The White Devil

dracula

ᗪ尺卂匚ㄩㄥ卂
ᗪ尺卂匚ㄩㄥ卂

©
J
onathan Harker’s Journal Continued
When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feel-
ing came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying
every door and peering out of every window I could find,
but after a little the conviction of my helplessness overpow-
ered all other feelings. When I look back after a few hours
I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved
much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction
had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly, as
quietly as I have ever done anything in my life, and began
to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still,
and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing
only am I certain. That it is no use making my ideas known
to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned, and as
he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives
for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with
the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep
my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I
am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own
fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be so,
I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.
I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the
great door below shut, and knew that the Count had re-
turned. He did not come at once into the library, so I went

cautiously to my own room and found him making the
bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along
thought, that there are no servants in the house. When later
I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door lay-
ing the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if
he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof
that there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the
Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought
me here. This is a terrible thought, for if so, what does it
mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only
holding up his hand for silence? How was it that all the peo-
ple at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for
me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of
the wild rose, of the mountain ash?
Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix
round my neck! For it is a comfort and a strength to me
whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been
taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in
a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there
is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a
medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympa-
thy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must examine
this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In the
meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula,
as it may help me to understand. Tonight he may talk of
himself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very
careful, however, not to awake his suspicion.
Midnight.—I have had a long talk with the Count. I
asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and

he warmed up to the subject wonderfully. In his speaking
of things and people, and especially of battles, he spoke as
if he had been present at them all. This he afterwards ex-
plained by saying that to a Boyar the pride of his house and
name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their
fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always
said ‘we’, and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speak-
ing. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he said it,
for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it a
whole history of the country. He grew excited as he spoke,
and walked about the room pulling his great white mous-
tache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands as
though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he
said which I shall put down as nearly as I can, for it tells in
its way the story of his race.
‘We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins
flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion
fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races,
the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit
which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers
displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, aye,
and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that
the werewolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they
came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept
the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that
in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, ex-
pelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert.
Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as
Attila, whose blood is in these veins?’ He held up his arms.