Today's update is one of the longest and most important yet. Buckle up, buckaroos.
Dr. Seward's Diary.
29 September, morning..... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock, Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that he wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all our wills were centred in his.
Arthur is the one who has suffered the most from Lucy's murder, after all. Yesterday he was supposed to have been married to her, and now today she must be put to rest. He deserves to know the truth.
He began by saying that he hoped we would all come with him too, "for," he said, "there is a grave duty to be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?" This query was directly addressed to Lord Godalming.
"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble around my house of late that I could do without any more. I have been curious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."
If Quincey was the open-minded scholar instead of Van Helsing, this past month of updates would have been much shorter, I'll tell you hwat. Van Helsing is a great character and all, but having to read through and review paragraph after paragraph of him dancing around the point with metaphor galore is quite taxing.
I also find it quite amusing that Seward and Quincey evidently have been friends for quite some time, but Seward still uses his full name, as if he's too grand to be contained with a mere given name.
"Oh," said the Professor, "then you are nearer the beginning, both of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can even get so far as to begin."
It was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame of mind without my saying a word.
Given how Lucy has described you staring at people to gauge their state of mind, as well as your habit of playing around with equipment while talking, I wouldn't be surprised if you've been unwittingly taking his measurements for a strait-waistcoat while not breaking eye contact for the past twelve hours.
Then, turning to the other two, he said with intense gravity:—
"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I know, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you will know, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a time—I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may be—you shall not blame yourselves for anything."
"That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the Professor. I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good enough for me."
"I thank you, sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done myself the honour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear to me." He held out a hand, which Quincey took.
Gotta love how Quincey is already locked in for whatever shenanigans Van Helsing is proposing. Unsurprising, given how he was quick to connect the dots about Lucy's condition and readily believe something was actively stealing her blood, and even quicker to open his veins to save her.
Then Arthur spoke out:—
"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman or my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise. If you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either of these two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, I cannot understand what you are driving at."
"I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask of you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first consider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate your reservations."
To "buy a pig in a poke" is an idiom meaning "to buy something without first inspecting it", and is the secret brother of the idiom "letting the cat out of the bag". Stories in the 19th century went that swindlers would put cats in bags and try to sell them as suckling pigs, aka the pig in a poke, but if the cat escaped the sack the swindler's secret was out.
Anyway, we get another classic example of Van Helsing's bluntness.
"Agreed!" said Arthur; "that is only fair. And now that the pourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?"
"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard at Kingstead."
Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:—
"Where poor Lucy is buried?" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: "And when there?"
Oh if this is too much, maybe you shouldn't calm down before the next bit.
Arthur looked up with set white face and said:—
"Take care, sir, take care!"
"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?" said Van Helsing. "And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go on?"
"That's fair enough," broke in Morris.
After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:—
"Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to her. But if she be not dead——"
Arthur jumped to his feet.
"Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; has she been buried alive?" He groaned in anguish that not even hope could soften.
Van Helsing assures him that Lucy has not been buried alive, but that she is Un-Dead, which actually does nothing to assuage him because he is arguably the character who's had the least exposure to the gothic horror in this novel and thus has no clue what the good doctor is talking about.
Then of course Van Helsing promptly hits him with the zinger.
"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?"
"Heavens and earth, no!" cried Arthur in a storm of passion.
Arthur states that he will protect her grave, as is his solemn duty as her once-betrothed, but Van Helsing appeals to him on the basis that he gave weeks of his life and his own blood to try and save Lucy, and would not want to desecrate her tomb unless it was a necessity.
Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, and said, gravely and sternly:—
"My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty to you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it!
...
I have come here from my own land to do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, and then to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her—I am ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness—I gave what you gave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights and days—before death, after death; and if my death can do her good even now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely." He said this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by it. He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice:—
"Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least I shall go with you and wait."
Again the novel hammers in the importance of human connection, empathy, and pathos. It is only through the bonds that these characters make that they are able to make the leaps of faith that are necessary when fighting against supernatural evil.
It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the churchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleams of moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded across the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly in front as he led the way.
...
He then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped forward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:—
"You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that coffin?"
"It was." The Professor turned to the rest saying:—
"You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me." He took his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthur looked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he stepped forward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or, at any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead, the blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away again, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent. Van Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and recoiled.
And the crash course on gothic horror begins for Arthur and Quincey. Surprisingly enough, it's Quincey who voices the skeptical side.
For several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by Quincey Morris:—
"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask such a thing ordinarily—I wouldn't so dishonour you as to imply a doubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour. Is this your doing?"
Van Helsing assures him otherwise, using Seward as a credible witness as they recount their encounter with the white figure and the child in the graveyard, and he also tells them about how he put wards around the tomb to keep Lucy inside, but has removed them for tonight so he can show them the truth.
So"—here he shut the dark slide of his lantern—"now to the outside." He opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the door behind him.
Oh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing and passing—like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; how humanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city.
Again credit must be given to Stoker for bringing his modernity to a vampire tale. Previous vampire stories in English literature stuck to countryside manors and isolated castles and small villages, where it was easy to forget the modern world and make the ancient evil of the vampire feel less conspicuous.
But here, we have our heroes waiting to confront a vampiress in shouting distance of the biggest city on Earth, with its electric lighting and bustle of trains serving as a backdrop that contrasts with the worn stone of the cemetery. It is in some ways a predecessor to the urban horror tales of the 20th century, from The Exorcist to King Kong.
Anyway, the suitor squad takes discreet positions around the tomb as they wait for the supposed Un-Dead, while Van Helsing does something strange.
As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a definite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like thin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white napkin; next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it into thin strips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door and its setting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close, asked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near also, as they too were curious. He answered:—
"I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not enter."
"And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?" asked Quincey. "Great Scott! Is this a game?"
Nice to see that even in moments like this, Van Helsing's got to troll.
Also, did you ever make the acquaintance of an eccentric white-haired blacksmith living in California twelve years back, Quincey?
"What is that which you are using?" This time the question was by Arthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:—
"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence." It was an answer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individually that in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor's, a purpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was impossible to distrust.
Stoker's Anglican ass is showing its misunderstandings of Catholicism. Putting aside the potential desecration of putting Christ's flesh in dough and using it as vampire borax (one could argue that Jesus would totally be okay with someone putting Him on the dirt to stop an unholy evil, being a pretty swell guy and all) an indulgence is not a license to use the Host for something potentially sinful, but essentially a reduction of penance for a sin that has been forgiven. If Van Helsing was given permission to use the Host for something like this, that would be an indult or a dispensation.
Of course, who the heck would give him an indult for this?
Weird Catholicism takes aside, the heroes once again resume their vigil around the tomb, and they don't have to wait long.
There was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from the Professor a keen "S-s-s-s!" He pointed; and far down the avenue of yews we saw a white figure advance—a dim white figure, which held something dark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startling prominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave. We could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to be a fair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a child gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams.
Like a perverted twist on a mother holding her child. Rather than giving life from her body, she takes life from the babe's. It's just like the weird sisters and the infant Dracula stole, but made all the worse by the fact that we know who's doing it.
We were starting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as he stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back; and then as we looked the white figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to see clearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice, and I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the features of Lucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness. Van Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we all advanced too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of the tomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by the concentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips were crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her chin and stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.
Putting aside the out-of-pocket comment where Seward essentially says that vampire Lucy is sexy but in a bad way, this is arguably the most chilling image in the book thus far. These men all loved her, gave their blood to save her as she wasted away from a horrific disease, and in turn she loved them all back with unspeakable kindness, using her last breath to pray for her fiancee's protection.
We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and if I had not seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.
When Lucy—I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore her shape—saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat gives when taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us.
And now, they see her as a dangerous predator in the middle of eating a child.
At that moment the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy light, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God, how it made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she flung to the ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now she had clutched strenuously to her breast, growling over it as a dog growls over a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. There was a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; when she advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fell back and hid his face in his hands.
It's moments like these where you really hope the human soul has already passed on, and what we see is simply a monster that has slipped into her skin like a coat, for the alternative is that the Lucy we all loved is either bound witness or corrupted participant in this evil.
She still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace, said:—
"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!"
There was something diabolically sweet in her tones—something of the tingling of glass when struck—which rang through the brains even of us who heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under a spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms.
It seems Lucy has the same hypnotic power as Dracula and the weird sisters, given how Arthur goes from abject horror to wanting to embrace her in no time at all.
Also, how many times has Seward used the word 'voluptuous'?
She was leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between them his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a suddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enter the tomb.
When within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped, as if arrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face was shown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now no quiver from Van Helsing's iron nerves.
Never did I see such baffled malice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by mortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw out sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of the flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death—if looks could kill—we saw it at that moment.
The idea of sweet Lucy's face ever twisting into this horrible visage is just... arrgh. Vampires really are just fucking animals under all the faux nobility and seductive coquetteishness.
And so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means of entry. Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur:—
"Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?"
Arthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his hands, as he answered:—
"Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror like this ever any more;" and he groaned in spirit.
Man who thought he'd lost all hope loses last additional bit of hope he didn't even know he still had.
We could hear the click of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming close to the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred emblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified amazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal body as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice where scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense of relief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty to the edges of the door.
Like when a cat squeezes under a door. I wonder if Stoker imagined it as Lucy passing through like a massless shadow, like the weird sisters manifesting in moonlight, or if the bloofer lady just straight-up flattened her body like an octopus.
When this was done, he lifted the child and said:
"Come now, my friends; we can do no more till to-morrow. There is a funeral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The friends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton lock the gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not like this of to-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrow night he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police will find him, as on the other night; and then to home."
exposes everyone to the horrors and shatters their worldviews and very psyches
"Alright, take five."
Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other on the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we all slept with more or less reality of sleep.
Oh, I don't know if I'd be able to sleep after that.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
29 September, night.
A little before twelve o'clock we three—Arthur, Quincey Morris, and myself—called for the Professor. It was odd to notice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of us wore it by instinct.
Well, you are about to do some ninja-work that will likely leave you covered in blood, so it makes sense. Of course, it's more that they are essentially about to mourn Lucy a second, more proper time.
They enter Lucy's tomb, with Van Helsing carrying a bigger bag than before, and they start to set up.
When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked—Arthur trembling like an aspen—and saw that the body lay there in all its death-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but loathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her soul. I could see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently he said to Van Helsing:—
"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape?"
"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you all see her as she was, and is."
It seems that being afflicted with vampirism traps the soul under the will of Dracula, if I'm reading into that correctly.
Van Helsing, with his usual methodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and placing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some plumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blue flame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last a round wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and about three feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and was sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such as in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To me, a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and bracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was to cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their courage, and remained silent and quiet.
Looks like Van Helsing is ready to go overkill on putting Lucy to rest. Staking a vampire is a tradition that dates back to folklore in medieval Eastern Europe, where the purpose of the stake was not merely to puncture the heart of the vampire, but to pin it in its tomb so that it could not rise again.
When all was ready, Van Helsing said:—
"Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore and experience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers of the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the curse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after age adding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all that die from the preying of the Un-Dead becomes themselves Un-Dead, and prey on their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as the ripples from a stone thrown in the water.
This part is confusing, given that not only we, but Van Helsing himself through the sources he's been given, have seen that not everyone who has been preyed upon by a vampire comes back as one. Neither of the infants Dracula fed to the weird sisters appeared to have become Un-Dead, nor did anyone on the crew of the Demeter. Either Van Helsing misinterpreted the sources, and vampirism requires more than a bite, or perhaps Dracula destroyed the prior ones to hide the evidence.
Regardless, it is in line with the theme of vampires being a metaphor for sickness; in this case, a contagious one. It appears Dracula's plan for England is to fill it with the Un-Dead; if not utterly, then enough to create a ruling class for his new kingdom.
Friend Arthur, if you had met that kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last night when you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had died, have become nosferatu, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and would all time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with horror. The career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those children whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if she live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her power over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with that so wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny wounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays unknowing ever of what has been.
Nosferatu is a word whose etymology is muddied by a lack of standard transliterations, as well as a twinge of British sensationalism. Stoker cites writer Emily Gerard's work The Land Beyond the Forest as his source for the word, where it's claimed to be the Romanian word for vampire, which is incorrect. The closest Romanian word is Nesuferitu', which means 'insufferable one'.
But of the most blessed of all, when this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor lady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it was the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?"
We all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinite kindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restore Lucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward and said bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as snow:—
"My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!"
Hey man, I'm not gonna judge weird coping mechanisms. If you gotta drive a stake through your dead fiancee's heart to be at peace, go for it.
Van Helsing instructs Art what to do, and he and the others start a prayer for the dead while Art drives in the stake.
Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on action his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened his missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we could. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could see its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.
The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted in wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till the lips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst the blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His face was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it gave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the little vault.
And then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The terrible task was over.
This might be one of the most goth images to ever goth. Good lord this is unnerving to read now; I can't imagine how gruesome this must have been for reading audiences in 1897. In the right filmmaker's hands this could be an instant classic in horror film history.
Naturally this is not an easy task for poor Art, and he collapses into the arms of his friends afterwards, but then something catches their attention in Lucy's coffin.
We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had been seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad, strange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of horror that lay upon it.
There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.
