CHAPTER IX
_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._
_Buda-Pesth, 24 August._
My dearest Lucy,--
I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since weparted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hullall right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. Ifeel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that Iknew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do somenursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one,oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone outof his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in hisface has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does notremember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. Atleast, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had someterrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to tryto recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse,tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. Iwanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself,and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were thesecrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hearthem, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and thenext day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again,and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear ravedabout, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not aboutanything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be,have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owesto you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal cantreat of.' I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest mypoor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of_my_ being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, Ifelt a thrill of joy through me when I _knew_ that no other woman was acause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see hisface while he sleeps. He is waking!...
When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get somethingfrom the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all his things.I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him tolet me look at it--for I knew then that I might find some clue to histrouble--but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sentme over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment.Then he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over thenote-book, and he said to me very solemnly:--
'Wilhelmina'--I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he hasnever called me by that name since he asked me to marry him--'you know,dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be nosecret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try tothink of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if itwas all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brainfever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want toknow it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' For, mydear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities arecomplete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here isthe book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let meknow; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back tothe bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fellback exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. Ihave asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be thisafternoon, and am waiting her reply....
* * * * *
She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English missionchurch has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soonafter as Jonathan awakes....
* * * * *
Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, veryhappy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and hesat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his 'I will' firmlyand strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even thosewords seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, Ishall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilitiesI have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When thechaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, itis the first time I have written the words 'my husband'--left me alonewith my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped itup in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbonwhich was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax,and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed itto my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it wouldbe an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted eachother; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sakeor for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh,Lucy, it was the first time he took _his wife's_ hand, and said that itwas the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would gothrough all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant tohave said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and Ishall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but theyear.
Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was thehappiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give himexcept myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my loveand duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me,and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemnpledge between us....
Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only becauseit is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear tome. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came fromthe schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now,and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so thatin your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear,please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day ofsunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I mustnot wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be_always_ as happy as I am _now_. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this atonce, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathanis waking--I must attend to my husband!
Your ever-loving
MINA HARKER.
_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker._
_Whitby, 30 August._
My dearest Mina,--
Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your ownhome with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough tostay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it hasquite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full oflife, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite givenup walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for aweek, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am gettingfat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have suchwalks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishingtogether; and I love him more than ever. He _tells_ me that he loves memore, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn't love memore than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me.So no more just at present from your loving
LUCY.
P. S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. P. P.S.--We are to be married on 28 September.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
_20 August._--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He hasnow so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion.For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then onenight, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring tohimself: Now I can wait; now I can wait. The attendant came to tellme, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in thestrait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gonefrom his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading--I mightalmost say, cringing--softness. I was satisfied with his presentcondition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated,but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strangething that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for,coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while lookingfurtively at them:--
They think I could hurt you! Fancy _me_ hurting _you_! The fools!
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociatedeven in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same Ido not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything incommon with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or hashe to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needfulto him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not speak. Even theoffer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. He willonly say: I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now,and I can wait; I can wait.
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quietuntil just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and atlength violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhaustedhim so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
* * * * *
... Three nights has the same thing happened--violent all day then quietfrom moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. Itwould almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went.Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. Heescaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape with it. Weshall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case theyare required....
* * * * *
_23 August._--The unexpected always happens. How well Disraeli knewlife. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all oursubtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved onething; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall infuture be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have givenorders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room,when once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise. The poor soul'sbody will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark!The unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more escaped.
* * * * *
_Later._--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until theattendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past himand flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow.Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found himin the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw mehe became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, hewould have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange thinghappened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grewcalm. I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caughtthe patient's eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it lookedinto the moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent andghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this oneseemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or hadsome intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, andpresently said:--
You needn't tie me; I shall go quietly! Without trouble we came backto the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and shallnot forget this night....
_Lucy Westenra's Diary_
_Hillingham, 24 August._--I must imitate Mina, and keep writing thingsdown. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it willbe. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night Iseemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is thechange of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me,for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel soweak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grievedwhen he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonderif I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I shall make an excuse andtry.
* * * * *
_25 August._--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to myproposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears toworry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when theclock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been fallingasleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but Idid not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must then havefallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. Thismorning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat painsme. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don't seem ever toget air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else Iknow he will be miserable to see me so.
_Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward._
_Albemarle Hotel, 31 August._
My dear Jack,--
I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has no specialdisease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I haveasked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask her mother, for todisturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter in her present state ofhealth would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom isspoken--disease of the heart--though poor Lucy does not know it yet. Iam sure that there is something preying on my dear girl's mind. I amalmost distracted when I think of her; to look at her gives me a pang. Itold her I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred atfirst--I know why, old fellow--she finally consented. It will be apainful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for _her_ sake, andI must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch atHillingham to-morrow, two o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion inMrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of beingalone with you. I shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; Iam filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as Ican after you have seen her. Do not fail!
ARTHUR.
_Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward._
_1 September._
Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fullyby to-night's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.
_Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood._
_2 September._
My dear old fellow,--
With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know at oncethat in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any maladythat I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means satisfied withher appearance; she is woefully different from what she was when I sawher last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have fullopportunity of examination such as I should wish; our very friendshipmakes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom canbridge over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you todraw, in a measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I havedone and propose doing.
