Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.13-27
and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the `
` pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either `
` of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good `
` face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and big white teeth, that `
` looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like `
` an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would `
` notice. I feared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. `
` I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently `
` thinking that I knew as much about it as he did, "Do you see who it `
` is?" `
` `
` "No, dear," I said. "I don't know him, who is it?" His answer seemed `
` to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it `
` was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. "It is the man himself!" `
` `
` The poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly `
` terrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to `
` support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came out `
` of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then `
` drove off. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the `
` carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and `
` hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to `
` himself, `
` `
` "I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this `
` be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!" He was `
` distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the `
` subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew `
` away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little `
` further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It `
` was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady `
` place. After a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes `
` closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his head on my `
` shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so did not disturb `
` him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said to me quite `
` cheerfully, `
` `
` "Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. `
` Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." `
` `
` He had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in his `
` illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him of. I `
` don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or continue `
` some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do `
` more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey `
` abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the parcel, and `
` know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know, forgive me if I `
` do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake. `
` `
` `
` Later.--A sad homecoming in every way, the house empty of the dear `
` soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a `
` slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van Helsing, `
` whoever he may be. "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra `
` died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They `
` were both buried today." `
` `
` Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! Poor `
` Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to `
` have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear `
` our troubles. `
` `
` `
` `
` DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT. `
` `
` 22 September.--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has `
` taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I `
` believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's `
` death as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral `
` Viking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a `
` power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest `
` preparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says he `
` returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some arrangements `
` which can only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he `
` can. He says he has work to do in London which may take him some `
` time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has `
` broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the burial he `
` was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it `
` was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was `
` speaking of his part in the operation where his blood had been `
` transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see Van Helsing's face grow `
` white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt since then `
` as if they two had been really married, and that she was his wife in `
` the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and `
` none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the `
` station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone `
` in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has `
` denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was `
` only his sense of humor asserting itself under very terrible `
` conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the `
` blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge. And then he cried, `
` till he laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a woman `
` does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the `
` circumstances, but it had no effect. Men and women are so different `
` in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face `
` grew grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such `
` a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was `
` logical and forceful and mysterious. He said, `
` `
` "Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not `
` sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke `
` me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh `
` he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who `
` knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not true laughter. `
` No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no `
` person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' `
` Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young `
` girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I give my `
` time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want that she may `
` have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh when the clay `
` from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say 'Thud, `
` thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. My `
` heart bleed for that poor boy, that dear boy, so of the age of mine `
` own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes `
` the same. `
` `
` "There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say things `
` that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart `
` yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend John, for we are `
` more level in experiences than father and son, yet even at such a `
` moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, 'Here I `
` am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of the `
` sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a `
` strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and `
` troubles. And yet when King Laugh come, he make them all dance to the `
` tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and `
` tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that he `
` make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, `
` that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like `
` ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears `
` come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps `
` the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come `
` like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again, and we bear to go `
` on with our labor, what it may be." `
` `
` I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea, but as `
` I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As `
` he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different `
` tone, `
` `
` "Oh, it was the grim irony of it all, this so lovely lady garlanded `
` with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered `
` if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine marble house in that `
` lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the `
` mother who loved her, and whom she loved, and that sacred bell going `
` 'Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and those holy men, with the `
` white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the `
` time their eyes never on the page, and all of us with the bowed head. `
` And all for what? She is dead, so! Is it not?" `
` `
` "Well, for the life of me, Professor," I said, "I can't see anything `
` to laugh at in all that. Why, your expression makes it a harder `
` puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what `
` about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was simply breaking." `
` `
` "Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins `
` had made her truly his bride?" `
` `
` "Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him." `
` `
` "Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then `
` what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a `
` polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by `
` Church's law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful `
` husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist." `
` `
` "I don't see where the joke comes in there either!" I said, and I did `
` not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He `
` laid his hand on my arm, and said, `
` `
` "Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others `
` when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. `
` If you could have looked into my heart then when I want to laugh, if `
` you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you could do so now, `
` when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him, for he `
` go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time, maybe you would `
` perhaps pity me the most of all." `
` `
` I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why. `
` `
` "Because I know!" `
` `
` And now we are all scattered, and for many a long day loneliness will `
` sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her `
` kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming `
` London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, `
` and where wild flowers grow of their own accord. `
` `
` So I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever begin `
` another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal `
` with different people and different themes, for here at the end, where `
` the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of `
` my life-work, I say sadly and without hope, "FINIS". `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY `
` `
