Dracula: or The Un-Dead: Prologue
AT 10.15 A.M. on Tuesday May 18th, 1897, a few weeks prior to the first publication of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the author himself produced a single performance of his novel at the Royal Lyceum Theatre in London’s West End.
As Sir Henry Irving’s acting manager, he was in an ideal position to produce what amounted to little more than a marathon read-through of the book, which was done solely for the purpose of copyright protection and to file the play with the Lord Chamberlain’s office.
The script was compiled in obvious haste, partially in Stoker’s handwriting and partly by pasting in portions of a proof copy of the book. It consisted of more than one hundred pages containing five acts and no less than forty-seven scenes and took more than four hours to “perform”.
According to Stoker’s biographer and great-nephew, Daniel Farson, when asked what he thought of the reading, Irving, who had listened to a few minutes, loudly responded, “Dreadful!”
The play is uneven: care has been taken with some scenes, while others waste large amounts of time on Van Helsing’s pontifications. The final scene describing Dracula’s pursuit back to his castle and subsequent death takes up only half a page!
Sardou’s Madame Sans-Genet, starring Henry Irving as Napoleon and Ellen Terry in the title role, was currently playing during the week and in Saturday matinees at the Lyceum. The King and Miller and The Bells were performed on Saturday evenings. Props and scenery from any of these plays could have been used to support the action in Dracula.
Stoker used mainly supporting and touring members of the company for his cast. Overtime payments would have been unthinkable, with cast and crew obliged to comply with Stoker’s wishes. The first actor to portray Count Dracula was, in the manner of the day, listed simply as "Mr. Jones". The most likely candidate was probably T. Arthur Jones, who could be seen in the role of "Jardin" in Madame Sans-Genet and who appeared in the payroll accounts under that name and earned the sum of £2.10s per week (compared to Irving's £70.00). Among the other leading roles, Herbert Passmore played Jonathan Harker and Thomas Reynolds portrayed Professor Van Helsing. Mary Foster took the role of Lucy Westenra and Ellen Terry's daughter Edith (Ailsa) Craig played Mina Harker.
It is unlikely that Dracula: or The Un-Dead played to anywhere near a full house, with probably only the general staff, friends of the cast and a few curious onlookers in the audience. The additional cost of mounting the performance ran to £1.7s.8d, with total returns of £2.2s. This compares to the theatre's total running costs of the week of £1,896.13s.3d and returns of £2,128.13s.7d!
Following this single performance, no one undertook the task of bringing Dracula to the stage again until 1924, when Hamilton Deane, with the permission of Stoker's widow Florence, produced what was to become the basis of most future interpretations.
Presented here for the first time, with a few minor corrections, is the Prologue to Stoker's version of the play.
In his creator's own words, this is how the horror of Dracula begins ...
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Scene 1
OUTSIDE CASTLE DRACULA.
ENTER JONATHAN HARKER FOLLOWED BY DRIVER OF CALECHE CARRYING HIS HAND PORTEMANTEAU AND BAG. LATTER LEAVES LUGGAGE CLOSE TO DOOR AND EXITS HURRIEDLY.
HARKER: Hi! Hi! Where are you off to! Gone already! (Knocks at door) Well this
is a pretty nice state of things! After a drive through solid darkness with an unknown man whose face I have not seen and who has in his hand the strength of twenty men and who can drive back a pack of wolves by holding up his hand; who visits mysterious blue flames and who wouldn't speak a word that he could help, to be left here in the dark before a—a ruin. Upon my life I'm beginning my professional experience in a romantic way! Only passed my Exam at Lincoln’s Inn before I left London, and here I am conducting my business—or rather my employer Mr. Hawkins’s business with an accompaniment of wolves and mystery. (Knocks) If this Count Dracula were a little more attentive to a guest when he does arrive he needn’t have been so effusive in his letters to Mr. Hawkins regarding my having the best of everything on the journey. (Knocks) I wondered why the people in the hotel at Bistritz were so frightened and why the old lady hung the Crucifix round my neck and why the people on the coach made signs against the evil eye! By Jove, if any of them had this kind of experience, no wonder at anything they did—or thought. (Knocks) This is becoming more than a joke. If it were my own affair I should go straight back to Exeter; but as I act for another and have the papers of the Count’s purchase of the London estate I suppose I must go on and do my duty—thank God there is a light, someone is coming.
