Jonathan
Harker's Journal8 May When I found that I was a prisoner a sort
of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door
and peering out of every window I could find, but after a little the conviction
of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after a few
hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much as a rat does
in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I
sat down quietly, as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life, and began
to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still, and as yet have come
to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain. That it is no use making
my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned, and as he has
done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive
me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will
be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know,
either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate
straits, and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get
through. I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door
below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at once into
the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed.
This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought, that there are
no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink of the hinges
of the door laying the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if he
does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one
else in the castle, it must have been the Count himself who was the driver of
the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought, for if so, what does
it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand
for silence? How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the coach had some
terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of
the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good woman who hung
the crucifix round my neck! For it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever
I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour
and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it
that there is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium,
a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if
it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In
the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may help me
to understand. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that
way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake his suspicion. |
