CHAPTER IV

JONATHAN BARKER’S JOURNAL continued

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

rnay 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 splin-

tered. 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.

ip 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

38

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 39

absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his sus-

picion 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 impressive-

ness that he would countermand the later letters, which would

be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would

admit of 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 them-

selves as a rule to some great noble or boyar, and call themselves

by his name. They are fearless and without religion, save super-

stition, 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 have ex-

plained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only

surmise. It would shock and frighten her to death were I to ex-

pose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then the

Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my knowl-

edge….

40 Dracula

I have given the letters; I threw them through the bars o!

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 sym-

bols 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 dream-

ing. Despair has its own calms.

31 May. This morning when I woke I thought I would pro-

vide 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,

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 41

in fact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the

castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and then some thought oc-

curred 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 over-

coat 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 great heap 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 some-

thing 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.

42 Dracula

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 protec-

tion 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 hi 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 aerial 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 grad-

ually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the three

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 sup-

pressed; and then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 43

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 ago-

nised 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 her-

self 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 for-

ward, and, though I could not see her, I could hear the beating

of her naked hands against the door.

Somewhere 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 ex-

istence from the earth.

Let me not think of it. Action!

44 Dracula

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 my-

self 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 Here-

after 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 t later. I have made the effort, and God, helping me,

have come safely back to this room. I must put down every