The false beauty of the vampire, replaced with humanity. Flawed, but real and good. I can see how this would be an oddly comforting sight after their ordeal, to see the woman they all loved at peace.
"And now, my child, you may kiss her.
...
She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!"
Arthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of the tomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the point of it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with garlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid, and gathering up our belongings, came away.
Interesting how little Seward speaks of the unsightly work of having to chop off her head and fill the mouth with garlic. Is it a sign that Lucy being at peace makes him less disturbed by the work, or is it so unpleasant he doesn't want to dwell?
Either way, once the business is done Van Helsing tells the suitor squad to reconvene at the asylum in a few days so they can discuss how to proceed. He makes his way back to his hotel with Seward in tow, but find that there's still more to be done today.
When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram waiting for him:
Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.—MINA HARKER.
The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her en route, so that she may be prepared."
Van Helsing then gives Seward the copies of the Harkers' journals Mina had made, and tells him to finally read Dracula before then heading back to Amsterdam.
Luckily for poor Seward, he doesn't have to wait long before one smartest character in the book is replaced with the other.
I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes before the train came in.
The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrival platforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and, after a quick glance, said: "Dr. Seward, is it not?"
"And you are Mrs. Harker!" I answered at once; whereupon she held out her hand.
"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; but——" She stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.
The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
...
She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie open before me. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have an opportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Here she is!
29 September.—After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.
To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from the description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much interested.
Seward the Victorian tech-bro. It makes sense Mina probably hasn't seen one before- even the cheaper models were about 1/10th the yearly salary of your average Brit (more on that later).
"I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said; "but I stayed at the door as I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you."
"Oh," he replied with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."
"Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.
"Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his hand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:—
"Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"
"Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.
"The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it; and as it is entirely—almost entirely—about my cases, it may be awkward—that is, I mean——" He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his embarrassment:—
"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died; for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very, very dear to me."
Naturally Seward is appalled at the idea of showing a lady such horrors, but Mina powers through.
To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face:—
"Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!"
"Why not?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me. Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse. At length he stammered out:—
"You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of the diary." Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naïveté of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!" I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself away that time!" he said. "But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up?"
Not understanding how to operate the super expensive piece of cutting edge technology he bought? Good lord, Seward really is a tech bro.
Also, "honest indian" was basically the "scout's honor" of the late 19th century, though it's weird to see a Brit say it. Maybe he picked it up from Quincey?
Anyway, Mina manages to convince him with both logic and force of personality, again demonstrating why we stan.
By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly:—
"Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:—
"No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that terrible story!"
Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised my meaning.
"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers—my own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed—you will know me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in this cause; but, of course, you do not know me—yet; and I must not expect you to trust me so far."
I do have to sympathize a little with Seward here. Normally it's shitty to try and deny someone information about the last days of their best friend on the basis of thinking they're not strong enough for it or whatever, but also normally you're not the one who chopped said friend's head off and stuffed it with garlic because she turned into a vampire.
Still, he acquieses.
He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right about him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and said:—
"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you. But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them—the first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrify you; then you will know me better.
I'm going to have to go on an autistic tangent here and talk again about these cylinders.
Remember that a wax cylinder could only record two minutes of audio. With the aid of an audiobook version of this tale, I've done the math and found that Seward has probably recorded about 168 minutes worth of audio, which means that at a bare minimum he's probably gone through a hundred and eleven of these things, and that's assuming he's not using a new cylinder to start each entry, which would add another twenty-three cylinders or so.
In the US during the time of Dracula, a wax cylinder went for 50 cents a pop, which translates to 1 shilling and 5 pence in England. The median wage in England at the time was £41 a year, meaning that a single cylinder was 0.254% a year's wage in England (0.111% a year's wage in the US).
Adjusting that for inflation in relation to median wages, in Britain a cylinder would cost £88.80, and in the US would cost $41.72. So that's pricey, but for a neat little gimmick in an age where entertainment options were more limited, not too bad.
But then you have to consider Seward has used anywhere from a hundred and eleven to a hundred and thirty-three of these things already, which means he's spent anywhere from 28.2% to 38.8% of an average Brit's yearly income just on his diary.
As much as £11,840 in 2024 money.
On wax cylinders.
In four months.
Either Seward is absolutely loaded, or he's seriously misusing office expenditures.
He carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true love episode of which I know one side already....
I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary, when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; and now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, went straight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:—
"I greatly fear I have distressed you."
"Oh, no, not distressed me," she replied, "but I have been more touched than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did."
Well that's nice of you, Mina, but honestly I think you spared others more pain by not making them have to play around with more than a hundred wax cylinders.
"No one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. She laid her hand on mine and said very gravely:—
"Ah, but they must!"
"Must! But why?" I asked.
"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy's death and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know; but I can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain point; and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out. Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he will be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us; working together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than if some of us were in the dark."
Mina Harker is arguably doing more to unite the characters of this novel against the count than Van Helsing. What a fantastic character.
Mina Harker's Journal.
29 September.—After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. He placed me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in case I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and listened.
Interesting that Seward's phonograph comes with primitive headphones. The technology already existed for switchboard operators- either Stoker assumed phonographs also had them, or there's some models I haven't uncovered yet. Either way, it really makes this feel like a Victorian techno-thriller.
When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and—and all that followed, was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it without making a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious, and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could not have believed.
That's rough buddy. How about you help kill Dracula with the power of modern office equipment as a coping mechanism?
I took the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:—
"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything, and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every item put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell him when they come." He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder. I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with all the rest.
Manifold is the technique of having layers of plain and colored paper that imprints the strokes of a pen or the blocks of a typewriter, meaning as you type/write you make carbon copies. It's pretty cool to see it in use here.
Mina's entry ends with her mentioning that she's going to start taking newspaper clippings as well. In the meantime, we return to our good friend Jonathan Harker.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
29 September, in train to London.—When I received Mr. Billington's courteous message that he would give me any information in his power I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal with it.
There's a lot more in this entry, but it's stuff we've covered prior. He finds out the Count shipped fifty boxes of earth to England with him, and he collects some receipts and information as to who handled the boxes.
And so this lengthy update of Dracula is finished. It's good to see the heroes really start to cook with gas now. They've taken care of one vampire already- it's only a matter of time before the other goes the way of the 'bloofer lady'.
One thing that interests me is where the heck the three sisters went. Once the story left Transylvania we also left any references to them at all. Did the Count eat them? What happened to them and will they find a peace like Lucy did?
Staking a vampire is a tradition that dates back to folklore in medieval Eastern Europe, where the purpose of the stake was not merely to puncture the heart of the vampire, but to pin it in its tomb so that it could not rise again
It's moments like these where you really hope the human soul has already passed on, and what we see is simply a monster that has slipped into her skin like a coat, for the alternative is that the Lucy we all loved is either bound witness or corrupted participant in this evil.
My own opinion is that, when a vampire becomes undead, their soul moves on, and they therefore loose their conscience. This would explain why such an otherwise good person turns so quickly to evil
The idea of sweet Lucy's face ever twisting into this horrible visage is just... arrgh. Vampires really are just fucking animals under all the faux nobility and seductive coquetteishness.
Agreed, the more I read this, the more I find depiction of charming, elegant vampires unsettling. When you know the true story, it's not that funny anymore
One thing that interests me is where the heck the three sisters went. Once the story left Transylvania we also left any references to them at all. Did the Count eat them? What happened to them and will they find a peace like Lucy did?
Manifold is the technique of having layers of plain and colored paper that imprints the strokes of a pen or the blocks of a typewriter, meaning as you type/write you make carbon copies. It's pretty cool to see it in use here.
I had sometimes wondered how that was called in English and I don't remember it coming up in my old reading of Dracula in versions translated to Spanish.
Reading Dracula is a great reminder of why it has such an enduring popularity and legacy as a story of horror, which is easy to forget with all the adaptions that fail to include some of the best stuff of the novel.
Like, every single adaption of Dracula to the screen, as far as I am aware, basically writes Jonathan out of the story entirely after he is used to introduce us to the count or at the least massively diminishes his role. They also have a horrible tendency to focus on the relationship between Drac and Mina.
Today we get a somewhat uneventful but exposition-heavy update of Dracula.
Dr. Seward's Diary.
30 September.—Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true—and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be—he is also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here to-day.
Again we get some of Stoker's playing around with expectations of gender roles and the like. Seward assumed someone as awesome as Harker must be some gigachad, but instead he meets a wifeguy blorbo.
Said wifeguy and his guywife set about to continue collating everyone's receipts, while Seward is left to do some investigating.
Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count.
Talk about a neighbor from hell, Jack. I know I shit on you a lot (and rightfully so) but don't beat yourself up about Lucy. You can't be blamed for not being able to read the script -yet- and you were following Van Helsing's instructions for treatment. It ain't your fault Dracula found the one wolf in England and chucked it through the window.
I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation.
Given that Renfield has never asked to go home before, this is either a sign that he's actually starting to improve and wants to get away from the vampire that aggravates his condition, or that Dracula is influencing his stan for some unknown reason.
As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; he is himself zoöphagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of "master." This all seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions.
It's still something that deserves attention. Either your human weather vane is telling you Dracula is not in town, or the Count is planning some new bullshit.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
30 September.—The station-master was good enough to give me a line to his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original invoice.
...
Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed—as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.
I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax when Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a good deal.
Later.—Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers into order.
Our good friend Jonathan Harker continues his quest for The Receipts, but right now what's more important is that he and Mina have finally made a proper -if incomplete- edition of Dracula.
Mina Harker's Journal
30 September.—I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had: that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human—not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.
Who would have thought that external acknowledgement of trauma would help that person heal? Truly a most surprising discovery.
Also, I like how Mina explicitly has no sympathy or pity for Dracula in the slightest, which is a departure from earlier works in English vampire literature like Varney or Carmilla. Nothing in Dracula's past could justify his torturous killing of Lucy, or make you look past his preying upon infants.
Later.—Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to see them.
...
I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death—her real death—and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the library.
"I find myself wishin' I could have given poor Johnny one of my repeaters so he could make Drac into a coat. Call that lizard fashion."
And so, they know the name of their enemy. But more importantly, they know the names of their friends.
I sat down beside [Arthur] and took his hand. I hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I know he never will—he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his heart was breaking:—
"I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service—for Lucy's sake?"
Bram Stoker, writing platonic friendship between a man and woman better than far too many modern authors.
In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion.
Also Bram Stoker, unafraid to write about male pain without dressing it up in macho bullshit. God, for a character who isn't as focused upon as the others, he really does get the worst of it. Loses his father and his fiancee the same week, then is forced to drive a stake through the vampire she had become. That would break many.
Mina also has a tender moment with Quincey, and they swear to be friends. It's an excellent showing of how Lucy is in many ways the core of this story. She is the connection between all of these characters, and her untimely death is what motivates them all.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
30 September.—I got home at five o'clock, and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs. Harker said:—
"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!"
Seward assents despite his reservations, owing to how calm Renfield has been today. We then get a few moments of comedy in what has been otherwise a dark tale.
When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: "Why?"
Clearly, the only lady he's interested in is the ladybug.
"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it," I answered. "Oh, very well," he said; "let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of tidying was peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully: "Let the lady come in," and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered.
Honestly, not the grossest mess a man has cleaned up in his room before a woman walks in. This could easily have been a gag right out of a John Hughes movie.
She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand.
"Good-evening, Mr. Renfield," said she. "You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you." He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he said:—
"You're not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's dead."
It seems Renfield knows what's up, and doesn't want Mina to draw his master's attention the way Lucy did.
"How did you know I wanted to marry any one?" His reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:—
"What an asinine question!"
"I don't see that at all, Mr. Renfield," said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to me:—
"You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi."
Non causa is the category of fallacies that attributes cause to associations, while ignoratio elenchi is the fallacy of making an argument that doesn't actually answer the question. Given his fancy verbiage and his prior quoting of scripture, it seems Renfield is quite well-read, something that boggles Seward's mind.
Who would have thought that engaging with the mentally ill like people would let them act like people?
We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity; he even took himself as an example when he mentioned certain things.
"Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood—relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, 'For the blood is the life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn't that true, doctor?"
It's like Mina is the anti-Dracula, improving people's sanities with her very presence. Either that or Renfield is taking advantage of one of his more lucid moments to troll the shit out of Seward, which I'm 100% on board for.
I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to either think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before.
I like the change in Seward's language here, how having clarity as to what must be done makes him closer to his friends. Just me and the boys against a vampire.
Well, boys and a lady, but Van Helsing disagrees, in what rivals Mrs. Westenra's stunt for the stupidest thing a person has done in this book.
As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion; at which the Professor interrupted me:—
"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain—a brain that a man should have were he much gifted—and a woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined—nay, are we not pledged?—to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman.
From backhanded compliments to condescending compassion, both rooted in the prevailing misogyny of the era. Oh Abe, how you disappoint me. One would think such a learned scholar and open-minded philosopher such as yourself would realize how stupid it'd be to suddenly cut out the second most vital member of your team. You wouldn't even know who the fuck Dracula was if it wasn't for her.
Seward, being Seward, readily agrees to the idea of leaving Mina out of the loop from hereon out, and they prepare a meeting.
Mina Harker's Journal.
30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris—Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre.