` The neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised `
`
` pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either `
` of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good `
` face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and big white teeth, that `
` looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like `
` an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would `
` notice. I feared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. `
` I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently `
` thinking that I knew as much about it as he did, "Do you see who it `
` is?" `
` `
` "No, dear," I said. "I don't know him, who is it?" His answer seemed `
` to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it `
` was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. "It is the man himself!" `
` `
` The poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly `
` terrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to `
` support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came out `
` of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then `
` drove off. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the `
` carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and `
` hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to `
` himself, `
` `
` "I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this `
` be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!" He was `
` distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the `
` subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew `
` away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little `
` further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It `
` was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady `
` place. After a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes `
` closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his head on my `
` shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so did not disturb `
` him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said to me quite `
` cheerfully, `
` `
` "Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. `
` Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." `
` `
` He had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in his `
` illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him of. I `
` don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or continue `
` some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do `
` more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey `
` abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the parcel, and `
` know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know, forgive me if I `
` do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake. `
` `
` `
` Later.--A sad homecoming in every way, the house empty of the dear `
` soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a `
` slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van Helsing, `
` whoever he may be. "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra `
` died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They `
` were both buried today." `
` `
` Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! Poor `
` Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to `
` have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear `
` our troubles. `
` `
` `
` `
` DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT. `
` `
` 22 September.--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has `
` taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I `
` believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's `
` death as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral `
` Viking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a `
` power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest `
` preparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says he `
` returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some arrangements `
` which can only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he `
` can. He says he has work to do in London which may take him some `
` time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has `
` broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the burial he `
` was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it `
` was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was `
` speaking of his part in the operation where his blood had been `
` transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see Van Helsing's face grow `
` white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt since then `
` as if they two had been really married, and that she was his wife in `
` the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and `
` none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the `
` station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone `
` in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has `
` denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was `
` only his sense of humor asserting itself under very terrible `
` conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the `
` blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge. And then he cried, `
` till he laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a woman `
` does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the `
` circumstances, but it had no effect. Men and women are so different `
` in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face `
` grew grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such `
` a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was `
` logical and forceful and mysterious. He said, `
` `
` "Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not `
` sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke `
` me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh `
` he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who `
` knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not true laughter. `
` No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no `
` person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' `
` Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young `
` girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I give my `
` time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want that she may `
` have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh when the clay `
` from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say 'Thud, `
` thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. My `
` heart bleed for that poor boy, that dear boy, so of the age of mine `
` own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes `
` the same. `
` `
` "There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say things `
` that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart `
` yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend John, for we are `
` more level in experiences than father and son, yet even at such a `
` moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, 'Here I `
` am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of the `
` sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a `
` strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and `
` troubles. And yet when King Laugh come, he make them all dance to the `
` tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and `
` tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that he `
` make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, `
` that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like `
` ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears `
` come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps `
` the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come `
` like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again, and we bear to go `
` on with our labor, what it may be." `
` `
` I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea, but as `
` I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As `
` he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different `
` tone, `
` `
` "Oh, it was the grim irony of it all, this so lovely lady garlanded `
` with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered `
` if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine marble house in that `
` lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the `
` mother who loved her, and whom she loved, and that sacred bell going `
` 'Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and those holy men, with the `
` white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the `
` time their eyes never on the page, and all of us with the bowed head. `
` And all for what? She is dead, so! Is it not?" `
` `
` "Well, for the life of me, Professor," I said, "I can't see anything `
` to laugh at in all that. Why, your expression makes it a harder `
` puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what `
` about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was simply breaking." `
` `
` "Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins `
` had made her truly his bride?" `
` `
` "Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him." `
` `
` "Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then `
` what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a `
` polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by `
` Church's law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful `
` husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist." `
` `
` "I don't see where the joke comes in there either!" I said, and I did `
` not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He `
` laid his hand on my arm, and said, `
` `
` "Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others `
` when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. `
` If you could have looked into my heart then when I want to laugh, if `
` you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you could do so now, `
` when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him, for he `
` go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time, maybe you would `
` perhaps pity me the most of all." `
` `
` I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why. `
` `
` "Because I know!" `
` `
` And now we are all scattered, and for many a long day loneliness will `
` sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her `
` kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming `
` London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, `
` and where wild flowers grow of their own accord. `
` `
` So I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever begin `
` another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal `
` with different people and different themes, for here at the end, where `
` the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of `
` my life-work, I say sadly and without hope, "FINIS". `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY `
` `
` The neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised `
`