Dracula

by Bram Stoker

  CHAPTER XVII.

  /Dr. Seward's Diary/--_continued._

  When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegramwaiting for him:--

  "Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.--/MinaHarker./"

  The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he said,"pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go to yourhouse, friend John. You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her _enroute_, so that she may be prepared."

  When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me ofa diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewrittencopy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby. "Take these," hesaid, "and study them well. When I have returned you will be master ofall the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. Keepthem safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will need allyour faith, even you who have had such an experience as that of to-day.What is here told," he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packetof papers as he spoke, "may be the beginning of the end to you and meand many another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walkthe earth. Read all, I pray you, with the open mind; and if you canadd in any way to the story here told do so, for it is all-important.You have kept diary of all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes!Then we shall go through all these together when that we meet." He thenmade ready for his departure, and shortly after drove off to LiverpoolStreet. I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteenminutes before the train came in.

  The crowd melted away after the bustling fashion common to arrivalplatforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss myguest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and,after a quick glance, said: "Dr. Seward, is it not?"

  "And you are Mrs. Harker!" I answered at once; whereupon she held outher hand.

  "I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; but----" She stoppedsuddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.

  The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, forit was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included atypewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after Ihad sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroomprepared at once for Mrs. Harker.

  In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was alunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a slightshudder when we entered.

  She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, asshe had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonographdiary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance of lookingat the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie openbefore me. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have anopportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, orwhat a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Hereshe is!

  /Mina Harker's Journal./

  _29 September._--After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward'sstudy. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talkingwith some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked atthe door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.

  To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone,and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from thedescription to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was muchinterested.

  "I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said; "but I stayed at the dooras I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you."

  "Oh," he replied, with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."

  "Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.

  "Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his hand onthe phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:--

  "Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"

  "Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in trainfor speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.

  "The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it; and asit is entirely--almost entirely--about my cases, it may be awkward--thatis, I mean----" He stopped, and I tried to help him out of hisembarrassment:--

  "You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died;for all that I can know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very,very dear to me."

  To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face:--

  "Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!"

  "Why not?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse.At length he stammered out:--

  "You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of thediary." Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and hesaid with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with thenaivete of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!"I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself away thattime!" he said. "But do you know that, although I have kept the diaryfor months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find anyparticular part of it in case I wanted to look it up?" By this time mymind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might havesomething to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being,and I said boldly:--

  "Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on mytypewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:--

  "No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that terriblestory!"

  Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought,and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something orsome opportunity to aid me, they lit on the great batch of typewritingon the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without histhinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realisedmy meaning.

  "You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers--myown diary and my husband's also, which I have typed--you will know mebetter. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart inthis cause; but, of course, you do not know me--yet; and I must notexpect you to trust me so far."

  He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right abouthim. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged inorder a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, andsaid:--

  "You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you.But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you longago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I makethe only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them--thefirst half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrifyyou; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In themeantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be betterable to understand certain things." He carried the phonograph himself upto my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn somethingpleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true loveepisode of which I know one side already....

  _Dr. Seward's Diary._

  _29 September._--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of JonathanHarker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on withoutthinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announcedinner, so I said: "She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour;"and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary,when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyeswere flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have hadcause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; andnow the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, wentstraight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:--

  "I greatly fear I have distressed you."

  "Oh no, not distressed me," she replied, "but I have been more touchedthan I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it iscruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.It was like a soul crying out to
almighty God. No one must hear themspoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out thewords on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, asI did."

  "No one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. Shelaid her hand on mine and said very gravely:--

  "Ah, but they must!"

  "Must! But why?" I asked.

  "Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy'sdeath and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we havebefore us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all theknowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the cylinderswhich you gave me contained more than you intended me to know; but Ican see that there are in your record many lights to this dark mystery.You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain point,and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September, howpoor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out.Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor VanHelsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and hewill be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us;working together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger thanif some of us were in the dark." She looked at me so appealingly, and atthe same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing,that I gave in at once to her wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as youlike in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terriblethings yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road topoor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in thedark. Nay, the end--the very end--may give you a gleam of peace. Come,there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us;we have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learnthe rest, and I will answer any questions you ask--if there be anythingwhich you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who werepresent."

  /Mina Harker's Journal./

  _29 September._--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. Hebrought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. Heplaced me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that Icould touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in caseI should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with hisback to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. Iput the forked metal to my ears and listened.

  When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and--and all that followed,was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not ofa fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with ahorrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from acupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restoredme. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through allthe multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucywas at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it withoutmaking a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious, and strange that ifI had not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could not havebelieved. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out ofmy difficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off mytypewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:--

  "Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsingwhen he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here whenhe arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every itemput in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me thatLord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tellthem when they come." He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace,and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder.I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I haddone with all the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Sewardwent about his work of going his round of the patients; when he hadfinished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feeltoo lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the worldseems full of good men--even if there _are_ monsters in it. Before Ileft him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor'sperturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the stationat Exeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowedthe files of "The Westminster Gazette" and "The Pall Mall Gazette," andtook them to my room. I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "TheWhitby Gazette," of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understandthe terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall lookthrough the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some newlight. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.