I always am tickled pink when all the scattered heroes of multiple plot threads finally come together. It's like a crossover without a crossover. I will also say the mental image of all these characters gathering at a table in the study to discuss how to beat Dracula feels like a war room meeting in a modern movie, or the Council of Elrond.
The Professor said:—
"I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these papers." We all expressed assent, and he went on:—
"Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure according.
This is going to be a very long section, so I'm going to paraphrase a lot.
First, Van Helsing talks about what they're up against, rattling off Dracula's abilities that he's gathered from their own documentation and from folklore (keep in mind some of these are stated later in the chapter when he brings up other stuff):
Immense strength
The cunning that comes from several lifetimes' worth of experience
Control over storms
Shapeshifting into 'meaner things'- wolves, bats, foxes, moths, rats, etc. Basically nocturnal animals and pests.
Control over these same animals
Necromancy, though whether this means he can commune with the dead or if it's simply the fact he can make more vampires is left unclear
Vanishing in and out of moonbeams
Slipping through any opening, no matter how small
Rejuvenation through blood drinking
Immortality
Night vision
Turning into mist
He then points out how high the stakes are (pun intended) because losing to Dracula is worse than death.
But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him—without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us for ever are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God's sunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no; but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?"
Naturally, the first one to answer is the one who smacked this unspeakable horror in the face with a shovel.
"I answer for Mina and myself," he said.
"Count me in, Professor," said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.
"I am with you," said Lord Godalming, "for Lucy's sake, if for no other reason."
Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made.
And so, the first DnD party was made. Jokes aside, what an incredible moment of coming together in shared sorrow and determination. This was the Avengers Assemble scene of 19th century gothic literature.
After this moment, Van Helsing then goes on to talk about how they are not 100% fucked.
"Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular.
To think that this era, which now seems so primitive to us, both socially and technologically, was once the living present. It's crazy.
Anyway, back to the important stuff. Van Helsing proceeds to rattle off Dracula's weaknesses according to his research.
Cannot enter a house without permission
Loses most of these powers when the sun's up
When out and about, can only change forms at dawn, noon, and dusk, and is locked in that form in between (hence why he was still a dog for a while after escaping the Demeter)
Can only cross running water at certain times (I guess the ocean doesn't count)
Can only rest in places that were once sacred, and only on the soil of his deconsecrated home
Repelled by garlic and holy symbols
Sacred bullet fired into his coffin will kill him (yes that's an actual folklore thing)
A wild rose on the coffin will trap him inside
Staking and decapitation will kill him
Then after this, Van Helsing talks a little about Dracula's origins.
"Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the 'land beyond the forest.'
So it seems that Dracula is not Vlad the Impaler, owing to him being a Voivode of Transylvania instead of Wallachia, but he definitely draws heavy inspiration from him, and maybe even took the Impaler's place in the history books.
As for how a warlord became a vampire, well...
The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as 'stregoica'—witch, 'ordog,' and 'pokol'—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as 'wampyr,' which we all understand too well. There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest."
The Șolomanță is a school of black magic that features in Romanian folklore, that was said to be in Transylvania. Ten or thirteen pupils at a time, with one selected by Satan himself to become the master of storms and given a dragon as a mount (looks like either Stoker didn't know or care for the dragon part, or Dracula left it in the shop).
And so we see that even for a vampire Dracula is particularly dangerous, for unlike Lucy and the sisters, he has the powers of an evil wizard stacked on top of him being an undead bloodsucking shapeshifter, like he's munchkining the powers of darkness.
Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room.
Huh, I wonder where he's going? Anyway, now Van Helsing talks the game plan for beating Dracula.
There was a little pause, and then the Professor went on:—
"And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed."
This seems important. Shouldn't Quincey be hearing this?
If the latter, we must trace——"
Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out.
The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris's voice without:—
"Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it." A minute later he came in and said:—
"It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art."
"Did you hit it?" asked Dr. Van Helsing.
"I don't know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood."
Got bored during class, saw a bat, and figured he might as well shoot it in case it was Dracula. Quincey, you are a credit to Americans everywhere.
That random but hilarious moment aside, they continue with the game plan.
"We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.
Well that's a well-thought out plan. Hopefully you won't do anything to hinder it-
"And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as we are."
All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their safety—strength being the best safety—through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.
I must note how Mina writes 'even Jonathan'. It does seem like a betrayal of their previous openness and trust about everything.
Mr. Morris resumed the discussion:—
"As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part may save another victim."
I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house.
Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.
Yup. John-boy going "I'll not imagine Mina commands a man's strength, but we would be fools to deny ourselves the use of her wits and blackguards to insult her courage!" would have been proper and useful here.
I must note how Mina writes 'even Jonathan'. It does seem like a betrayal of their previous openness and trust about everything.
The boys begin their hunt for Dracula, but I have a feeling their decision to leave Mina out will come back to bite them.
1 October, 4 a. m.—Just as we were about to leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in the morning; I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added:—
"He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don't know but what, if you don't see him soon, he will have one of his violent fits." I knew the man would not have said this without some cause, so I said: "All right; I'll go now"; and I asked the others to wait a few minutes for me, as I had to go and see my "patient."
Given that Renfield has been displaying some strange behavior lately, and you know he is in connection to the Count, it seems pretty important to see what's up.
The others all come with him because of the above logic, and together they see a very strange Renfield.
We found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more rational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There was an unusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I had ever met with in a lunatic; and he took it for granted that his reasons would prevail with others entirely sane. We all four went into the room, but none of the others at first said anything. His request was that I would at once release him from the asylum and send him home. This he backed up with arguments regarding his complete recovery, and adduced his own existing sanity.
It looks like his interaction with Mina has sparked a marked change in him- perhaps seeing the face of innocence, a face that Dracula wants to turn forever to darkness, snapped him out of his stanning. Who would have thought that human interaction would be useful for combating mental illness?
His change in behavior is further highlighted by his introductions to the others.
He shook hands with each of them, saying in turn:—
"Lord Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at the Windham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronised on Derby night.
It appears that Renfield, before his illness, was quite the upper class. The Windham was a gentleman's club in London, with an entrance fee of twenty-six pounds, or more than half the annual salary of your average Brit, and by "seconding" Renfield means that he was in the club before even the prior Lord Godalming, and was one of the two members who nominated him to the club.
Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable.
Quincey: "What in the tarnation are you talking about?"
Looks like Stoker's love for the US seeped through his writing again, lulz. Also, for non-Americans who don't know, the Monroe Doctrine was an informal political doctrine named after our fifth president that dominated our foreign relations for quite a while. It was essentially that the US had no interest in Old World political affairs and would not engage in them, but at the same time the New World was our sphere of influence and would be defended.
What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties.
Looks like Van Helsing managed to push forward understanding of the human brain a good 67 years- while neuroplasticity as a concept was first broached by psychologist William James in 1890, the term was originally used to describe changes in behavior, and it wasn't until 1964 that scientist Marian Diamond was able to produce anatomical proof of brain plasticity.
I think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the conviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character and history, that his reason had been restored; and I felt under a strong impulse to tell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about the necessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought it better to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of old I knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient was liable.
Renfield, instead of lashing out or sinking into a depressive mood, continues to calmly implore them to let him be released immediately. Van Helsing asks him the reason why he suddenly wants to leave, which may give them the confidence to do it.
He still shook his head as he said:—
"Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my own master in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with me."
An ominous sign that Dracula has put a command on him to not tell the others what he wants him to do, which the heroes seem to blithely ignore, and thus they prepare to leave.
As, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. He moved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that he was about to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however, were groundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made his petition in a moving manner.
...
"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a strait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart—of my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that lives—for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!"
We have all but concrete proof that Renfield is operating against Dracula's interests to the best of his power, and is trying to avoid being used in a plot which entails him staying at the asylum, but still the heroes seem unconvinced. Seriously, at that point I'd at least transfer him to another asylum or something.
Anyway, seeing that he has failed, Renfield sinks into a depression again, but not before leaving this warning as they leave.
When I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in a quiet, well-bred voice:—
"You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you to-night."
Yeah, at that point I'd send him to another asylum or something. The alarm bells are ringing, my friends.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 October, 5 a. m.—I went with the party to the search with an easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well. I am so glad that she consented to hold back and let us men do the work. Somehow, it was a dread to me that she was in this fearful business at all; but now that her work is done, and that it is due to her energy and brains and foresight that the whole story is put together in such a way that every point tells, she may well feel that her part is finished, and that she can henceforth leave the rest to us.
Jonathan. My good friend. My blorbo. I'm only giving you the benefit of the doubt because you've experienced these traumas firsthand and don't want Mina to be exposed to them as well, but you are putting wool over your eyes. How much of this is plain denial, and how much is peer pressure from the others playing their parts in this misogynistic system?
We were, I think, all a little upset by the scene with Mr. Renfield. When we came away from his room we were silent till we got back to the study. Then Mr. Morris said to Dr. Seward:—
"Say, Jack, if that man wasn't attempting a bluff, he is about the sanest lunatic I ever saw. I'm not sure, but I believe that he had some serious purpose, and if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to get a chance."
Quincey Morris, again the voice of reason. Van Helsing also throws his weight behind the idea of maybe releasing Renfield, and Seward gives his reason as to why not.
Dr. Seward seemed to answer them both in a dreamy kind of way:—
"I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man had been an ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him; but he seems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I am afraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't forget how he prayed with almost equal fervour for a cat, and then tried to tear my throat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count 'lord and master,' and he may want to get out to help him in some diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and the rats and his own kind to help him, so I suppose he isn't above trying to use a respectable lunatic.
Hey uh Jack, go fuck yourself. Equating the mentally ill to nocturnal predators and plague-bearing pests is bad enough to hear, but to hear it from an asylum director?
Anyway, they continue towards Carfax, with one little detour.
Lord Godalming had slipped away for a few minutes, but now he returned. He held up a little silver whistle, as he remarked:—
"That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote on call."
I have a good feeling about this. This is giving me Quincey shooting at the bat energy.
When we got to the porch the Professor opened his bag and took out a lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into four little groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke:—
"My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has the strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our windpipes are of the common kind—and therefore breakable or crushable—his are not amenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body of men more strong in all than him, can at certain times hold him; but they cannot hurt him as we can be hurt by him.
Interesting that he indicates that Dracula cannot be bludgeoned to death. It really makes one wonder about the wisdom of going after his precious boxes at night, but I suppose Van Helsing is confident in the wards he gives everyone.
We must, therefore, guard ourselves from his touch. Keep this near your heart"—as he spoke he lifted a little silver crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him—"put these flowers round your neck"—here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic blossoms—"for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife; and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can fasten to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this, which we must not desecrate needless." This was a portion of Sacred Wafer, which he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the others was similarly equipped.
Electric lamps existed in the 1890s thanks to the development of dry cell battery technology in 1887, but one small enough to fasten to the breast of one's coat? The flashlight was still two years away, but it seems Van Helsing jumped things forward like he did brain science.
Anyway, this is a striking image. These guys either look as comical as the characters from Wizard of Oz carrying their witch-hunting paraphenelia, or they're looking like vampire-themed Last of Us characters.
We also get some wonderfully spooky imagery as they break into the Abbey.
The light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as the rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw great shadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling that there was some one else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection, so powerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terrible experience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to us all, for I noticed that the others kept looking over their shoulders at every sound and every new shadow, just as I felt myself doing.
The whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly inches deep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on holding down my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust was cracked. The walls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were masses of spider's webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they looked like old tattered rags as the weight had torn them partly down.
As Jonathan was the one who scouted out the Abbey as a solicitor selling the place to Dracula, he leads the way as they make their way to the desecrated chapel inside.
With a little trouble we found the key on the bunch and opened the door. We were prepared for some unpleasantness, for as we were opening the door a faint, malodorous air seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of us ever expected such an odour as we encountered. None of the others had met the Count at all at close quarters, and when I had seen him he was either in the fasting stage of his existence in his rooms or, when he was gloated with fresh blood, in a ruined building open to the air; but here the place was small and close, and the long disuse had made the air stagnant and foul. There was an earthy smell, as of some dry miasma, which came through the fouler air. But as to the odour itself, how shall I describe it? It was not alone that it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with the pungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though corruption had become itself corrupt. Faugh! it sickens me to think of it. Every breath exhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to the place and intensified its loathsomeness.
A wonderful mental image, wouldn't you say? It again hammers home how Dracula is not just some strong shapeshifting dude who drinks blood, but a walking metaphor for disease and spiritual degradation who practically infects the land. This is some WH40k shit right here.
The stench is so bad that these characters, including a man who's dealt with Dracula before, two doctors who have almost certainly had to change out bedpans and cut open cadavers, and two travellers who have certainly dealt with the realities of using the bathroom in the wilderness, all have to stop and retch.
But they continue on anyway, because fuck Dracula.
We made an accurate examination of the place, the Professor saying as we began:—
"The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left; we must then examine every hole and corner and cranny and see if we cannot get some clue as to what has become of the rest." A glance was sufficient to show how many remained, for the great earth chests were bulky, and there was no mistaking them.
There were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty!
Looks like the quest to find his boxes just got a lot harder. He could be spread out over the entire island for all they know.
Oh, and while Dracula himself doesn't show up, he does realize they're in his home base, and decides to make things harder for them.
A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a corner, which he was examining. We all followed his movements with our eyes, for undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a whole mass of phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively drew back. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.