SOUNDS OF BOLTS BEING DRAWN, AND A KEY TURNED. DOOR OPENS. WITHIN IS SEEN COUNT DRACULA HOLDING AN ANTIQUE SILVER LAMP.
COUNT DRACULA: Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!
STANDS IMMOVABLE TILL HARKER ENTERS, WHEN ADVANCES AND SHAKES HANDS.
DRACULA: Welcome to my house! Come freely! Go safely! and leave something
of the happiness you bring!
HARKER: Count Dracula?
DRACULA: I am Dracula, and you are I take it, Mr. Jonathan Harker, agent of
Mr. Peter Hawkins? I bid you welcome Mr. Harker to my house. Come in, the night air is chill and you must need to eat and rest.
PLACES LAMP ON BRACKET AND STEPPING OUT CARRIES IN LUGGAGE.
HARKER: (Trying to take luggage) Nay sir, I protest—
DRACULA: Nay sir, the protest is mine. You are my guest. It is late, and my
people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself.
DOOR CLOSED AND BOLTED ETC.
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Scene 2
THE COUNT’S ROOM.
LARGE ROOM—OLD FURNITURE—ONE TABLE WITH BOOKS ETC., ANOTHER WITH SUPPER LAID OUT. GREAT FIRE OF LOGS IN HUGE FIREPLACE.
ENTER DRACULA.
DRACULA: (Calling through open door at side) When you have refreshed
yourself after your journey by making your toilet—you will, I trust, find all ready—come and you will find your supper here.
DRACULA LEANS AGAINST MANTLE. ENTER HARKER.
DRACULA: (Pointing to table) I pray you be seated and sup how you will.
Excuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined already, need I do not sup.
HARKER HANDS LETTER TO COUNT WHO OPENS IT AND READS AS HARKER SITS AT TABLE AND EATS. ,
DRACULA: Ah! from my friend Mr. Peter Hawkins. This will, I am sure, please
you to hear:
(Reads) “I much regret that an attack of gout from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come, but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown to manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.”
Well Mr. Harker Jonathan—forgive me if in my ignorance I place, as by the habit of my country, your patronymic first—Mr. Jonathan Harker we shall, I trust, be friends.
FIRST STREAK OF DAWN—THE HOWLING OF MANY WOLVES.
DRACULA: Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!
Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter. But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon; so sleep well and dream well.
EXEUNT.
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Scene 3
THE SAME.
ENTER HARKER WHO TAKES CARD FROM TABLE AND READS.
HARKER: (Reads) “I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. Dracula.”
Strange! The whole thing is unaccountable. I have seen not a soul as yet except the Count. No servant; no sound or sign of life. If no servant, then who was that mysterious muffled coachman with the strength of twenty men and who commanded the wolves? Why the Count too, has the strength of twenty in that hairy palmed hand of his. Surely it cannot be?—No! No!
RUNS SUDDENLY TO DOOR AND TRIES LOCK.
HARKER: Locked from without! What does it mean?
DRACULA SUDDENLY APPEARS BEHIND HIM.
DRACULA: I am glad you have found your way in here, for I am sure there is
much that will interest you. These friends—(Indicates books) have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know him to speak.
HARKER: But, Count, you know and speak English thoroughly!
DRACULA: (He bows gravely) I thank you, my friend, for your all too flattering
estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.
HARKER: Indeed, you speak excellently.
