knowledge....
I have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my
window with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have
them posted. The man who took them pressed them to his heart
and bowed, and then put them in his cap. I could do no more. I
stole back to the study, and began to read. As the Count did not
come in, I have written here....
The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his
smoothest voice as he opened two letters:—
"The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not
whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!"—he must
have looked at it—"one is from you, and to my friend Peter
Hawkins; the other"—here he caught sight of the strange
symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came
into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly—"the other is a vile
thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not
signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us." And he calmly held letter
and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed.
Then he went on:—
"The letter to Hawkins—that I shall, of course, send on, since it is
yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend,that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it
again?" He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow
handed me a clean envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it
to him in silence. When he went out of the room I could hear the
key turn softly. A minute later I went over and tried it, and the
door was locked.
When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the
room, his
coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He
was very courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing
that I had been sleeping, he said:—
"So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest
rest. I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there
are many labours to me; but you will sleep, I pray." I passed to
my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept without
dreaming. Despair has its own calms.
31 May.—This morning when I woke I thought I would provide
myself with some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep
them in my pocket, so that I might write in case I should get an
opportunity, but again a surprise, again a shock!
Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my
memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit,
in fact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the
castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and then some thoughtoccurred to me, and I made search of my portmanteau and in
the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.
The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my
overcoat and rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This
looked like some new scheme of villainy....
17 June.—This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed
cudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and
pounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path
beyond the courtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw
drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by
eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak, with
his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high
boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I ran to the door,
intending to descend and try and join them through the main
hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a
shock: my door was fastened on the outside.
Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at
me stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the
Szgany came out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said
something, at which they laughed. Henceforth no effort of mine,
no piteous cry or agonised entreaty, would make them even
look at me. They resolutely turned away. The leiter-wagons
contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick rope; these
were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks
handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly
moved. When they were all unloaded and packed in a greatheap in one corner of the yard, the Slovaks were given some
money by the Szgany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily went
each to his horse's head. Shortly afterwards, I heard the
cracking of their whips die away in the distance.
24 June, before morning.—Last night the Count left me early,
and locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran
up the winding stair, and looked out of the window, which
opened south. I thought I would watch for the Count, for there
is something going on. The Szgany are quartered somewhere in
the castle and are doing work of some kind. I know it, for now
and then I hear a far-away muffled sound as of mattock and
spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some ruthless
villainy.
I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour,
when I saw something coming out of the Count's window. I
drew back and watched carefully, and saw the whole man
emerge. It was a new shock to me to find that he had on the
suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here, and slung
over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the women
take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, and in my
garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he will allow
others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave
evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting
my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall
by the local people be attributed to me.It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am
shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of
the law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.
I thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long
time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that
there were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the
moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they
whirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of
way. I watched them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of
calm stole over me. I leaned back in the embrasure in a more
comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more fully the aërial
gambolling.
Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs
somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my
sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating
motes of dust to take new shapes to the sound as they danced
in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to awake to some call
of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling, and my half-
remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I was
becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the
moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the
mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they
seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad
awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran screaming
from the place. The phantom shapes, which were becoming
gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of thethree ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt
somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight
and where the lamp was burning brightly.
When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring
in the Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly
suppressed; and then there was silence, deep, awful silence,
which chilled me. With a beating heart, I tried the door; but I
was locked in my prison, and could do nothing. I sat down and
simply cried.
As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without—the agonised
cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up,
peered out between the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with
dishevelled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one
distressed with running. She was leaning against a corner of the
gateway. When she saw my face at the window she threw
herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:—
"Monster, give me my child!"
She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried
the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore
her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the
violences of extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself
forward, and, though I could not see her, I could hear the
beating of her naked hands against the doorSomewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the
voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call
seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of
wolves. Before many minutes had passed a pack of them
poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, through the wide
entrance into the courtyard.
There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the
wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly,
licking their lips.
I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her
child, and she was better dead.
What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this
dreadful thing of night and gloom and fear?
25 June, morning.—No man knows till he has suffered from
the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the
morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning that it
struck the top of the great gateway opposite my window, the
high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove from
the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been
a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must take
action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me.
Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of
that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my
existence from the earth.
Let me not think of it. Action!It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or
threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet
seen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when
others wake, that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could
only get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door is
always locked, no way for me.
Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has
gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself
crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in
by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need is more
desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worst it can only be death;
and a man's death is not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter
may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Good-bye,
Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second father;
good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!
Same day, later.—I have made the effort, and God, helping me,
have come safely back to this room. I must put down every
detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to
the window on the south side, and at once got outside on the
narrow ledge of stone which runs around the building on this
side. The stones are big and roughly cut, and the mortar has by
process of time been washed away between them. I took off
my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked
down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the
awful depth would not overcome me, but after that kept myeyes away from it. I knew pretty well the direction and distance
of the Count's window, and made for it as well as I could,
having regard to the opportunities available. I did not feel
dizzy—I suppose I was too excited—and the time seemed
ridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill
and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation,
however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through
the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but, with
surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty!