Y'all are in for some trouble, considering rabies wasn't eradicated on the island until 1902. Looks like you're gonna have to retreat and-
Wait, hold on, what's that in the distance?
It's Art Holmwood with a silver whistle!
For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the great iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside, and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered from behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.
I love the simple, almost childish, logic Art uses here. If Dracula uses rats, then get rat-catching dogs!
And the best part? It works. They stop at the entrance because evil presence and all that, but that's quickly remedied.
Lord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in, placed him on the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he seemed to recover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies. They fled before him so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a score, the other dogs, who had by now been lifted in the same manner, had but small prey ere the whole mass had vanished.
With their going it seemed as if some evil presence had departed, for the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they made sudden darts at their prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and tossed them in the air with vicious shakes.
If I were Dracula and I had my dark mastery over pestilence hard-countered by these little guys, I'd just go home to Transylvania.
Victorious, the heroes scout out the Abbey, checking to see which exits Dracula used to have the missing boxes carted out, and they leave.
The morning was quickening in the east when we emerged from the front. Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall-door from the bunch, and locked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into his pocket when he had done.
"So far," he said, "our night has been eminently successful. No harm has come to us such as I feared might be and yet we have ascertained how many boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this, our first—and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous—step has been accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds and smells of horror which she might never forget.
Bro at this point you are practically daring the story to punish your confidence.
Case in point...
The house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning sound from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself, after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.
Hmm, the guy under Dracula's influence who was pleading for you to remove him from the asylum because something bad was about to happen, now weeping like he failed to stop it? Truly, nothing to investigate there.
I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler than usual. I hope the meeting to-night has not upset her. I am truly thankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of our deliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not think so at first, but I know better now.
1 October, later.—I suppose it was natural that we should have all overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night had no rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for though I slept till the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call two or three times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for a few seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with a sort of blank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad dream.
Van Helsing expresses his curiosity about Renfield again, then leaves after Seward confirms that his patient never actually stopped eating spiders.
It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but there was Van Helsing back in the study. "Do I interrupt?" he asked politely as he stood at the door.
"Not at all," I answered. "Come in. My work is finished, and I am free. I can go with you now, if you like.
"It is needless; I have seen him!"
"Well?"
"I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our interview was short. When I entered his room he was sitting on a stool in the centre, with his elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture of sullen discontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and with such a measure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply whatever. "Don't you know me?" I asked. His answer was not reassuring: "I know you well enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself and your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!"
It looks like Renfield is angry at the others for not heeding his warnings, almost like the terrible thing Dracula needed him in the asylum for has finally come to pass, and thus he is resentful.
Hey, who was apparently super-tired?
Mina Harker's Journal.
1 October.—It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am to-day; after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all.
You're understating things here, Mina. As evidenced by her account of the night, which mentions her anxiety over things, guilt over Lucy, and so on, before giving us this.
I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything, silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out of the window.
...
Not a thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or fate; so that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost imperceptible slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a vitality of its own.
...
The mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against the wall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor man was more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word he said, I could in some way recognise in his tones some passionate entreaty on his part.
And so we have our confirmation, though Mina herself does not see it- Dracula seems to have compelled Renfield to give him permission to enter the asylum, which was the terrible thing he tried to avoid by having Seward release him.
Again I am reminded of my earlier diatribe about how true stupidity is when one can know better but still acts like an idiot. These characters know the scope of Dracula's powers, but are so confident in his weakness of being unable to enter places uninvited that they ignore the warning signs that indicate Dracula is finding a workaround.
And now Mina is paying the price for their stupidity.
And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put back the clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was dim around. The gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured into the room. Then it occurred to me that I had shut the window before I had come to bed. I would have got out to make certain on the point, but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will. I lay still and endured; that was all. I closed my eyes, but could still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.) The mist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came in, for I could see it like smoke—or with the white energy of boiling water—pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings of the door.
Everyone else: "Hoo boy I'm sure glad we've spared Mina the horrors of a bad smell and some rats!"
Mina, currently witnessing one of the creepiest displays of Dracula's power:
It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the top of which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye.
...
But the pillar was composed of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for me; till, as I looked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red eyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's Church. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan had seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mist in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all became black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist.
Nothing terrifying or evocative of sexual violence about that, no siree. So glad Mina didn't have to deal with some rats.
Sadly, it seems Dracula is able to work his powers on Mina the way he did on Lucy, for when she wakes up in the morning she believes it all a dream, and opts not to tell Jonathan about it so she doesn't worry him.
Not even twelve hours have passed and already the boys' brilliant idea has backfired in a way that'd leave Mons Meg envious.
Jonathan heads into the city to gather more receipts, and gets them.
He remembered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog's-eared notebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle about the seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick, half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes. There were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and left at 197, Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to be left out of his diabolical scheme—let alone the City itself and the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west.
Who would have thought some box shipments would be so terrifying. It's like seeing a cancer metastasize.
Anyway, he sends a letter out to another worker hoping to get more info, then casually notes that Mina looks half-dead and hasn't mentioned the Count at all since they cut her out. Nothing worrying there.
Dr. Seward's Diary.
1 October.—I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change so rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as they always mean something more than his own well-being, they form a more than interesting study.
Seward finds Renfield feeling high and mighty, to the point where his previous snacks don't interest him.
"What about the flies these times?" He smiled on me in quite a superior sort of way—such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio—as he answered me:—
"The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature; its wings are typical of the aërial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did well when they typified the soul as a butterfly!"
I thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I said quickly:—
"Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?" His madness foiled his reason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his head with a decision which I had but seldom seen in him, he said:—
"Oh, no, oh no! I want no souls. Life is all I want." Here he brightened up; "I am pretty indifferent about it at present. Life is all right; I have all I want. You must get a new patient, doctor, if you wish to study zoöphagy!"
It seems that perhaps Renfield has given in to despair after failing to protect Mina, and at once wants to become like Dracula, but also does not want the baggage of having souls slaved to him.
Seward, curious and also kinda of a dick, decides to push him on this.
"A nice time you'll have some time when you're flying out there, with the souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzing and twittering and miauing all round you. You've got their lives, you know, and you must put up with their souls!" Something seemed to affect his imagination, for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes, screwing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his face is being soaped. There was something pathetic in it that touched me; it also gave me a lesson, for it seemed that before me was a child—only a child, though the features were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white.
I will breach the barriers of time and page to revoke your medical license, Jack.
There is certainly something to ponder over in this man's state. Several points seem to make what the American interviewer calls "a story," if one could only get them in proper order. Here they are:—
Will not mention "drinking."
Fears the thought of being burdened with the "soul" of anything.
Has no dread of wanting "life" in the future.
Despises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads being haunted by their souls.
Logically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some kind that he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence—the burden of a soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!
And the assurance—?
Merciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!
Took you long enough to figure something's fucky, Jack.
Later—I went after my round to Van Helsing and told him my suspicion. He grew very grave; and, after thinking the matter over for a while asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came to the door we heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used to do in the time which now seems so long ago. When we entered we saw with amazement that he had spread out his sugar as of old; the flies, lethargic with the autumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make him talk of the subject of our previous conversation, but he would not attend. He went on with his singing, just as though we had not been present. He had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book. We had to come away as ignorant as we went in.
His is a curious case indeed; we must watch him to-night.
...and then they seem to blow it. How on earth can such progress against the Count go hand in hand with such L's?
Letter, Mitchell, Sons and Candy to Lord Godalming.
1 October.
My Lord,
We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg, with regard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker on your behalf, to supply the following information concerning the sale and purchase of No. 347, Piccadilly. The original vendors are the executors of the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreign nobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase himself paying the purchase money in notes 'over the counter,' if your Lordship will pardon us using so vulgar an expression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of him.
Well, at least they're making progress here. It's astonishing to see how much IQ the heroes have lost by cutting Mina out of the loop- here's to hoping they realize their idiocy before it's too late.
Today proves a rather tedious one for the heroes, up until it isn't.
Mina Harker's Journal.
2 October 10 p. m.—Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but the sleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak and spiritless.
Given how she's read Lucy's own account, and her previously-established intelligence, I take this as a sign that Dracula is actively keeping Mina from connecting the dots via hypnosis.
Anyway, her update largely consists of "I feel like shit but I don't wanna trouble everyone, it sucks that I know they're talking important Dracula stuff but I'm not allowed in, and I asked Dr. Seward for sleep medication".
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
2 October, evening.—A long and trying and exciting day.
Intellectually I understand the excitement of tracking down Dracula's boxes of earth, but as a reviewer it's very tedious. Jonathan goes around town following leads, bribing workmen for info, and so on.
"How did you get into the houses if they were both empty?"
"There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't throw a shadder."
How this phrase thrilled through me!
...
I had gained a new painful experience; the Count could, it was evident, handle the earth-boxes himself. If so, time was precious; for, now that he had achieved a certain amount of distribution, he could, by choosing his own time, complete the task unobserved.
No surprise there, given that he apparently has the strength of 20 men even when he can't access the powers of darkness.
When I asked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and paused a few seconds before replying:—
"It is sold, sir."
"Pardon me," I said, with equal politeness, "but I have a special reason for wishing to know who purchased it."
Again he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more. "It is sold, sir," was again his laconic reply.
"Surely," I said, "you do not mind letting me know so much."
"But I do mind," he answered. "The affairs of their clients are absolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy." This was manifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing with him. I thought I had best meet him on his own ground, so I said:—
"Your clients, sir, are happy in having so resolute a guardian of their confidence. I am myself a professional man." Here I handed him my card. "In this instance I am not prompted by curiosity; I act on the part of Lord Godalming, who wishes to know something of the property which was, he understood, lately for sale." These words put a different complexion on affairs.
Ah, the gang has realized the most useful superpower of all- being rich.
I found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired and pale, but she made a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful, it wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep anything from her and so caused her inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on at our conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our confidence.
Oh Jonathan, the painful irony of your concern being itself the cause.
When I came down again I found the others all gathered round the fire in the study. In the train I had written my diary so far, and simply read it off to them as the best means of letting them get abreast of my own information; when I had finished Van Helsing said:—
"This has been a great day's work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are on the track of the missing boxes. If we find them all in that house, then our work is near the end. But if there be some missing, we must search until we find them. Then shall we make our final coup, and hunt the wretch to his real death."
A sound strategy- too bad plans never survive first contact with the enemy, especially when said enemy was a skilled general before he became a literal wizard (and then a vampire).
We all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr. Morris spoke:—
"Say! how are we going to get into that house?"
"We got into the other," answered Lord Godalming quickly.
"But, Art, this is different. We broke house at Carfax, but we had night and a walled park to protect us. It will be a mighty different thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or night. I confess I don't see how we are going to get in unless that agency duck can find us a key of some sort; perhaps we shall know when you get his letter in the morning."
Probably the same way you've done other things thus far- money.
Anyway, they decide to wait until morning to start their burglary, and a very eepy Jonathan goes to bed.
Dr. Seward's Diary.
2 October.—I placed a man in the corridor last night, and told him to make an accurate note of any sound he might hear from Renfield's room, and gave him instructions that if there should be anything strange he was to call me.
...
This morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after midnight he was restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat loudly. I asked him if that was all; he replied that it was all he heard. There was something about his manner so suspicious that I asked him point blank if he had been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted to having "dozed" for a while. It is too bad that men cannot be trusted unless they are watched.
A nap is a paltry mistake compared to the collective one y'all are doing with regard to Mina, Jack.
Later.—We have met again. We seem at last to be on the track, and our work of to-morrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder if Renfield's quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have so followed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of the monster may be carried to him in some subtle way. If we could only get some hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time of my argument with him to-day and his resumption of fly-catching, it might afford us a valuable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a spell.... Is he?—— That wild yell seemed to come from his room....
The neat thing about the wax cylinder phonograph is that these sudden shifts and interjections make a lot more sense than if he was writing this down.
The attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield had somehow met with some accident. He had heard him yell; and when he went to him found him lying on his face on the floor, all covered with blood. I must go at once....
Content warning on this one: Sexual violence and its coding will be shown and discussed in this chapter
Today marks the single largest update for Dracula, clocking in at more than 15,000 words, and it is one that exceeds even September 29th in plot relevance. God have mercy on the soul who must write an analysis for this.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
3 October.—Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well as I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that I can recall must be forgotten; in all calmness I must proceed.
When I came to Renfield's room I found him lying on the floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries; there seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the floor—indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood originated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as we turned him over:—
"I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed."
Again I am shocked at how violent the imagery is for a novel from Victorian England- compare this to The Curious Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, and you will see they are quite tame in contrast.
Anyway, it is evident to the good doctor that there's no way for these injuries to be self-inflicted, and he realizes something seriously fucky is afoot.
I said to him:—
"Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want him without an instant's delay." The man ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared.
...
Van Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before he looked at the patient, he whispered to me:—
"Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes conscious, after the operation."
Ah, the classic interrogation method of emergency surgery. Well, given the time period this novel is set, it's not all that different from torture.
The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient. The wounds of the face was superficial; the real injury was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. The Professor thought a moment and said:—
"We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as far as can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late."
Van Helsing is talking about trepanning, a surgical method practiced by literal cavemen and still used in some form to this very day. It's essentially making a hole in the skull to reduce brain swelling caused by internal bleeding. Originally done with stone tools, by this point there were specialized tools for the job. Van Helsing is probably using a kit similar to the one below to save Renfield.