DRACULA: Not so. Well I know that, did I move and speak in your London,
none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; I am boyar, the common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men know him not, and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me or pause in his speaking if he hear my words to say, “Ha, ha! a stranger!” I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London.
You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.
HARKER: I am quite at your service. When you are away may I come into this
room?
DRACULA: You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the
doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand. We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of how strange things here may be.
HARKER: May I ask you about some things which have puzzled me?
DRACULA: (Bowing) Go on, I shall try to answer.
HARKER: Last night your coachman several times got down to look at places
where blue flames rose from the ground, though there were wolves about and the horses were left uncontrolled. Why did he act thus?
DRACULA: Those flames show where gold has been hidden. I see you do not
comprehend. I shall then, explain. It is commonly believed that on a certain night, Saint George’s, or last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway—a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been hidden. That treasure has been hidden in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the children too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil.
HARKER: But how can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a
sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?
DRACULA: Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool. Those flames
only appear on one night, and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight, even for his own work. You would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again.
HARKER: There you are right, I know no more than the dead where even to
look for them.
DRACULA: But come, tell me of London and of the house which you have
procured for me.
HARKER: Pardon my remissness.
GETS PAPERS FROM HIS BAG. WHILST HIS BACK IS TURNED DRACULA REMOVES FOOD ETC. AND LIGHTS LAMP. DRACULA TAKES PAPERS AND REFERS TO MAP. JONATHAN WATCHING HIM.
HARKER: I really believe that you know more about the place than I do.
DRACULA: Well, but, my sir, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I
shall be all alone, and my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins.
So! But tell me how you came across so suitable a place.
HARKER: I think I had better read you my notes made at the time.
(Reads) “At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates were of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.
The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Roman Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to medieval times, for one part is of stone immensly thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it from various points. The house has been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.”
DRACULA: I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to
live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may be amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may.
DRACULA PORES OVER PAPERS AND HARKER LOOKS AT ATLAS.
HARKER: (Aside) I wonder what these rings mean drawn round particular
places. There are only three, I notice, that one is near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate is situated; the other two are Exeter, and Whitby, on the Yorkshire coast.
COUNT PUTS DOWN PAPERS ON TABLE.
HARKER: (Aloud) I notice Count that when you speak of your race you do so as
if they were present.
DRACULA: To a boyar the pride of his House and Name is his own pride; their
glory is his glory; their fate is his fate.
We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell extent on the seaboards of Europe, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the were-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches that had been expelled from Scythia, who had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?
HE HOLDS UP HIS ARMS.
Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that
when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completed there? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land, ay, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say, “water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.” Who more gladly than us throughout the four nations received the “bloody sword,” or at its warlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent? Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother when he had fallen sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula indeed who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land, who when he was beaten back came again, and again, and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph? They said that he thought only of himself. Bah! What good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and a heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohaes, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys and the Dracula as their heart’s blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told. But now—I want to ask you questions on legal matters and of the doing of Actuari Kinds of business.
HARKER: I hope I may be able to meet your wishes, and especially as I see so
many law books here.
DRACULA: First. In England may one have two solicitors, or more than two?
HARKER: You can have a dozen if you wished, but that it would not be wise to
have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as the court would only hear one at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate against your interest.
DRACULA: Would there be any practical difficulty in having one man to attend,
say, to banking, and another to shipping, as if local help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far from London, buys for me through your good self my place at London. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I have sought the services of one so far off from London instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that no local interest might be served save my wish only; and as one of London resident might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be to my interest only. Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be done by consigning to one in these ports?
HARKER: Certainly it would be most easy, but we solicitors have a system of
agency one for the other. Local work can be done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so that the client simply placing himself in the hands of one man, can have his wishes carried out by him without further trouble.
DRACULA: But could I be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?
HARKER: Of course. Such is often done by men of business, who do not like the
whole of their affairs to be known by any one person.
DRACULA: Good! Now I must ask about the means of consigning goods and
the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of difficulties which may arise and which by forethought can be guarded against.
