Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.1-12
aghast with horror. But as I looked, they disappeared, and with them `
` the dreadful bag. There was no door near them, and they could not `
` have passed me without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into `
` the rays of the moonlight and pass out through the window, for I could `
` see outside the dim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely `
` faded away. `
` `
` Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 4 `
` `
` `
` Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued `
` `
` I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must `
` have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but `
` could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were `
` certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid `
` by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, `
` and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going `
` to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for `
` they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, for `
` some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch `
` for proof. Of one thing I am glad. If it was that the Count carried `
` me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for `
` my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery `
` to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or `
` destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me `
` so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be `
` more dreadful than those awful women, who were, who are, waiting to `
` suck my blood. `
` `
` `
` 18 May.--I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for `
` I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the `
` stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the `
` jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the `
` bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the `
` inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise. `
` `
` `
` 19 May.--I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in `
` the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here `
` was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days, `
` another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the `
` letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at `
` Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present `
` state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count `
` whilst I am so absolutely in his power. And to refuse would be to `
` excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know `
` too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him. My `
` only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which `
` will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that `
` gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from `
` him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that `
` my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends. And he `
` assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the `
` later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in `
` case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him `
` would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to `
` fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the `
` letters. `
` `
` He calculated a minute, and then said, "The first should be June 12, `
` the second June 19, and the third June 29." `
` `
` I know now the span of my life. God help me! `
` `
` `
` 28 May.--There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to `
` send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are `
` encamped in the courtyard. These are gipsies. I have notes of them `
` in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though `
` allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are `
` thousands of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside `
` all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or `
` boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without `
` religion, save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of `
` the Romany tongue. `
` `
` I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have `
` them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin `
` acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and `
` many signs, which however, I could not understand any more than I `
` could their spoken language . . . `
` `
` I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply ask `
` Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my `
` situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would `
` shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. `
` Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my `
` secret or the extent of my knowledge. . . . `
` `
` `
` I have given the letters. I threw them through the bars of my window `
` with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. `
` The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then `
` put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, `
` and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written `
` here . . . `
` `
` `
` The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest `
` voice as he opened two letters, "The Szgany has given me these, of `
` which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take `
` care. See!"--He must have looked at it.--"One is from you, and to my `
` friend Peter Hawkins. The other,"--here he caught sight of the `
` strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into `
` his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly,--"The other is a vile thing, `
` an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! `
` So it cannot matter to us." And he calmly held letter and envelope in `
` the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. `
` `
` Then he went on, "The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course send `
` on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, `
` my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover `
` it again?" He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow `
` handed me a clean envelope. `
` `
` I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he went `
` out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later I `
` went over and tried it, and the door was locked. `
` `
` When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his `
` coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very `
` courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been `
` sleeping, he said, "So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There `
` is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight, `
` since there are many labours to me, but you will sleep, I pray." `
` `
` I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept `
` without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. `
` `
` 31 May.--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself `
` with some papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, `
` so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a `
` surprise, again a shock! `
` `
` Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda, `
` relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that `
` might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and `
` pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made `
` search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my `
` clothes. `
` `
` The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and `
` rug. I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some `
` new scheme of villainy . . . `
` `
` `
` 17 June.--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed `
` cudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling of whips and `
` pounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the `
` courtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the `
` yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and `
` at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great `
` nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also `
` their long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend `
` and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought that way `
` might be opened for them. Again a shock, my door was fastened on the `
` outside. `
` `
` Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me `
` stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came `
` out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which `
` they laughed. `
` `
` Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonized entreaty, `
` would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. The `
` leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick `
` rope. These were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks `
` handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. `
` `
` When they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner `
` of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and `
` spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head. `
` Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their whips die away in `
` the distance. `
` `
` `
` 24 June.--Last night the Count left me early, and locked himself into `
` his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the winding stair, and `
` looked out of the window, which opened South. I thought I would watch `
` for the Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are `
` quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of some kind. I `
` know it, for now and then, I hear a far-away muffled sound as of `
` mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some `
` ruthless villainy. `
` `
` I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw `
` something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched `
` carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to `
` find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst `
` travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I `
` had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his `
` quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil, `
` that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may `