I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present,and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying all she knewto mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have nodoubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is.We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful, wegot, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulnessamongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left withme. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained,for the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door was closed,however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chairwith a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that herhigh spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction tomake a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:--
'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded herthat a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were grievouslyanxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and settled thatmatter in a word. 'Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care formyself, but all for him!' So I am quite free.
I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not seethe usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test thequality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cordgave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was aslight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secureda few drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitativeanalysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should infer, initself a vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I was quitesatisfied that there is no need for anxiety; but as there must be acause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must be somethingmental. She complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily attimes, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, butregarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child sheused to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back,and that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, whereMiss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has notreturned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of; Ihave written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, ofAmsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in theworld. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all thingswere to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and yourrelations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience toyour wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can forher. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personalreason, so, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept hiswishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is because he knowswhat he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopherand a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day;and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an ironnerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution,self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and thekindliest and truest heart that beats--these form his equipment for thenoble work that he is doing for mankind--work both in theory andpractice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. Itell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence inhim. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenrato-morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may notalarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call.
Yours always,
JOHN SEWARD.
_Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc., to Dr.Seward._
_2 September._
My good Friend,--
When I have received your letter I am already coming to you. By goodfortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who havetrusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who havetrusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holdsdear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound soswiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our otherfriend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants myaids and you call for them than all his great fortune could do. But itis pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is to you that I come.Have then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I may be nearto hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not toolate on to-morrow, for it is likely that I may have to return here thatnight. But if need be I shall come again in three days, and stay longerif it must. Till then good-bye, my friend John.
VAN HELSING.
_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._
_3 September._
My dear Art,--
Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham, andfound that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was lunching out, so thatwe were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful examination ofthe patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for ofcourse I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned,but says he must think. When I told him of our friendship and how youtrust to me in the matter, he said: 'You must tell him all you think.Tell him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am notjesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.' I askedwhat he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when we hadcome back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before starting on hisreturn to Amsterdam. He would not give me any further clue. You must notbe angry with me, Art, because his very reticence means that all hisbrains are working for her good. He will speak plainly enough when thetime comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write an account ofour visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for_The Daily Telegraph_. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that thesmuts in London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was astudent here. I am to get his report to-morrow if he can possibly makeit. In any case I am to have a letter.
Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I firstsaw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something of theghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal. She wasvery sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to make himfeel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was making a hardstruggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quicklook under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to chat ofall things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinitegeniality that I could see poor Lucy's pretense of animation merge intoreality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the conversationgently round to his visit, and suavely said:--
'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are somuch beloved. That is much, my dear, ever were there that which I do notsee. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were of aghastly pale. To them I say: Pouf!' And he snapped his fingers at meand went on: 'But you and I shall show them how wrong they are. How canhe'--and he pointed at me with the same look and gesture as that withwhich once he pointed me out to his class, on, or rather after, aparticular occasion which he never fails to remind me of--'know anythingof a young ladies? He has his madams to play with, and to bring themback to happiness, and to those that love them. It is much to do, and,oh, but there are rewards, in that we can bestow such happiness. But theyoung ladies! He has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tellthemselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so manysorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send him away tosmoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk allto ourselves.' I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently theprofessor came to the window and called me in. He looked grave, butsaid: 'I have made careful examination, but there is no functionalcause. With you I agree that there has been much blood lost; it hasbeen, but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way anaemic. I haveasked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question,that so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say.And yet there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must goback home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and ifthere be cause I shall come again. The disease--for not to be all wellis a disease--interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest metoo. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.'
As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were alone.And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern watch. I trustyour poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to you, mydear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two people whoare both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father, andyou are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall send you word tocome at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious unless you hear fromme.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
_4 September._--Zooephagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time. Justbefore the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The attendant knewthe symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came at arun, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became soviolent that it took all their strength to hold him. In about fiveminutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet, and finally sankinto a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now. Theattendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were reallyappalling; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of theother patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quiteunderstand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I wassome distance away. It is now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, andas yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen,woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to showsomething directly. I cannot quite understand it.
* * * * *
_Later._--Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in onhim, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. Hewas catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his captureby making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges ofpadding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his badconduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back tohis own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well tohumour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has thesugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite aharvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into abox, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to finda spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for anyclue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would notrise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort offar-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:--
All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I doit for myself! Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said:Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little moresugar? I think it would be good for me.
And the flies? I said.
Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I likeit. And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen donot argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a manas, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.
* * * * *
_Midnight._--Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at ourown gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. Ashis room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than inthe morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smokybeauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadowsand all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foulwater, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stonebuilding, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heartto endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was going down, and fromhis window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and lessfrenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, aninert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectualrecuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood upquite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not tohold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straightover to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took hisfly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shutthe window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprisedme, so I asked him: Are you not going to keep flies any more?
No, said he; I am sick of all that rubbish! He certainly is awonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of hismind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a clueafter all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noonand at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun atperiods which affects certain natures--as at times the moon does others?We shall see.
_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._
_4 September._--Patient still better to-day.
_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._
_5 September._--Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; sleepsnaturally; good spirits; colour coming back.
_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._
_6 September._--Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do notlose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you.