HARKER: You would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there is nothing that
you do not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who does not evidently do much in the way of business your knowledge is wonderful.
DRACULA: Have you written since you arrived to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins,
or to any other?
HARKER: Well, as yet I have not seen any opportunity of sending letters to
anybody.
DRACULA: Then write now, my young friend, write to our friend and to any
other and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now.
HARKER: Do you wish me to stay so long?
DRACULA: I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master,
employer, what you will, engaged that some one should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?
HARKER: (Aside) After all, it is Mr. Hawkins’s interest, not mine, and I have to
think of him, not myself.
DRACULA: I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of
things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?
DRACULA AND HARKER EACH WRITE NOTES. COUNT GOES AWAY FOR A MOMENT AND HARKER READS ENVELOPES OF HIS LETTERS LEFT ON TABLE.
HARKER: (Reads) “Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby; to Herr
Leutner, Varna; Coutts & Co., London; Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth.”
ENTER DRACULA.
DRACULA: I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private
this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you wish.
Let me advise you, my dear young friend, nay, let me warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then -
HE MOTIONS WITH HIS HANDS AS IF HE IS WASHING THEM. EXIT COUNT.
HARKER: The castle is a veritable prison and I am a prisoner. I shall try to
watch him to-night.
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Scene 4
THE CASTLE WALL.
HARKER IS SEEN LOOKING OUT OF AN UPPER NARROW WINDOW. COUNT’S HEAD IS SEEN COMING OUT OF LOWER WINDOW. GRADUALLY THE WHOLE MAN EMERGES AND CLIMBS DOWN THE WALL FACE DOWN AND DISAPPEARS GOING SIDEWAYS.
HARKER: What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the
semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear, in awful fear, and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of...
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Scene 5
THE LADIES’ HALL.
A LARGE ROOM WITH BIG WINDOWS THROUGH WHICH MOONLIGHT STREAMS—SPLENDID OLD FURNITURE ALL IN RAGS AND COVERED WITH DUST. HARKER LIES ON SOFA.
HARKER: Here I can rest. It was lucky that the door to this wing was not really
locked but only appeared to be.
DOZES.
FIGURES OF THREE YOUNG WOMEN MATERIALIZE FROM THE MOONLIGHT AND SURROUND HIM.
FIRST WOMAN: Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to
begin.
SECOND WOMAN: He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.
COUNT SUDDENLY APPEARS BESIDE THEM, AND TAKING WOMAN WHO IS JUST FASTENING HER LIPS ON HARKER’S THROAT, BY THE NECK HURLS HER AWAY.
DRACULA: How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on
him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me. Beware how you meddle with him, or you’ll have to deal with me.
THIRD WOMAN: You yourself never loved; you never love!
DRACULA: Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not
so? Well, now I promise you when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go! Go! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done.
FIRST WOMAN: Are we to have nothing to-night?
COUNT POINTS TO BAG WHICH HE HAS THROWN ON FLOOR AND WHICH MOVES AND A CHILD’S WAIL IS HEARD. WOMEN SEIZE BAG AND DISAPPEAR ALL AT ONCE. COUNT LIFTS UP HARKER WHO HAS FAINTED AND CARRIES HIM OFF. DARKNESS.
~ * ~
Scene 6
THE LIBRARY—HARKER DISCOVERED.
HARKER: Last night the Count told me to write three letters, one saying that my
work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days; another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at Bistritz. In the present state of things it would be madness to openly quarrel with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power, and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape.
ENTER DRACULA.
DRACULA: Posts are few and uncertain, and your writing now would ensure
ease of mind to your friends. Your letters will be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of your prolonging your stay.
HARKER: (Aside) To oppose him would be to create new suspicion.
(Aloud) What dates shall I put on the letters?
DRACULA: The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June
29.
EXIT DRACULA.
HARKER: (Aside) I know now the span of my life, God help me!