The commotion wakes Quincey and Art, and they watch as Renfield is resuscitated.
"There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the ear."
Without another word he made the operation. For a few moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest. Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a glad surprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief.
Fun fact- Bram Stoker's brother Thornley was one of the premier brain surgeons in the UK, and advised Bram on this scene, which is probably why it feels like a tense moment from a modern medical drama.
After waking, Renfield knows he's cooked, and uses what little time he has left to tell the others what happened.
"He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before; but he was solid then—not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man's when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to—just as he had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things—not in words but by doing them." He was interrupted by a word from the Professor:—
"How?"
"By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs."
So we see at last that Dracula was indeed outright manipulating Renfield, at least later on, in addition to his evil presence exacerbating his illness.
"Then he began to whisper: 'Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions of them, and every one a life; and dogs to eat them, and cats too. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not merely buzzing flies!' I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red—like His, only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought he seemed to be saying: 'All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship me!' And then a red cloud, like the colour of blood, seemed to close over my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him: 'Come in, Lord and Master!' The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide—just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and splendour."
Terrifying mental image, and a damn good reason as to why they should have moved Renfield when he asked them to.
Thankfully, at the very end, it was human compassion that saved both Renfield's soul and the day, where Seward's fumbling and condescending treatments failed.
"When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn't the same; it was like tea after the teapot had been watered." Here we all moved, but no one said a word; he went on:—
"I didn't know that she was here till she spoke; and she didn't look the same. I don't care for the pale people; I like them with lots of blood in them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn't think of it at the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her."
...
"So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and as I knew I was a madman—at times anyhow—I resolved to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn't mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemed to steal away under the door."
To protect the lady that was nice to him, Renfield threw hands with a fucking vampire, and actually managed to delay him. Godspeed, you magnificent flycatcher.
Of course, the confirmation that a very angry Dracula is in the house with them and gunning for Mina sends everyone into a panic. They grab all of their weapons and wards, and rush to the Harkers' room.
Outside the Harkers' door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and the latter said:—
"Should we disturb her?"
"We must," said Van Helsing grimly. "If the door be locked, I shall break it in."
"May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady's room!"
Quincey. THERE IS A VAMPIRE IN THE HOUSE. Now is not the time for patronizing sexism.
Van Helsing reminds everyone this is a matter of life and death, and they smash down the door to see an absolutely heartbreaking scene.
The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count—in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress.
At this point the line between allegory for sexual violence and actual sexual violence is so thin that you could use it to slice the Judgment Day to ribbons. Just the way Dracula's holding Mina's wrists and the back of her neck is far too real. Fucking hell this is upsetting to see (and it's only going to get worse later).
The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink.
Oh yeah, that's definitely the terrible resemblance there, Jack. We all know there's no other situation where a man might grab a woman's wrists and force her to ingest a bodily fluid of his.
One last note before moving on- something strange about this moment is that Mina appears to drinking Dracula's blood, and not the other way around. It's not something that has come up before in Van Helsing's exposition about the vampire's powers- could this be the answer as to why Dracula's other victims haven't turned?
As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour.
Dramatic bitch has dramatic exits to match his dramatic entrances. Glad to see he's just as helpless against their wards as the bloofer lady was.
For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of blood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room.
While Mina deserves the majority of our attention, I must make a quick note of Art's despairing look. This is the second person close to him that has been victimized by a vampire- this must be reopening the wounds of Lucy's passing.
Anyway, they wake up Jonathan, and he attends to poor Mina while Quincey goes running outside, probably to shoot at anything flapping in the night.
"Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must be calm and take counsel together." She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his white night-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs:—
"Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear." To this he spoke out resolutely:—
"Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!"
Deliberately drawing parallels to some SA victims avoiding intimacy with loved ones, I see.
God, the love between them is the sole comfort in this cold night. How many men in our modern times would look at their spouses differently, or even spurn them, after something like this? To see how Jonathan consoles her and assures her of his continuing love in the aftermath of a metaphorical rape is a balm for the reader as it is for her.
Anyway, Art comes back to give a damage report of the rest of the house.
"I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had, however——" He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed. Van Helsing said gravely:—
"Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely!" So Art went on:—
"He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames." Here I interrupted. "Thank God there is the other copy in the safe!"
You know Seward is rocked when he refers to his friend as Art instead of Lord Godalming.
"I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked into Renfield's room; but there was no trace there except——!" Again he paused. "Go on," said Harker hoarsely; so he bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added: "except that the poor fellow is dead."
Quincey also comes back and reports he saw a big bat flying from Renfield's room and away from Carfax, meaning Dracula is hiding in a different lair tonight.
With the immediate danger gone, Mina recounts her attack.
"There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this; you will find it in my diary which I shall show you later."
Just a casual reminder why they shouldn't have fucking cut her out of the loop.
I felt the same vague terror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist—or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared—stood a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralysed.
I don't wanna be a pedantic dick after your trauma, Mina, but you also should know him because you've seen him in Piccadilly with Jonathan. Also, the mental image of Dracula just turning into a human figure out of mist would be cool if he weren't such a fucking piece of shit who doesn't deserve coolness.
In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan:—
"'Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so, 'First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!'
God, he even has a terrible sense of humor like some modern supervillain. I'm also commenting on this first to try and lighten the realistic horror of this scenario- how many women have been compelled into silence by intruding predators under threat of their loved ones being harmed?
I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!"
...
"I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!"
I know there is the metaphorical terror of sexual violence at play here, but I must also comment on the literal terror of being devoured. Mankind might be apex predators now, but we still have that instinctual fear that harkens back to a time when we were prey animals, and seeing such a horror inflicted by one with a human face is disturbing.
"Then he spoke to me mockingly, 'And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my designs! You know now, and they know in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they played wits against me—against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born—I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says "Come!" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!'
A predator's true face is always revealed to the victim. Here we see the depths of his depravity and cruelty, something even Jonathan was not 100% privy to. He is smart enough to realize that Mina has been a major player in the efforts against him, but out of spite he denigrates her, referring her to an inanimate object for him to use for his pleasure, and claims possession over her under the claim it will hurt the others, because who cares what his property itself feels?
This is hatred. This is a desire for power over someone who irked him and has frustrated him multiple times. And like with real life sexual violence, it is that desire for power and not pleasure that drives him to torment her so.
With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the—— Oh my God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril; and in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!" Then she began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.
A man enters her bedroom, threatens to kill her husband if she screams, puts his lips upon her neck, then forces her to ingest his bodily fluid to 'claim' her in a sick power play? Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable calling this a straight-up rape. The story is so horrifying it literally turns Jonathan's hair white.
Speaking of which, we now see a document from our good friend.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
3 October.—As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary.
At first he reiterates the whole "Renfield was brutally murdered" thing we already heard from Art, just with extra icky details like crushed vertebrae.
When the question began to be discussed as to what should be our next step, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be in full confidence; that nothing of any sort—no matter how painful—should be kept from her. She herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitiful to see her so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth of despair. "There must be no concealment," she said, "Alas! we have had too much already. And besides there is nothing in all the world that can give me more pain than I have already endured—than I suffer now! Whatever may happen, it must be of new hope or of new courage to me!"
About. Fucking. Time. How perfectly in line with real life chauvinism, that when it backfires to the point that the men regret it, it's the woman who suffers the brunt.
Van Helsing was looking at her fixedly as she spoke, and said, suddenly but quietly:—
"But dear Madam Mina, are you not afraid; not for yourself, but for others from yourself, after what has happened?" Her face grew set in its lines, but her eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as she answered:—
"Ah no! for my mind is made up!"
"To what?" he asked gently, whilst we were all very still; for each in our own way we had a sort of vague idea of what she meant. Her answer came with direct simplicity, as though she were simply stating a fact:—
"Because if I find in myself—and I shall watch keenly for it—a sign of harm to any that I love, I shall die!"
Mina Harker, again proving herself the most goth character in this book. You know she fucking means it.
Van Helsing argues against it, pointing out that if she were to die before Dracula does, she would rise as one of his Un-Dead minions, and she seems to agree with his logic.
She was so good and brave that we all felt that our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for her, and we began to discuss what we were to do. I told her that she was to have all the papers in the safe, and all the papers or diaries and phonographs we might hereafter use; and was to keep the record as she had done before. She was pleased with the prospect of anything to do—if "pleased" could be used in connection with so grim an interest.
Well, it should never have been reduced, but it's nice to see the League of Lucy back up to 100% power.
"It is perhaps well," he said, "that at our meeting after our visit to Carfax we decided not to do anything with the earth-boxes that lay there. Had we done so, the Count must have guessed our purpose, and would doubtless have taken measures in advance to frustrate such an effort with regard to the others; but now he does not know our intentions. Nay, more, in all probability, he does not know that such a power exists to us as can sterilise his lairs, so that he cannot use them as of old."
An amusing deflation of Dracula's braggadocio about how smart he was in his warlord days. Were anti-vampire wards not covered in Evil Wizard School? It seems a few centuries of dominion through terror has made him overconfident.
They discuss destroying the boxes, including how they're going to break into houses on Piccadilly in the middle of the day (answer- hire a professional locksmith and use their high status to convincingly bluff any onlookers into thinking they own the places).
"When once within that house we may find more clues; at any rate some of us can remain there whilst the rest find the other places where there be more earth-boxes—at Bermondsey and Mile End."
Lord Godalming stood up. "I can be of some use here," he said. "I shall wire to my people to have horses and carriages where they will be most convenient."
"Look here, old fellow," said Morris, "it is a capital idea to have all ready in case we want to go horsebacking; but don't you think that one of your snappy carriages with its heraldic adornments in a byway of Walworth or Mile End would attract too much attention for our purposes? It seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east; and even leave them somewhere near the neighbourhood we are going to."
Seems like Quincey is making up for his lapse in intelligence earlier. Gotta love his 'Murican common sense.
When we came to the discussion of the sequence of our efforts and of the disposition of our forces, there were new sources of doubt. It was finally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we should destroy the Count's lair close at hand. In case he should find it out too soon, we should thus be still ahead of him in our work of destruction; and his presence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest, might give us some new clue.
Quincey and Art are assigned to Walworth and Mile End to destroy the boxes there, while the others are to handle Piccadilly.
Jonathan initially wants to stay with Mina, but she girlbosses him into going with them using facts and logic, and she herself opts to stay at the asylum (with a shitload of wards around her, of course) and act as mission control.
So I started up crying out: "Then in God's name let us come at once, for we are losing time. The Count may come to Piccadilly earlier than we think."
"Not so!" said Van Helsing, holding up his hand.
"But why?" I asked.
"Do you forget," he said, with actually a smile, "that last night he banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?"
I think we can all agree that Mina should be allowed to give Van Helsing one (1) kick in the balls before they go a-huntin'. Naturally everyone reacts super poorly to the joke, and Van Helsing at least displays self awareness and feels super shitty afterwards.
They eat breakfast before they set out, and Van Helsing decides to try and make it up to her by giving her some extra protection.
"But before we go let me see you armed against personal attack. I have myself, since you came down, prepared your chamber by the placing of things of which we know, so that He may not enter. Now let me guard yourself. On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in the name of the Father, the Son, and——"
There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared it—had burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot metal.
My poor darling's brain had told her the significance of the fact as quickly as her nerves received the pain of it; and the two so overwhelmed her that her overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful scream. But the words to her thought came quickly; the echo of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the reaction, and she sank on her knees on the floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she wailed out:—
"Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I must bear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgment Day."
Uh hey why would the J-man burn her for something Dracula did? The flesh of Christ is not some simple stupid ward that can't distinguish between the evil and its victims, after all.
Oh, if He's basically slut-shaming a rape victim, I swear to...
FUCK
Anyway, the others try to comfort her, and they set out finally to go destroy the boxes.
But first, the most gothic romance thing to ever gothic romance.
To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.
Jonathan is willing to damn his soul to chill in Hell with his beloved Mina. He's basically saying that if God rejects Mina, then God is wrong. The fact that a devout Victorian Protestant is saying that makes his conviction all the more heartwarming.
It's just so
AHHHHHHH
We entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same as on the first occasion.
...
Dr. Van Helsing said to us solemnly as we stood before them:—
"And now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must sterilise this earth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a far distant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it has been holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make it more holy still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we sanctify it to God." As he spoke he took from his bag a screwdriver and a wrench, and very soon the top of one of the cases was thrown open. The earth smelled musty and close; but we did not somehow seem to mind, for our attention was concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his box a piece of the Sacred Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth, and then shutting down the lid began to screw it home, we aiding him as he worked.
They do the same to all the other boxes, then take the train into the city.
Piccadilly, 12:30 o'clock.—Just before we reached Fenchurch Street Lord Godalming said to me:—
"Quincey and I will find a locksmith. You had better not come with us in case there should be any difficulty; for under the circumstances it wouldn't seem so bad for us to break into an empty house.
...
My title will make it all right with the locksmith, and with any policeman that may come along. You had better go with Jack and the Professor and stay in the Green Park, somewhere in sight of the house; and when you see the door opened and the smith has gone away, do you all come across. We shall be on the lookout for you, and shall let you in."
