Dracula: Chapters 3–5

This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought—that there were 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 to do them.

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 sympathy and comfort?

I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate against his interest.

“Good!” he said, and then went on to ask about the means of making consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guarded against.

For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful.

I have not stinted.

It was Mr. Hawkins’s interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice.

I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters.

Then he took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man?

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.

Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare 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 sense of sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider.

The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on.

I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited—waited with beating heart.

His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them.

The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:—
“You yourself never loved; you never love!”

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.

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.

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.

To her I have explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise.

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.

Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised entreaty, would make them even look at me.

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!

I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and for a long time sat doggedly at the window.

They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way.

I leaned back in the embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more fully the aërial gambolling.

The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the three ghostly women to whom I was doomed.

He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness.

With a stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall.

After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it open.

At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the morning had come.

It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.

This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.

I have been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have been practising shorthand very assiduously.

He really did look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit serious too—I know, Mina, you will think me a horrid flirt—though I couldn’t help feeling a sort of exultation that he was number two in one day.

I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free...

Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.

I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish.

What I think of on this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is balanced with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of accidents can balance it.