DRACULA
Bram
Stoker
CHAPTER
XVII.
DR.
SEWARD'S DIARY.
When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a
telegram waiting for him:-
"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important
news.- Mina Harker."
The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam
Mina," he said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot
stay. She must go to your house, 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 of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a
typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.
"Take these," he said, "and study them well.
When I have returned you will be master of all the facts, and we can
then better enter on our inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in
them much of treasure. You will need all your 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 packet of papers as he spoke,
"may be the beginning of the end to you and me and many another;
or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the earth. Read all,
I pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add 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 then made ready
for his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street. I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen
minutes before the train came in.
The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to
arrival platforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, last I might
miss my guest, 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 out her hand.
"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy,
but-" She stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her
face.
The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at
ease, for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which
included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch
Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a
sitting-room and bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was
a lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a
shudder when we entered.
She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my
study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my
phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance
of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they
lie open before me. I must get her interested in something, so that I
may have an opportunity of reading them. She does not know how
precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful
not to frighten her. Here she is!
Mina Harker's Journal.
29 September.- After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr.
Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I
heard him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be
quick, I knocked at the 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 the
description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much
interested.
"I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said;
"but I stayed at the door as 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 on the 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 train for 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 as it is entirely- almost entirely- about my
cases, it may be awkward- that is, I mean"- He stopped, and I
tried to help him out of his embarrassment:-
"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear
how she died; for all that I 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 the diary." Even while he was speaking an idea dawned
upon him, and he said with unconscious simplicity, in a different
voice, and with the naivete 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 that time!" he said. "But
do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it
never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it
in case I wanted to look it up?" By this time my mind was made up
that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have something 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 my typewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as
he said:-
"No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know
that terrible story!"
Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I
thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for
something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on the great batch
of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and,
without his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel
he realised my meaning.
"You do not know me." I said. "When you have
read those papers- my own diary and my husband's also, which I have
typed- you will know me better. I have not faltered in giving every
thought of my own heart in this cause; but, of course, you do not know
me- yet; and I must not expect you to trust me so far."
He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right
about him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were
arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with
dark wax, and said:-
"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 long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of
you too. May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders
and hear them- the first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and
they will not horrify you; then you will know me better. Dinner will
by then be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some of these
documents, and shall be better able to understand certain
things." He carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting-room
and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am
sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true love episode of
which I know one side already...
Dr. Seward's Diary.
29 September.- I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of
Jonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on
without thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to
announce dinner, 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 eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me
much. Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of
them was denied me; and now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened
with recent tears, went straight 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 touched than I can say by your grief. That is a
wonderful machine, but it is cruelly 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 them spoken ever again! See. I have
tried to be useful. I have copied out the words on my typewriter, and
none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did."
"No one need ever know, shall ever know." I said in a
low voice. She laid 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's death and all that led to it; because in the struggle
which we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we
must have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think
that the cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended
me to know; but I can 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, how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was
being wrought out. Jonathan and I have been working day and night
since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more
information, and he will 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 than if some of us were in the dark." She
looked at me so appealingly, and at the 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 you like in the
matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to
learn of, but if you so have so far travelled on the road to poor
Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark.
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 learn
the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask- if there be
anything which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who
were present."
Mina Harker's Journal.
29 September.- After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his
study. He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my
typewriter. He placed me
in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I could
touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in case I
should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully, took a chair, with
his back to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to
read. I put 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 of a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up
with a horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from
a cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat
restored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came
through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my
dear, dear Lucy was at lest at peace, I do not think I could have
borne it without making a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious,
and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in
Transylvania I could not have believed. As it was, I didn't know what
to believe, and so got out of my difficulty by attending to something
else. I took the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:-
"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr.
Van Helsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come
on here when he 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 item put in chronological order, we shall have done much.
You tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us
be able to tell them 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 had done with all the rest. It was late when I got
through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his round of the
patients; when he had finished he came back and sat near me, reading,
so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and
thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men- even if there are
monsters in it. Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan put in
his diary of the Professor's perturbation at reading something in an
evening paper at the station at Exeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward
keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the files of "The Westminister
Gazette" and "The Pall Mall Gazette," and took them to
my room. I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "The
Whitby Gazette." of which I had made cuttings, helped us to
understand the terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so
I shall look through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I
shall get some new light. 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
his wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one
can judge from his face, and full of energy. If his journal be
true-and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be- he is
also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time
was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I
was prepared 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.
They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting
together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have.
Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes
at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is
now reading his wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make
out of it. Here it is...
Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might
be the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues
from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters
relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if
we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that
way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collating his
material. He says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a
whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see
Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and
going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates
I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders
into type! We never could have found 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 he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going
home, a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his
sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his
discharge at once. I believe that had I not had the chat with Harker
and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have
been prepared to sign for him 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 the Count. What then does his absolute
content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the
vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; he is himself zoophagous, and in his
wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always
spoke of "master." This all seems confirmation of our idea.
However, after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too
sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions.
He might begin to think, and then-! So I came away. I mistrust these
quiet moods of his; so I have given the attendant a hint to look
closely after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of
need.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
29 September, in train to London.- When I received Mr. Billington's courteous 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, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to
trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later,
we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me
at the station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had
decided that I must stay the night. They are hospitable, with true
Yorkshire hospitality: give a guest everything, and leave him free to
do as he likes. They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was
short, and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all the papers
concerning the consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see
again one of the letters which I had seen on the Count's table before
I knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully thought
out, and done systematically and with precision. He seemed to have
been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by accident in
the way of his intentions being carried out. To use an Americanism, he
had "taken no chances," and the absolute accuracy with which
his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the 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 both of these I
got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me,
so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs
officers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of the
strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in local
tradition; but no one could add to the simple description.
"Fifty cases of common earth." I then saw the
station-master, who kindly put me in communication with the men who
had actually received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list,
and they had nothing to add except that the boxes were "main and
mortal heavy," and that shifting them was dry work. One of them
added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any gentleman
"such-like as yourself, squire," to show some sort of
appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a rider
that the thirst then generated was such that even the time which had
elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care
before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of
reproach.
30 September.- The station-master was good enough to give me a
line to his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that
when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the
arrival of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with
the proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the
original invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst
had been here limited; a noble use of them, had, however, been made,
and again I was compelled to deal with the result in an ex post facto
manner.
From thence I went on to Carter Patterson's central office,
where I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction
in their day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their
King's Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did
the teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them
over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers
connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found
the tally agreeing exactly; the carriers' men were able to supplement
the paucity of the written words with a few details. These, were I
shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the
job, and of the consequent thirst engendered in the operators. On my
affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the
realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one
of the men remarked:-
"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in.
Blyme! but it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust
that thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin'
of yer bones; an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave
smelled ole Jerusalem in it. But the ole chappel- that took the cike,
that did! Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick
enough. Lor, I wouldn'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 what I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.
Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which
arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in
the old chapel of Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless
any have since been removed- as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.
I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from
Carfax when Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may
learn a good deal.
Later.- Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the
papers into 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 act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with
as brave a 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, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as
that dear, this good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and
he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back
full of life and hope and determination; we have got everything in
order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I
suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is
just it: this Thing is not human- not even beast.
To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what
followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.
Later.- Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we
expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with
him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back All poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of
course they had heard Lucy speak to me, and it seemed that Dr. Van
Helsing, too, has been quite "blowing my trumpet," as Mr.
Morris expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I
know all about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite
know what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my
knowledge; so they had 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 to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew
from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death- her real
death- and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time.
So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and
diaries, and that my husband and 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 got his 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 and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so
energetically, that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and
try to help you. I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that
should make a man humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know
you loved my poor Lucy-" Here he turned away and covered his face
with his hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with
instinctive delicacy just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder,
and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is something
in woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before her and
express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling
it derogatory to his manhood; for when Lord Godalming found himself
alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly.
I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't think it
forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he never
will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I know he never will- he
is too true a gentleman. I said to him, 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 to her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is
gone, will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I
know what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of
them. If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let
me be of some little service- for Lucy's sake?"
In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief.
It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence
found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open
hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood
up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I
felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a
sob he laid his head on my shoulder, and cried like a wearied child,
whilst he shook with emotion.
We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise
above smaller 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
baby that some day may he on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as
though he were 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
an apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that
for days and nights past- weary days and sleepless nights- he had been
unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of
sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or
with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow
was surrounded, 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 can ever know- how much your sweet sympathy
has been to me to-day. I shall know better in time; and believe me
that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my
understanding. You will
let me be like 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 your own sake," he added, "for if a man's
esteem and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine
to-day. If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a
man's help, believe me, you will not call in vain. God grant that no
such time may ever come to you to break the sunshine of your life; but
if it should ever come, promise me that you will let me know." He
was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I 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 noticing my red eyes, he went on; "Ah, I see you
have been comforting him. Poor old fellow! he needs it. No one but a
woman can help a man when he is in trouble 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 the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he
would realise how much I knew; so I said to him:-
"I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart.
Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if
you need it? You will know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I
was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his
lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish
a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in
his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat; he said
quite calmly:-
"Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted
kindness, so long as 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 he proved himself a friend!