We sat down on a bench within good view, and began to smoke cigars so as to attract as little attention as possible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as we waited for the coming of the others.
At length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in leisurely fashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris; and down from the box descended a thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paid the cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Together the two ascended the steps, and Lord Godalming pointed out what he wanted done. The workman took off his coat leisurely and hung it on one of the spikes of the rail, saying something to a policeman who just then sauntered along. The policeman nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling down placed his bag beside him. After searching through it, he took out a selection of tools which he produced to lay beside him in orderly fashion. Then he stood up, looked into the keyhole, blew into it, and turning to his employers, made some remark. Lord Godalming smiled, and the man lifted a good-sized bunch of keys; selecting one of them, he began to probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumbling about for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at once the door opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two others entered the hall. We sat still; my own cigar burnt furiously, but Van Helsing's went cold altogether. We waited patiently as we saw the workman come out and bring in his bag. Then he held the door partly open, steadying it with his knees, whilst he fitted a key to the lock. This he finally handed to Lord Godalming, who took out his purse and gave him something. The man touched his hat, took his bag, put on his coat and departed; not a soul took the slightest notice of the whole transaction.
When the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and knocked at the door. It was immediately opened by Quincey Morris, beside whom stood Lord Godalming lighting a cigar.
I normally don't post such a big block of text, but it's best appreciated in its entirety. This entire sequence would work perfectly in a modern crime thriller, holy crap. You have the guys smoking and pretending to not be involved, the tension with the cop walking by, the rich guy using his confidence to allay suspicion...
We moved to explore the house, all keeping together in case of attack; for we knew we had a strong and wily enemy to deal with, and as yet we did not know whether the Count might not be in the house. In the dining-room, which lay at the back of the hall, we found eight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out of the nine, which we sought! Our work was not over, and would never be until we should have found the missing box.
They turn the place upside down, looking for the last box, but are unable to find it. They do however find a jackpot in terms of Dracula's papers and some of his effects, including a wash basin he apparently uses to clean the blood out of his mouth (hurk). It's funny that the terrifying dark lord has to do the boring self-care stuff that everyone else has to.
Anyway, Quincey and Art head out to the other lairs to destroy them, while Seward, Harker, and Van Helsing wait in the house on Piccadilly.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
3 October.—The time seemed terrible long whilst we were waiting for the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried to keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could see his beneficent purpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame.
White hair, burning eyes... how painful the irony, that in fighting Dracula, Jonathan starts to resemble his quarry. Even when righteous, rage and bloodlust takes its toll.
Anyway, Van Helsing drops some strange theories about Dracula.
"I have studied, over and over again since they came into my hands, all the papers relating to this monster; and the more I have studied, the greater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out. All through there are signs of his advance; not only of his power, but of his knowledge of it. As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminus of Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful man. Soldier, statesman, and alchemist—which latter was the highest development of the science-knowledge of his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse.
...
Well, in him the brain powers survived the physical death; though it would seem that memory was not all complete. In some faculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child; but he is growing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of man's stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well; and if it had not been that we have crossed his path he would be yet—he may be yet if we fail—the father or furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road must lead through Death, not Life."
So you're claiming Dracula lost some memories of his past life? I don't know where you're getting that from, but okay?
"Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late, this monster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he has been making use of the zoöphagous patient to effect his entry into friend John's home; for your Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come when and how he will, must at the first make entry only when asked thereto by an inmate. But these are not his most important experiments. Do we not see how at the first all these so great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and he began to consider whether he might not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when he found that this be all-right, he try to move them all alone.
I think that's less that Dracula has an underdeveloped child's brain, and more that he's a medieval nobleman who probably hates the idea of doing shit for himself when he can have the peasants do it. As for the rest of his experimentation, one could simply argue that he was resting on his laurels in old Transylvania, but has to adapt in Victorian England.
Whilst he was speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door, the double postman's knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved out to the hall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his hand to us to keep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The boy handed in a despatch. The Professor closed the door again, and, after looking at the direction, opened it and read aloud.
"Look out for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems to be going the round and may want to see you: Mina."
And again we see the powers of modernity fight against Dracula. He wouldn't have had to deal with this electronic communications shit in medieval Transylvania.
About half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker's telegram, there came a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an ordinary knock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen, but it made the Professor's heart and mine beat loudly. We looked at each other, and together moved out into the hall; we each held ready to use our various armaments—the spiritual in the left hand, the mortal in the right. Van Helsing pulled back the latch, and, holding the door half open, stood back, having both hands ready for action. The gladness of our hearts must have shown upon our faces when on the step, close to the door, we saw Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris. They came quickly in and closed the door behind them, the former saying, as they moved along the hall:—
"It is all right. We found both places; six boxes in each and we destroyed them all!"
Man, this techno-thriller has it all- mission control using advanced tech to warn the heroes, playing it cool while breaking into a place in broad daylight, a tense moment where they don't know if the knock at the door is friendly and they get ready to fight...
We were silent for a minute, and then Quincey said:—
"There's nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he doesn't turn up by five o'clock, we must start off; for it won't do to leave Mrs. Harker alone after sunset."
"He will be here before long now," said Van Helsing, who had been consulting his pocket-book. "_Nota bene_, in Madam's telegram he went south from Carfax, that means he went to cross the river, and he could only do so at slack of tide, which should be something before one o'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet only suspicious; and he went from Carfax first to the place where he would suspect interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey only a short time before him. That he is not here already shows that he went to Mile End next. This took him some time; for he would then have to be carried over the river in some way.
Astute detective work from Van Helsing, and a demonstration of how something as mundane as checking the weather report can let you track the movements of a vampire warlord.
Believe me, my friends, we shall not have long to wait now. We should have ready some plan of attack, so that we may throw away no chance. Hush, there is no time now. Have all your arms! Be ready!" He held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all could hear a key softly inserted in the lock of the hall door.
I could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which a dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had been accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the room, he at once laid out our plan of attack, and, without speaking a word, with a gesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing, Harker, and I were just behind the door, so that when it was opened the Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between the incomer and the door. Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of sight ready to move in front of the window. We waited in a suspense that made the seconds pass with nightmare slowness.
Man it's awesome to see the crew operate with such cohesion. To think that just a few months ago half of these guys had probably never even thrown a punch outside of a schoolyard, and now they're about to fight a vampire warlord with the professionalism of the SAS.
The slow, careful steps came along the hall; the Count was evidently prepared for some surprise—at least he feared it.
Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was something so panther-like in the movement—something so unhuman, that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act was Harker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before the door leading into the room in the front of the house. As the Count saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over his face, showing the eye-teeth long and pointed; but the evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His expression again changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon him.
And thus, the oh-so-proud hunter has become the prey.
It was a pity that we had not some better organised plan of attack, for even at the moment I wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through his heart. As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat, making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank-notes and a stream of gold fell out.
I can't imagine the frenzy Jonathan must be in at this moment. To finally be able to strike back at the man who psychologically tormented him, and assaulted his beloved wife? Even Dracula would quail at Jonathan's bloodlust.
The expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke. Instinctively I moved forward with a protective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand. I felt a mighty power fly along my arm; and it was without surprise that I saw the monster cower back before a similar movement made spontaneously by each one of us. It would be impossible to describe the expression of hate and baffled malignity—of anger and hellish rage—which came over the Count's face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on the pallid skin like a palpitating wound. The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled into the flagged area below. Through the sound of the shivering glass I could hear the "ting" of the gold, as some of the sovereigns fell on the flagging.
Looks like ol' Drac has suddenly remembered what we mortals call "fight or flight".
Imagine the sheer rage Dracula must be feeling, that he has been outflanked and cornered by mere humans who have fewer years between them all than his entire un-lifespan, and forced to flee from them like some hapless prey animal. A boyar of Transylvania on the run from common Englishmen (and one noble I guess).
Doesn't stop him from trying to reclaim his pride.
We ran over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He, rushing up the steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the stable door. There he turned and spoke to us:—
"You think to baffle me, you—with your pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think you have left me without a place to rest; but I have more. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Your girls that you all love are mine already; and through them you and others shall yet be mine—my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah!"
Van Helsing points out how hollow these words are when he's clearly afraid of them, which is a sign their plan is working. He also points out Dracula must be planning something, as otherwise he wouldn't have a shitload of money on him.
As he spoke he put the money remaining into his pocket; took the title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept the remaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them with a match.
Congratulations, gang: you have officially mugged Dracula's ass.
Godalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had lowered himself from the window to follow the Count. He had, however, bolted the stable door; and by the time they had forced it open there was no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the back of the house; but the mews was deserted and no one had seen him depart.
Jonathan, waving a kukhri: "STRAP ME TO A MISSILE AND FIRE ME AT BOLGO PASS, I AM READY!"
Sadly, they can't find him, and the sun's setting, so they head back to the asylum. We do, however, get one sweet moment.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
3-4 October, close to midnight
[snip containing feeling stuff] Later.—I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by Mina, who was sitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face. I could see easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness; she had placed a warning hand over my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear:—
"Hush! there is someone in the corridor!" I got up softly, and crossing the room, gently opened the door.
Just outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide awake. He raised a warning hand for silence as he whispered to me:—
"Hush! go back to bed; it is all right. One of us will be here all night. We don't mean to take any chances!"
His look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told Mina. She sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole over her poor, pale face as she put her arms round me and said softly:—
"Oh, thank God for good brave men!" With a sigh she sank back again to sleep. I write this now as I am not sleepy, though I must try again.
Find yourself a bro who'll camp outside your room to pump any trespassing vampires full of lead. Thank God for Quincey Morris.
So, today has been a day of terrible blows struck against friend and foe alike. Renfield's dead, and Mina has been assaulted by Dracula with the looming threat of vampirism, but they have destroyed the majority of Dracula's spearhead in England, stolen his shit, and proven his vulnerability.
May they prove it even further, before it's too late.
Today's update of Dracula is much shorter than yesterday's, but still quite important.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
4 October, morning.—Once again during the night I was wakened by Mina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the coming dawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas flame was like a speck rather than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly:—
"Go, call the Professor. I want to see him at once."
"Why?" I asked.
"I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and matured without my knowing it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest; the time is getting close."
Within a day of a traumatic experience, Mina is already using it to turn the tables on Dracula. This shit is why it was fucking stupid to have ever left her out to begin with.
Van Helsing arrives, and after Mina tells him what she wants him to do, everyone gathers around to watch.
Looking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of her, from over the top of her head downward, with each hand in turn. Mina gazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own heart beat like a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Gradually her eyes closed, and she sat, stock still; only by the gentle heaving of her bosom could one know that she was alive. The Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and I could see that his forehead was covered with great beads of perspiration.
Van Helsing is doing Mesmeric passes, a supposed way of inducing a hypnotic trance championed by Franz Mesmer (who, as you might have already guessed, is where we get the term 'mesmerize' from) under the belief that there were metaphorical magnetic forces to manipulate.
Yay, pseudoscience. Keep in mind that while hypnosis is possibly real depending on whether or not you support the theories of it being an altered state of consciousness instead of a social placebo effect that nevertheless increases suggestibility, the supposed capabilities/benefits/causes of hypnosis are subject to a mountain of bullshit.
There's also the storied history of hypnosis being claimed to be a state achieved by hysteric women (blech), as well as its habit of creating false memories that have made heaps of trouble.
Mina opened her eyes; but she did not seem the same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, and her voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me.
...
The stillness was broken by Van Helsing's voice speaking in a low level tone which would not break the current of her thoughts:—
...
"Where are you now?" The answer came dreamily, but with intention; it were as though she were interpreting something. I have heard her use the same tone when reading her shorthand notes.
"I do not know. It is all strange to me!"
"What do you see?"
"I can see nothing; it is all dark."
"What do you hear?" I could detect the strain in the Professor's patient voice.
"The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap. I can hear them on the outside."
"Then you are on a ship?" We all looked at each other, trying to glean something each from the other. We were afraid to think. The answer came quick:—
Mina further mentions being absolutely still, like in a state of torpor (hence why she can speak freely about it), and when they snap her out of it they have put together that Dracula has moved his last earth box to a ship and is planning on fucking off back to Transylvania.
Mina looked at him appealingly as she asked:—
"But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away from us?" He took her hand and patted it as he replied:—
"Ask me nothings as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all questions." He would say no more, and we separated to dress.
After breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her gravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully:—
"Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!" She grew paler as she asked faintly:—
"Why?"
"Because," he answered solemnly, "he can live for centuries, and you are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded—since once he put that mark upon your throat."
I was just in time to catch her as she fell forward in a faint.
And thus, we move on to the final arc of the story- a race against time. It is clear that Dracula intends to wait out the heroes, taking advantage of his immortality, and even if Mina lives a full life, as soon as she takes her last breath, she'll take her next as his Un-Dead slave.
There are two more documents in this chapter, but they are rather scant- it's essentially Jonathan staying home with Mina while the others go and try to find the ship Dracula is currently on.
The battle for England is over, but the war has just begun.
Today marks yet another advance in the hunt for Dracula.
Mina Harker's Journal
5 October, 5 p.m.—Our meeting for report. Present: Professor Van Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris, Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker.
Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day to discover on what boat and whither bound Count Dracula made his escape:—
"As I knew that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt sure that he must go by the Danube mouth; or by somewhere in the Black Sea, since by that way he come. It was a dreary blank that was before us. Omne ignotum pro magnifico; and so with heavy hearts we start to find what ships leave for the Black Sea last night.
Omne ignotum pro magnifico is Latin for "everything unknown is taken as grand", essentially meaning that we tend to overstate the importance or difficulty of the unknown.
Case in point, the heroes were actually able to pin down what ship Dracula skedaddled away on through meticulous poring over records and good ol' bribery.
"They make known to us among them, how last afternoon at about five o'clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That he be all in black, except that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or the time. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry as to what ship sails for the Black Sea and for where.
The idea of this demonic vampire boyar trying in vain to go incognito mode as he hurriedly buys a ticket home amuses me endlessly. After all of his bragging, and the pain he has inflicted on everyone, it's nice to see that they have truly rattled him.
Also, we get an amusing bit where Van Helsing tries to censor the speech of the captain of the boat Dracula booked (Czarina Catherina)
Whereupon the captain tell him that he had better be quick—with blood—for that his ship will leave the place—of blood—before the turn of the tide—with blood.
Anyway they are able to confirm it's Drac beyond the appearance because the guy mentions things like Dracula waiting some arbitrary time to walk over the gangplank, him seeming to get on and off the boat without anyone noticing after it gets dark, and a thin white mist that comes and goes at the same time.
The box we seek is to be landed in Varna, and to be given to an agent, one Ristics who will there present his credentials; and so our merchant friend will have done his part. When he ask if there be any wrong, for that so, he can telegraph and have inquiry made at Varna, we say 'no'; for what is to be done is not for police or of the customs. It must be done by us alone and in our own way.
And so they have their target- let's hope they can get to it before Dracula does.
Mina uncharacteristically asks if it's really necessary to hunt after Dracula, and Van Helsing reminds her about the whole "if we don't kill him you'll turn into a vampire, and he can try conquering England again after we all die of old age" thing, pointing out how even when he was a mere mortal Dracula kept on incessantly attacking the Turks.
Also, Van Helsing claims there is something inherently mystical and strange about Transylvania because of, uh, geological activity or something, which is just really weird and has no bearing on the story.
Anyway, they all retire for the night (which raises the question of Stoker's ability to keep continuity lmfao)
I feel a wonderful peace and rest to-night. It is as if some haunting presence were removed from me. Perhaps ...
My surmise was not finished, could not be; for I caught sight in the mirror of the red mark upon my forehead; and I knew that I was still unclean.
5 October.—We all rose early, and I think that sleep did much for each and all of us. When we met at early breakfast there was more general cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to experience again.
It is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human nature. Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in any way—even by death—and we fly back to first principles of hope and enjoyment.
'Tis the power of a robust support structure. Again the novel emphasizes the importance of human connections in the face of adversity.
We are to meet here in my study in half an hour and decide on our course of action. I see only one immediate difficulty, I know it by instinct rather than reason: we shall all have to speak frankly; and yet I fear that in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I know that she forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can guess how brilliant and how true they must be; but she will not, or cannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, and he and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose it is some of that horrid poison which has got into her veins beginning to work. The Count had his own purposes when he gave her what Van Helsing called "the Vampire's baptism of blood."
Glad to see that Seward is appreciative enough of Mina's intelligence (and has learned from the boys' terrible collective mistake of cutting her out) that he realizes something fucky is going on with how little she's been participating. It also sadly speaks to the cleverness of Dracula to counter the most important member of the group aside from Van Helsing.
Well, there may be a poison that distils itself out of good things; in an age when the existence of ptomaines is a mystery we should not wonder at anything!
Ptomaines are a label applied to certain amines produced by putrefactive (corpse-eating) bacteria which are the cause of the bad odor of decay- at the time it was erroneously believed that they were the cause of food poisoning. Nowadays, they are actually sometimes used to keep food safe.
One thing I know: that if my instinct be true regarding poor Mrs. Harker's silences, then there is a terrible difficulty—an unknown danger—in the work before us. The same power that compels her silence may compel her speech. I dare not think further; for so I should in my thoughts dishonour a noble woman!
Dr. Seward has rather wholeheartedly embraced the fact that he is in a gothic horror novel, and is applying some useful logic here.
Later.—When the Professor came in, we talked over the state of things. I could see that he had something on his mind which he wanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject. After beating about the bush a little, he said suddenly:—
"Friend John, there is something that you and I must talk of alone, just at the first at any rate. Later, we may have to take the others into our confidence"; then he stopped, so I waited; he went on:—
"Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing." A cold shiver ran through me to find my worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsing continued:—
"With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time be warned before things go too far. Our task is now in reality more difficult than ever, and this new trouble makes every hour of the direst importance. I can see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her face. It is now but very, very slight; but it is to be seen if we have eyes to notice without to prejudge. Her teeth are some sharper, and at times her eyes are more hard. But these are not all, there is to her the silence now often; as so it was with Miss Lucy.
I can imagine the horror of seeing the vampiric disease take hold in Mina. Someone as sweet as Lucy turned into a literal child predator- what kind of monster might Mina become if it's too late?
Van Helsing actually beats Seward to the punch, and proposes that they once again keep Mina out of the loop while they chase Dracula, as to prevent her from being used as a spy by the Count.
Of course, unbeknownst to them, a certain someone else has beaten both of them to the punch (we'll get there later).
But first, a boys' meeting.
Van Helsing roughly put the facts before us first:—
"The Czarina Catherine left the Thames yesterday morning. It will take her at the quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks to reach Varna; but we can travel overland to the same place in three days. Now, if we allow for two days less for the ship's voyage, owing to such weather influences as we know that the Count can bring to bear; and if we allow a whole day and night for any delays which may occur to us, then we have a margin of nearly two weeks. Thus, in order to be quite safe, we must leave here on 17th at latest. Then we shall at any rate be in Varna a day before the ship arrives, and able to make such preparations as may be necessary. Of course we shall all go armed—armed against evil things, spiritual as well as physical."
I'd try to leave even earlier to be quite honest- better to arrive early in Varna and spend a few days sampling the local cuisine than to miss the boat because of some unexpected problem.
Here Quincey Morris added:—
"I understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, and it may be that he shall get there before us. I propose that we add Winchesters to our armament. I have a kind of belief in a Winchester when there is any trouble of that sort around. Do you remember, Art, when we had the pack after us at Tobolsk? What wouldn't we have given then for a repeater apiece!"
Ah, Quincey Morris speaks for everyone who watches a horror movie and thinks "this could've been avoided if the college kids were packing heat".
I wonder what Winchesters Quincey is thinking of? Popular repeaters of the time included the Model 1873; there was also the Model 1886, which could fire .45-70 ammunition, which is something that packs quite a wallop. Another popular choice might have been the Model 1897, which not only would fit with Dracula's theme of cutting edge modernity vs ancient evil, but was also a shotgun so good it made the Germans cry war crimes in WWI.
(For those of you like me who have played the original Call of Duty Nazi Zombies game mode, the Trench Gun is the 1897).
Of course, since this is Quincey P. Morris we're talking about, his answer might be a laconic "yes".
"Good!" said Van Helsing, "Winchesters it shall be. Quincey's head is level at all times, but most so when there is to hunt, metaphor be more dishonour to science than wolves be of danger to man. In the meantime we can do nothing here; and as I think that Varna is not familiar to any of us, why not go there more soon? It is as long to wait here as there. To-night and to-morrow we can get ready, and then, if all be well, we four can set out on our journey."
"We four?" said Harker interrogatively, looking from one to another of us.
"Of course!" answered the Professor quickly, "you must remain to take care of your so sweet wife!" Harker was silent for awhile and then said in a hollow voice:—
"Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to consult with Mina." I thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn him not to disclose our plans to her; but he took no notice. I looked at him significantly and coughed. For answer he put his finger on his lips and turned away.
Hey guys maybe you should do that open communication thing again. It was doing wonders before.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
5 October, afternoon.—For some time after our meeting this morning I could not think. The new phases of things leave my mind in a state of wonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina's determination not to take any part in the discussion set me thinking; and as I could not argue the matter with her, I could only guess. I am as far as ever from a solution now.
Thankfully, someone else provides the solution, someone who logically made the same conclusion as Van Helsing and Seward, but faster.
All at once Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly, said:—
"Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your word of honour. A promise made to me, but made holily in God's hearing, and not to be broken though I should go down on my knees and implore you with bitter tears. Quick, you must make it to me at once."
...
"I promise!" I said, and for a moment she looked supremely happy; though to me all happiness for her was denied by the red scar on her forehead. She said:—
"Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the plans formed for the campaign against the Count. Not by word, or inference, or implication; not at any time whilst this remains to me!" and she solemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in earnest, and said solemnly:—
"I promise!" and as I said it I felt that from that instant a door had been shut between us.
A painful necessity, one that on the surface far too resembles the door shut between partners after a traumatic assault. Thankfully, here it's a sign that even being out of the loop is part of Mina's efforts to hunt down the Count.
Here's to hoping the door can open again soon enough.
Ptomaines being thought to be the cause of food poisoning was surprisingly recent; the novelty song Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah makes a casual reference to getting ptomaine poisoning, and that was released in 1963.
Even if it was just Alan Sherman not being up on the latest medical science, the fact that it was still called that late enough for him to default to that term says the misconception continued well into the 20th century.
Today's update of Dracula concludes the mini plotline from yesterday, as they prepare for the chase.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
6 October, morning.—Another surprise. Mina woke me early, about the same time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van Helsing. I thought that it was another occasion for hypnotism, and without question went for the Professor. He had evidently expected some such call, for I found him dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so that he could hear the opening of the door of our room. He came at once; as he passed into the room, he asked Mina if the others might come, too.
"No," she said quite simply, "it will not be necessary. You can tell them just as well. I must go with you on your journey."
Mina Harker continues to beat the boys to the punch. First she proposes keeping her out of the loop to prevent Dracula spying through her, and now she beats Jonathan to the punch of bringing up her going to Transylvania.
Dr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was. After a moment's pause he asked:—
"But why?"
"You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and you shall be safer, too."
"But why, dear Madam Mina? You know that your safety is our solemnest duty. We go into danger, to which you are, or may be, more liable than any of us from—from circumstances—things that have been." He paused, embarrassed.
As she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to her forehead:—
"I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you now, whilst the sun is coming up; I may not be able again. I know that when the Count wills me I must go. I know that if he tells me to come in secret, I must come by wile; by any device to hoodwink—even Jonathan."
...
She went on:—
"You men are brave and strong. You are strong in your numbers, for you can defy that which would break down the human endurance of one who had to guard alone. Besides, I may be of service, since you can hypnotise me and so learn that which even I myself do not know."
Van Helsing can't argue Mina's flawless logic (man, deja vu right there) and she goes back to get some much-needed rest. While she naps, the others discuss what they need to do when they find Drac.
"In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with a new factor: Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an agony to tell us so much as she has done; but it is most right, and we are warned in time. There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must be ready to act the instant when that ship arrives."
"What shall we do exactly?" asked Mr. Morris laconically. The Professor paused before replying:—
"We shall at the first board that ship; then, when we have identified the box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shall fasten, for when it is there none can emerge; so at least says the superstition. And to superstition must we trust at the first; it was man's faith in the early, and it have its root in faith still. Then, when we get the opportunity that we seek, when none are near to see, we shall open the box, and—and all will be well."
"All will be well" is a great metaphor for violently impaling a vampire with a stake and decapitating his monstrous ass. Of course, the idea of risking Dracula living for even a moment longer is too much for one certain Texan.
"I shall not wait for any opportunity," said Morris. "When I see the box I shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were a thousand men looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next moment!" I grasped his hand instinctively and found it as firm as a piece of steel. I think he understood my look; I hope he did.
I gotta love how ride or die Quincey P. Morris is for the gang. He arguably has the lowest stakes (heh) in this hunt, along with Van Helsing- he has only known Mina and Jonathan for a week, he didn't painstakingly try and fail to keep Lucy alive for weeks, and while he cared for Lucy she naturally had a much closer bond with Art.
But for the sake of his lost crush and his new bros, he's willing to die taking Dracula down. Forget "be the American the Japanese think you are", you need to be the American Bram Stoker thinks you are.
With that, they adjourn the meeting to get their affairs in order.
Later.—It is all done; my will is made, and all complete. Mina if she survive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the others who have been so good to us shall have remainder.
It is now drawing towards the sunset; Mina's uneasiness calls my attention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mind which the time of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are becoming harrowing times for us all, for each sunrise and sunset opens up some new danger—some new pain, which, however, may in God's will be means to a good end. I write all these things in the diary since my darling must not hear them now; but if it may be that she can see them again, they shall be ready.
There will indeed be spooky trials and tribulations ahead for you all, when you have Dracula to contend with. But you can rest easily on one thing, Jonathan-
When you get to Austria-Hungary, you can finally show Mina some chicken paprikash.
Today marks a heavy but not super plot-critical update of Dracula, one that seems strange to come after a delay of several days.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
11 October, Evening.—Jonathan Harker has asked me to note this, as he says he is hardly equal to the task, and he wants an exact record kept.
