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
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 my eyes
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 fur-
niture 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
Jonathan Harker’s Journal 45
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