fortified me, but I could not help experiencing that chill which
comes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its
way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death
die generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide.
Anyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post,
experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All
at once we heard the crow of the cock coming up with preternatural
shrillness through the clear morning air.
Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said, "Why there is the
morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must
make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England
less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us,"
and with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.
I went into my room and drew the curtains, but there was little
to notice. My window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was
the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again,
and have written of this day.
8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was
getting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail from
the first, for there is something so strange about this place and
all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of
it, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night
existence is telling on me, but would that that were all! If there
were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I
have only the Count to speak with, and he— I fear I am myself the
only living soul within the place. Let me be prosaiac so far as
facts can be. It will help me to bear up, and imagination must not
run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I
stand, or seem to.
I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I
could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by
the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand
on my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Goodon my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good
morning." I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him,
since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me.
In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the
moment. Having answered the Count's salutation, I turned to the
glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could
be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over
my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The
whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man
in it, except myself.
This was startling, and coming on the top of so many strange
things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness
which I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I
saw the the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over
my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half round to
look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his
eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a
grab at my throat. I drew away and his hand touched the string of
beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him,
for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it
was ever there.
"Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself. It is
more dangerous that you think in this country." Then seizing the
shaving glass, he went on, "And this is the wretched thing that has
done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with
it!" And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand,
he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces
on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without
a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave,
unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is
fortunately of metal.
When I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I
could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It iscould not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is
strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must
be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in
the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking
towards the South.
The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every
opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a
terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a
thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can
reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift
where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the
rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.
But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen
the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywere, and all
locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle
walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison,
and I am a prisoner!When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling 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 overpowered 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 returned. 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
laying 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 people at Bistritz and on the