It was barely furnished with odd things, which seemed to have
never been used; the furniture was something the same style as
that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for
the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it
anywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in
one corner—gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian,
and Hungarian, and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a
film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it
that I noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were
also chains and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old
and stained.
At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since
I could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door,
which was the main object of my search, I must make further
examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and
led through a stone passage to a circular stairway,which went steeply down. I descended, minding carefully where
I went, for the stairs were dark, being only lit by loopholes in the
heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like
passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the odour
of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the
smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy
door which stood ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined
chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof
was broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but
the ground had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in
great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been brought
by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I made search for
any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every
inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even
into the vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so
was a dread to my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw
nothing except fragments of old coffins and piles of dust; in the
third, however, I made a discovery.
There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all,
on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead
or asleep, I could not say which—for the eyes were open and
stony, but without the glassiness of death—and the cheeks had
the warmth of life through all their pallor; the lips were as red as
ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath,
no beating of the heart. I bent over him, and tried to find any
sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there long, for theearthy smell would have passed away in a few hours. By the
side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there.
I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to
search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they
were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my
presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count's
room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall.
Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and
tried to think....
29 June.—To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count
has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw
him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As
he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or
some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no
weapon wrought alone by man's hand would have any effect on
him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those
weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell
asleep.
I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a
man can look as he said:—
"To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your
beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end
that we may never meet. Your letter home has been
despatched; to-morrow I shall not be here, butall shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the
Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also
come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall
come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the
diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I
shall see more of you at Castle Dracula." I suspected him, and
determined to test his sincerity. Sincerity! It seems like a
profanation of the word to write it in connection with such a
monster, so asked him point-blank:—
"Why may I not go to-night?"
"Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a
mission."
"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once."
He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew
there was some trick behind his smoothness. He said:—
"And your baggage?"
"I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time."
The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which
made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real:—
"You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its
spirit is that which rules our boyars: 'Welcome the coming;
speed the parting guest.' Come with me, my dear young friend.
Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though
sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire it.Come!" With a stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded me
down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he stopped.
"Hark!"
Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost
as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the
music of a great orchestra seems to leap under the bâton of the
conductor. After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his
stately way, to the door, drew back the ponderous bolts,
unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it open.
To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked.
Suspiciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of any
kind.
As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without
grew louder and angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth,
and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the
opening door. I knew then that to struggle at the moment
against the Count was useless. With such allies as these at his
command, I could do nothing. But still the door continued slowly
to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it
struck me that this might be the moment and means of my
doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own
instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great
enough for the Count, and as a last chance I cried out:—"Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!" and covered my face
with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With
one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door shut,
and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the hall as they
shot back into their places.
In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I
went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his
kissing his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes,
and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.
When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I
heard a whispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened.
Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:—
"Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait!
Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!"
There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw
open the door, and saw without the three terrible women licking
their lips. As I appeared they all joined in a horrible laugh, and
ran away.
I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is
then so near the end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me,
and those to whom I am dear!
30 June, morning.—These may be the last words I ever write
in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke
threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came
he should find me ready.At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the
morning had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I
felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened my door and
ran down to the hall. I had seen that the door was unlocked,
and now escape was before me. With hands that trembled with
eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back the massive
bolts.
But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and
pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled
in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked
after I left the Count.
Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I
determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the
Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the
happier choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east
window, and scrambled down the wall, as before, into the
Count's room. It was empty, but that was as I expected. I could
not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I went
through the door in the corner and down the winding stair and
along the dark passage to the old chapel. I
knew now well enough where to find the monster I sought.
The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but
the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails
ready in their places to be hammered home. I knew I mustreach the body for the key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back
against the wall; and then I saw something which filled my very
soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth
had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were
changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white
skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than
ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled
from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck.
Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh,
for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as
if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He
lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I shuddered
as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in me revolted at
the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost. The coming night
might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those
horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of
the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a
mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me
mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London,
where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its
teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new
and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the
helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came
upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal
weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had
been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the
edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the headturned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of
basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel
turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a
deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand
across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade
caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the
horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the
bloated face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice
which would have held its own in the nethermost hell.
I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my
brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling
growing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy
song sung by merry voices coming closer, and through their
song the rolling of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips; the
Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken were
coming. With a last look around and at the box which contained
the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count's room,
determined to rush out at the moment the door should be
opened. With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the
grinding of the key in the great lock and the falling back of the
heavy door.
There must have been some other means of entry, or some one
had a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the
sound of many feet tramping and dying away in some passage
which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down againtowards the vault, where I might find the new entrance; but at
the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and
the door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the
dust from the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found
that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net
of doom was closing round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many
tramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily,
doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound
of hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear
the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other
idle feet coming behind them.
The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the
key in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another door
opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy
wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as
they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is
a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the
Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle
wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the
gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this
dreadful place.
And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest
train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where
the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and
the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as
a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!