` both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages `
`
` the dreadful bag. There was no door near them, and they could not `
` have passed me without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into `
` the rays of the moonlight and pass out through the window, for I could `
` see outside the dim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely `
` faded away. `
` `
` Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 4 `
` `
` `
` Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued `
` `
` I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must `
` have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but `
` could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were `
` certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid `
` by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, `
` and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going `
` to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for `
` they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, for `
` some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch `
` for proof. Of one thing I am glad. If it was that the Count carried `
` me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for `
` my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery `
` to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or `
` destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me `
` so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be `
` more dreadful than those awful women, who were, who are, waiting to `
` suck my blood. `
` `
` `
` 18 May.--I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for `
` I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the `
` stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the `
` jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the `
` bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the `
` inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise. `
` `
` `
` 19 May.--I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in `
` the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here `
` was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days, `
` another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the `
` letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at `
` Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present `
` state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count `
` whilst I am so absolutely in his power. And to refuse would be to `
` excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know `
` too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him. My `
` only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which `
` will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that `
` gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from `
` him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that `
` my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends. And he `
` assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the `
` later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in `
` case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him `
` would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to `
` fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the `
` letters. `
` `
` He calculated a minute, and then said, "The first should be June 12, `
` the second June 19, and the third June 29." `
` `
` I know now the span of my life. God help me! `
` `
` `
` 28 May.--There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to `
` send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are `
` encamped in the courtyard. These are gipsies. I have notes of them `
` in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though `
` allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are `
` thousands of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside `
` all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or `
` boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without `
` religion, save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of `
` the Romany tongue. `
` `
` I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have `
` them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin `
` acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and `
` many signs, which however, I could not understand any more than I `
` could their spoken language . . . `
` `
` I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply ask `
` Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my `
` situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would `
` shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. `
` Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my `
` secret or the extent of my knowledge. . . . `
` `
` `
` I have given the letters. I threw them through the bars of my window `
` with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. `
` The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then `
` put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, `
` and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written `
` here . . . `
` `
` `
` The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest `
` voice as he opened two letters, "The Szgany has given me these, of `
` which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take `
` care. See!"--He must have looked at it.--"One is from you, and to my `
` friend Peter Hawkins. The other,"--here he caught sight of the `
` strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into `
` his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly,--"The other is a vile thing, `
` an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! `
` So it cannot matter to us." And he calmly held letter and envelope in `
` the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. `
` `
` Then he went on, "The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course send `
` on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, `
` my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover `
` it again?" He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow `
` handed me a clean envelope. `
` `
` I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he went `
` out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later I `
` went over and tried it, and the door was locked. `
` `
` When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his `
` coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very `
` courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been `
` sleeping, he said, "So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There `
` is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight, `
` since there are many labours to me, but you will sleep, I pray." `
` `
` I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept `
` without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. `
` `
` 31 May.--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself `
` with some papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, `
` so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a `
` surprise, again a shock! `
` `
` Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda, `
` relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that `
` might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and `
` pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made `
` search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my `
` clothes. `
` `
` The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and `
` rug. I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some `
` new scheme of villainy . . . `
` `
` `
` 17 June.--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed `
` cudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling of whips and `
` pounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the `
` courtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the `
` yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and `
` at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great `
` nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also `
` their long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend `
` and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought that way `
` might be opened for them. Again a shock, my door was fastened on the `
` outside. `
` `
` Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me `
` stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came `
` out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which `
` they laughed. `
` `
` Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonized entreaty, `
` would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. The `
` leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick `
` rope. These were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks `
` handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. `
` `
` When they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner `
` of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and `
` spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head. `
` Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their whips die away in `
` the distance. `
` `
` `
` 24 June.--Last night the Count left me early, and locked himself into `
` his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the winding stair, and `
` looked out of the window, which opened South. I thought I would watch `
` for the Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are `
` quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of some kind. I `
` know it, for now and then, I hear a far-away muffled sound as of `
` mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some `
` ruthless villainy. `
` `
` I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw `
` something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched `
` carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to `
` find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst `
` travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I `
` had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his `
` quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil, `
` that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may `
` both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages `
`