I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Mrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late come to understand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar freedom; when her old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduing or restraining her, or inciting her to action. This mood or condition begins some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sunset, and lasts till either the sun is high, or whilst the clouds are still aglow with the rays streaming above the horizon. At first there is a sort of negative condition, as if some tie were loosened, and then the absolute freedom quickly follows; when, however, the freedom ceases the change-back or relapse comes quickly, preceded only by a spell of warning silence.
Again we see the parallels between vampires and disease, but more importantly, the toll it takes on the ones dear to the afflicted. This reads similarly to when someone has brain-fog or dementia, and only in fleeting moments does lucidity return. The idea of this being deliberately inflicted, let alone on someone as wonderful as Mina, makes one rage.
Taking her husband's hand in hers began:—
"We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know, dear; I know that you will always be with me to the end." This was to her husband whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon hers. "In the morning we go out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be in store for any of us. You are going to be so good to me as to take me with you. I know that all that brave earnest men can do for a poor weak woman, whose soul perhaps is lost—no, no, not yet, but is at any rate at stake—you will do. But you must remember that I am not as you are. There is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy me; which must destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, my friends, you know as well as I do, that my soul is at stake; and though I know there is one way out for me, you must not and I must not take it!"
Gotta love the internalized dehumanization of an assault victim :/ poor Mina is harder on herself for being half-vampirized than anyone around her.
Mina states that she refuses to kill herself to try and flee the curse, not while Dracula is still breathing. But, on the other hand, she also intends on making the others swear to something.
She continued:—
"This is what I can give into the hotch-pot." I could not but note the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with all seriousness. "What will each of you give? Your lives I know," she went on quickly, "that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God's, and you can give them back to Him; but what will you give to me?" She looked again questioningly, but this time avoided her husband's face. Quincey seemed to understand; he nodded, and her face lit up. "Then I shall tell you plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter in this connection between us now. You must promise me, one and all—even you, my beloved husband—that, should the time come, you will kill me."
The idea of Mina getting her head lopped off is even more upsetting than when it happened to poor Lucy. Of course, the alternative, where Mina becomes an Un-Dead slave doomed to feast on the blood of the innocent, is more dreadful still.
I gotta say though- the fact that Mina brought up the terrible possibility instead of the hard men making hard decisions, and is fully willing to make the others put down her hypothetical vampire self, is metal as fuck.
Quincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down before her and taking her hand in his said solemnly:—
"I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should to win such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred and dear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the duty that you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has come!"
"My true friend!" was all she could say amid her fast-falling tears, as, bending over, she kissed his hand.
"I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!" said Van Helsing.
"And I!" said Lord Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to her to take the oath. I followed, myself.
Mina tries to make an argument for it, but Jonathan does not assent to putting her down, though he also doesn't argue against the others doing it. I really can't blame the poor man, especially when she makes another request.
"One more request;" she became very solemn as she said this, "it is not vital and necessary like the other, but I want you to do one thing for me, if you will." We all acquiesced, but no one spoke; there was no need to speak:—
"I want you to read the Burial Service."
...
"But oh, my dear one," he pleaded, "death is afar off from you."
"Nay," she said, holding up a warning hand. "I am deeper in death at this moment than if the weight of an earthly grave lay heavy upon me!"
"Oh, my wife, must I read it?" he said, before he began.
"It would comfort me, my husband!" was all she said; and he began to read when she had got the book ready.
Mina "I had my husband read my burial service while I'm still alive in case I have to make my friends put me down after turning into a vampire" Harker, everyone. She makes the literal vampire warlord seem square in comparison to such levels of goth. Mary Shelly would be proud, if she wasn't too busy losing her virginity on her mother's grave to give praise.
Also, we get a rare moment where the medium is recognized.
I—I cannot go on—words—and—v-voice—f-fail m-me!
She was right in her instinct. Strange as it all was, bizarre as it may hereafter seem even to us who felt its potent influence at the time, it comforted us much; and the silence, which showed Mrs. Harker's coming relapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so full of despair to any of us as we had dreaded.
After another delay, we finally return to our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Fellowship of the Lucy as they quest for Dracula's head.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
15 October, Varna.—We left Charing Cross on the morning of the 12th, got to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for us in the Orient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at about five o'clock.
And they already made it! Wow that journey proved easier than expected. Of course, getting to Varna was the easy part- they still have to wait for Dracula to arrive.
To that end, they hypnotize Mina again for a check on the GPS, along with an interesting note.
Mina is well, and looks to be getting stronger; her colour is coming back. She sleeps a great deal; throughout the journey she slept nearly all the time. Before sunrise and sunset, however, she is very wakeful and alert; and it has become a habit for Van Helsing to hypnotise her at such times.
It seems that the most Dracula can do to exert his control over Mina is to make her sleep. Perhaps it's a sign that he has given up on using her as a spy owing to her own COINTEL, and thus the most he can do is deny them use of Mina as an asset beyond tracking.
He seems to have power at these particular moments to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. He always asks her what she can see and hear. She answers to the first:—
"Nothing; all is dark." And to the second:—
"I can hear the waves lapping against the ship, and the water rushing by. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and yards creak. The wind is high—I can hear it in the shrouds, and the bow throws back the foam." It is evident that the Czarina Catherine is still at sea, hastening on her way to Varna.
As a quick reminder of geography, Varna is a city in modern-day Bulgaria that lies on the coast of the Black Sea, and was the namesake of the Ukrainian city of Odesa, having been named Odessos by the ancient Thracians who developed a city there. (Fun fact, the oldest known hoard of gold is in Varna, being 4200 years older than Christ).
So, they're actually farther from home than Dracula's castle is, which may come into importance later.
Lord Godalming has just returned. He had four telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same effect: that the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to Lloyd's from anywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that his agent should send him every day a telegram saying if the ship had been reported. He was to have a message even if she were not reported, so that he might be sure that there was a watch being kept at the other end of the wire.
Ah, the power of using the most advanced communications technology in the world at the time, to track a rickety boat being used by a vampire boyar. This really is a precursor to urban fantasy like Artemis Fowl.
Anyway, they discuss how they're going to get the Vice-Consul to let them legally search the boat, then stake Dracula right then and there.
What mercy he shall get from us will not count for much. We think that we shall not have much trouble with officials or the seamen. Thank God! this is the country where bribery can do anything, and we are well supplied with money. We have only to make sure that the ship cannot come into port between sunset and sunrise without our being warned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag will settle this case, I think!
Ah, the irony of the superpower that is money being used against the shadowy bat-man. Well, it's a simple enough plan, which means it's almost certainly not gonna survive first contact with the enemy.
We get a short update from our good friend Jonathan Harker today.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
16 October.—Mina's report still the same: lapping waves and rushing water, darkness and favouring winds. We are evidently in good time, and when we hear of the Czarina Catherine we shall be ready. As she must pass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.
This feels too perfect to be true. Either Dracula is managing to dupe Mina during these hypnosis sessions, or he's about to pull a fast one before the ship enters the Dardanelles.
Oh man, to see our blorbo speak like an action hero about to coldly execute the villain with a one-liner like that... you don't fuck with the wifeguy's wife.
Godalming told the shippers that he fancied that the box sent aboard might contain something stolen from a friend of his, and got a half consent that he might open it at his own risk. The owner gave him a paper telling the Captain to give him every facility in doing whatever he chose on board the ship, and also a similar authorisation to his agent at Varna.
"One fiancee, one patient, some sanity, some hair color, innocence, free will, several pints of blood, and a coat."
"AND THE CYLINDERS"
"Oh and about three months salary's worth of wax cylinders, thank you Jack."
We have seen the agent, who was much impressed with Godalming's kindly manner to him, and we are all satisfied that whatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done.
A small but still nice reminder of the novel's theme about human connections and kindness. Being nice doesn't cost a thing, and treating the agent like a person has made their job a lot easier.
We have already arranged what to do in case we get the box open. If the Count is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off his head at once and drive a stake through his heart. Morris and Godalming and I shall prevent interference, even if we have to use the arms which we shall have ready. The Professor says that if we can so treat the Count's body, it will soon after fall into dust. In such case there would be no evidence against us, in case any suspicion of murder were aroused.
Interesting that Van Helsing claims that Dracula's body would crumble to dust unlike Lucy's. I can't imagine there's a lot of hard data to support that, given how unique Dracula is even among vampires owing to his evil wizard backstory. Perhaps being killed as an Un-Dead returns the corpse to as it should be, and while Lucy was only a few days dead, and thus displayed little putrefaction, Dracula's corpse would turn to dust once the centuries caught up?
But even if it were not, we should stand or fall by our act, and perhaps some day this very script may be evidence to come between some of us and a rope. For myself, I should take the chance only too thankfully if it were to come. We mean to leave no stone unturned to carry out our intent. We have arranged with certain officials that the instant the Czarina Catherine is seen, we are to be informed by a special messenger.
I can only hope the esteem of a British nobleman and a world-class neurosurgeon would give credence to their account if they indeed go on trial for murdering Dracula. Of course, I have a feeling there won't be any witnesses to his passing.
And now, we wait to see if he actually shows up in Varna, or if he manages to pull a sneaky one on us.
After a week of quiet in Varna, which I hope was filled with much eating of chicken paprikash and mamaliga, we finally hear back from our good friend Jonathan Harker.
Jonathan Harker's Journal.
24 October.—A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams to Godalming, but only the same story: "Not yet reported." Mina's morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried: lapping waves, rushing water, and creaking masts.
AT LONG LAST, AN ACTUAL UPDATE FOR THE STORY. Now we shall soon see whether or not the Czarina Catherine shall become Dracula's funeral barge, or if we have all been bamboozled by some vampiric counter-counterintelligence.
"You are having too strong an addiction to the cylinders of wax, friend John. We must cure you of this affliction before the corn smut takes too much hold, and instead of sweet corn the farmer must make what the peasants in friend Quincey's old master Mexico call huitlacoche, that which makes an earthy soup and hearty taco, where at last it may reunite with the strong corn."
"Professor what the fuck are you talking about."
We were all wild with excitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from Lloyd's. I know now what men feel in battle when the call to action is heard. Mrs. Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emotion. After all, it is not strange that she did not; for we took special care not to let her know anything about it, and we all tried not to show any excitement when we were in her presence.
It still leaves me uneasy to see Mina kept out of the loop, but sadly they actually have a good reason this time.
In old days she would, I am sure, have noticed, no matter how we might have tried to conceal it; but in this way she is greatly changed during the past three weeks. The lethargy grows upon her, and though she seems strong and well, and is getting back some of her colour, Van Helsing and I are not satisfied. We talk of her often; we have not, however, said a word to the others. It would break poor Harker's heart—certainly his nerve—if he knew that we had even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me, her teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition, for he says that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no active danger of a change in her.
Considering how many weeks you kept Lucy alive, and that she only displayed the desire to chomp people right as she was dying, I think you're in the clear. Still, the parallel to chronic disease that threatens to progress is... uncomfortable.
If this change should come, it would be necessary to take steps!... We both know what those steps would have to be, though we do not mention our thoughts to each other. We should neither of us shrink from the task—awful though it be to contemplate. "Euthanasia" is an excellent and a comforting word! I am grateful to whoever invented it.
In a medical context? That would be Francis Bacon.
It is only about 24 hours' sail from the Dardanelles to here, at the rate the Czarina Catherine has come from London. She should therefore arrive some time in the morning; but as she cannot possibly get in before then, we are all about to retire early. We shall get up at one o'clock, so as to be ready.
25 October, Noon.—No news yet of the ship's arrival. Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it is possible that we may get news at any moment.
Ya know I am kinda confused at the timeline here. It was October 25th when they retired early, after Seward wrote in his diary dated 'October 25th', and now it's noontime of October 25th. Did Stoker/Seward mess up the dates?
We men are all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad lookout for the Count if the edge of that "Kukri" ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!
The irony that it's the Harker who wasn't bitten by a vampire that is described more and more like Dracula. If I see him grow a mustache I'm hitting the panic button.
Also, for those who don't know what a kukri is, the khukuri is a curved knife associated with the Gurkhas, a people in Nepal. It's a multipurpose knife, used for things like chopping wood, clearing fields, digging holes, cutting food, and, as the British painfully learned when Lord Hastings tried to take over Nepal, war.
Halo fans might recognize it as the knife Emile spent his last moments on Reach repeatedly stabbing into a Sangheili Zealot's face.
Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Harker to-day. About noon she got into a sort of lethargy which we did not like; although we kept silence to the others, we were neither of us happy about it. She had been restless all the morning, so that we were at first glad to know that she was sleeping. When, however, her husband mentioned casually that she was sleeping so soundly that he could not wake her, we went to her room to see for ourselves. She was breathing naturally and looked so well and peaceful that we agreed that the sleep was better for her than anything else. Poor girl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonder that sleep, if it brings oblivion to her, does her good.
Later.—Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing sleep of some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and better than she had been for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic report. Wherever he may be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his destination. To his doom, I trust!
Hmm, so Mina falls into an unusually deep trance right as the Czarina Catherine approaches the port? I have a feeling the Count has just pulled a sneaky one on everybody. Here's to hoping the heroes realize it before it's too late.
I've always wondered how Jonathan came by his kukri. The first time it's mentioned is when the group confront Dracula at the house in Piccadilly. We aren't told anything about Jonathan's family, other than his parents don't seem to be alive, but it's entirely possible that his father could have been an officer in a Gurkha regiment in the British Indian Army, and brought the kukri back with him.
