Dracula. Bram Stoker

that it was not really locked, but that

      the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen

      somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an

      opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted myself,

      and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. I

      was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than the

      rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I

      could see that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the

      castle, the windows of the end room looking out both west and

      south. On the latter side, as well as to the former, there was a

      great precipice. The castle was built on the corner of a great

      rock, so that on three sides it was quite impregnable, and great

      windows were placed here where sling, or bow, or culverin could

      not reach, and consequently light and comfort, impossible to a

      position which had to be guarded, were secured. To the west

      was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged moun-

      34 Dracula

      tain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with

      mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crev-

      ices and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion

      of the castle occupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the fur-

      niture had more air» of comfort than any I had seen. The win-

      dows were curtainless, and the yellow moonlight, flooding in

      through the diamond panes, enabled one to see even colours,

      whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over all and dis-

      guised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. My

      lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight^ut

      I was glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness

      in the place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble.

      Still, it was better than living alone in the rooms which I had

      come to hate from the presence of the Count, and after trying a

      little to school my nerves, I found a soft quietude come over me.

      Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times pos-

      sibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many

      blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my diary in short —

      hand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is nineteenth,

      century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses

      deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their j

      own which mere «modernity» cannot kill.

      Later: the Morning of 16 May. God preserve my sanity, for

      to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are

      things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing

      to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad al-

      ready. If I be sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of

      all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is

      the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I can look for safety,

      even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great

      God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies

      madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which

      have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shake-

      speare meant when he made Hamlet say:

      «My tablets! quick, my tablets!

      «Tis meet that I put it down,» etc.,

      for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as

      if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to

      my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help

      to soothe me.

      The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it

      Jonathan Marker’s Journal 35

      frightens me more now when I think of it, for in future he has

      a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

      When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced

      the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count’s warn-

      ing came into my mind, but I took a pleasure in disobeying it.

      The sense of sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which

      sleep brings as outrider. The soft moonlight soothed, and the

      wide expanse without gave a sense of freedom which refreshed

      rne. I determined not to return to-night to the gloom-haunted

      rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung

      and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their

      menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great

      couch out of its place near the comer, so that as I lay, I could

      look at the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of

      and uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose

      I must have fallen asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that fol-

      lowed was startlingly real so real that now sitting here in the

      broad, full sunlight of the morning, I cannot in the least believe

      that it was all sleep.

      I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any

      way since I came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant

      moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the

      long accumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were

      three yo-ung women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought

      at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw them, for,

      though the moonlight was behind them, they threw no shadow

      on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some

      time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had

      high aquiline noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes

      that seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale

      yellow moon. The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great

      wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed

      somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with!

      some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment howl

      or where./All three had