  _Dr. Seward's Diary._

  _30 September._--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got hiswife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one canjudge from his face, and full of energy. If his journal be true--andjudging by one's own wonderful experiences it must be--he is also aman of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time wasa remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I wasprepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

  _Later._--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. Theyare hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together inchronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker hasgot the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and thecarriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading hiswife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Herehe is....

  Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be theCount's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from theconduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to thepurchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only hadthem earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness lies!Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He says thatby dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. Hethinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he hasbeen a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly seethis yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a goodthing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could havefound the dates otherwise....

  I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded,smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw.I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which hetreated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, asubject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here.In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. Ibelieve that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the lettersand the dates of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign forhim after a brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious.All those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of theCount. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that hisinstinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; heis himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel doorof the deserted house he always spoke of "master." This all seemsconfirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came away; my friendis just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him toodeep with questions. He might begin to think, and then--! So I cameaway. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so I have given the attendanta hint to look closely after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat readyin case of need.

  _Jonathan Harker's Journal._

  _29 September, in train to London._--When I received Mr. Billington'scourteous message that he would give me any information in his power,I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, suchinquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargoof the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to dealwith it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, andbrought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I muststay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality:give a g
uest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They allknew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billingtonhad ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment ofboxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters whichI had seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically andwith precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstaclewhich might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions beingcarried out. To use an Americanism, he had "taken no chances," and theabsolute accuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled was simplythe logical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it:"Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes."Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of bothof these I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billingtoncould give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, theCustoms officers, and the harbour-master. They had all something to sayof the strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place inlocal tradition; but no one could add to the simple description: "Fiftycases of common earth." I then saw the station-master, who kindly putme in communication with the men who had actually received the boxes.Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add exceptthat the boxes were "main and mortal heavy," and that shifting themwas dry work. One of them added that it was hard lines that therewasn't any gentleman "such-like as yourself, squire," to show some sortof appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in arider that the thirst then generated was such that even the time whichhad elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I tookcare before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source ofreproach.

  _30 September._--The station-master was good enough to give me a lineto his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that whenI arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrivalof the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the properofficials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the originalinvoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been herelimited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I wascompelled to deal with the result in an _ex post facto_ manner.

  From thence I went on to Carter Paterson's central office, where Imet with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in theirday-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King's Crossoffice for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teamingwere waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sendingalso by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with thedelivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeingexactly; the carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of thewritten words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connectedalmost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequentthirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity,through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying at alater period this beneficent evil, one of the men remarked:--

  "That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! butit ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thickin the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yerbones; an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled oleJerusalem in it. But the ole chapel--that took the cike, that did! Meand my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough. Lor', Iwouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark."

  Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew whatI know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

  Of one thing I am now satisfied: that _all_ the boxes which arrivedat Whitby from Varna in the _Demeter_ were safely deposited in the oldchapel of Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any havesince been removed--as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.

  I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax whenRenfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a gooddeal.

  _Later._--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papersinto order.

  _Mina Harker's Journal._

  _30 September._--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might actdetrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as bravea face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, neverso full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear,good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves understrain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life andhope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night.I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pityany thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing isnot human--not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy'sdeath, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity inone's heart.

  _Later._--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than weexpected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathanwith him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, forit brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago.Of course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr.Van Helsing, too, had been quite "blowing my trumpet," as Mr. Morrisexpressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know allabout the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what tosay or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so theyhad to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over,and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be topost them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's diarythat they had been at Lucy's death--her real death--and that I need notfear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as Icould, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husbandand I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming gothis and turned it over--it does make a pretty good pile--he said:--

  "Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"

  I nodded, and he went on:--

  "I don't quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good andkind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, thatall I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. Ihave had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a manhumble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poorLucy----" Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands.I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctivedelicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walkedquietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in woman's naturethat makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelingson the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to hismanhood; for when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat downon the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him andtook his hand. I hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if heever thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a thought. There Iwrong him; I _know_ he never will--he is too true a gentleman. I said tohim, for I could see that his heart was breaking:--

  "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were toher. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not letme be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you havehad, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity canhelp in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service--forLucy's sake?"

  In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemedto me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found avent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beathis palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then satdown again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinitepity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With
a sob he laid hishead on my shoulder, and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shookwith emotion.

  We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise abovesmaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big,sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the babythat some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though hewere my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.

  After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with anapology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me thatfor days and nights past--weary days and sleepless nights--he hadbeen unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time ofsorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or withwhom, owing to the terrible circumstances with which his sorrow wassurrounded, he could speak freely. "I know now how I suffered," he said,as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even yet--and none other canever know--how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shallknow better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungratefulnow, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me belike a brother, will you not, for all our lives--for dear Lucy's sake?"

  "For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands. "Ay, and for yourown sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever worththe winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bringto you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you will not callin vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break thesunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that youwill let me know." He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, thatI felt it would comfort him, so I said:--

  "I promise."

  As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said. Then noticingmy red eyes, he went on: "Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poorold fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is introuble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him."

  He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw themanuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realisehow much I knew; so I said to him:--

  "I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let mebe your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? Youwill know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I was in earnest, andstooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemedbut poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively Ibent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was amomentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:--

  "Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so longas ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his friend.

  "Little girl!"--the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but heproved himself a friend!