There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to send word home. A band of Szagany have come to the castle, and are encamped in the courtyard.
I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin an acquaintanceship. They take their hats off and make obeisance and many signs, which, however, I cannot understand any more than I can their spoken language ... I have written the letters. Mina’s is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my knowledge ... I give the letters; I throw them through the bars of my window with a gold piece, and make what signs I can to have them posted. The man who takes them puts them to his heart and bows, and then presses them in his cap. I can do no more.
ENTER DRACULA.
HARKER: Steady, the Count has come.
DRACULA: The Szagany has given me two letters, of which, though I know not
whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See! -One is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other—(Sees shorthand—anger) other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not named. Well! so it cannot matter to us. The letter to Hawkins—that I shall, of course, send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?
HARKER WRITES ENVELOPE.
DRACULA: So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I
may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many labours to me; but you will sleep!
EXIT DRACULA.
HARKER: I hear without, a cracking of whips and pounding and scraping of
horses’ feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard. I must hurry to the window. I see drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak. I shall go to them. (Tries door).
My door is fastened on the outside. I run to the window and cry to them. They look up at me stupidly and point, but the “hetman” of the Szagany comes out and seeing them pointing to my window, says something, at which they laugh. They turn away. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick rope; these are evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks handle them and by their resonance as they are roughly moved. They are all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of the yard; the Slovaks are given some money by the Szagany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily go each to his horse’s head. The cracking of their whips die away in the distance. The Szagany are quartered somewhere in the castle, and are doing work of some kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away, muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be to the end of some ruthless villainy.
I see something coming out of the Count’s window. He has on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the women take away. There can be no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local people be attributed to me.
I shall watch for the Count’s return. What are these quaint little flecks floating in the rays of the moonlight? They are like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirl round and gather in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watch them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of calm steals over me.
Hark. What is that low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley? Thank God I did not fall asleep. There is something stirring in the Count’s room, and a sound like a sharp wail quickly supressed:
(Runs to window) A woman with dishevelled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She leans against a corner of the gateway. When she sees my face at the window she throws herself forward and shouts in a voice laden with menace:- “Monster, give me my child!”
She throws herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cries the same again and again.
I can hear the beating of her naked hands against the door. High overhead, probably on the tower, I hear the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves.
A pack of them pour like a pent-up dam when liberated through the wide entrance into the courtyard.
There is no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves stops. Before long they stream away singly, licking their lips.
I can not pity her, for I know what has become of her child, and she is better dead!
What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thrall of night and gloom and fear? To-night goes to post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the earth.
Let me not think of it. Action! If I could only get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.
Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his window; why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worse it can only be death; and a man’s death is not a calf’s, and the dreaded hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!
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Scene 7
SAME SCENE.
HARKER: (Writing) I have made the effort, and, God helping me, have come
safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south side, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs round the building on this side. The stones were big and roughly cut, and the mortar had by process of time been washed away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I know pretty well the direction and distance of the Count’s window, and made for it as well I could, having regard for the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy -1 suppose I was too excited—and the time seemed ridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which seemed to have never been used; the furniture was something the same style as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in one corner, gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian, Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old and stained.
At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which was the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended, minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sick odour, the odour of old earth newly turned. As I passed through the passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but the place had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about the place, and I made search for any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread to my very soul. Into these I went, but now nothing but fragments of old coffins and piles of dust; but in the third I made a discovery.
There in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep, I could not say which—for the eyes were open and stony, but without the glassiness of death—and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all their pallor, and the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count’s room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall, and regaining my own chamber, threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to think ...
To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him, but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man’s hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.
DRACULA APPEARS.
DRACULA: To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful
England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched; tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szagany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.
HARKER: Why may I not go to-night?
DRACULA: Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission.
HARKER: But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.
DRACULA: And your baggage?
HARKER: I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.
DRACULA: You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is
that which rules our boyars: “Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.” Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire it. Come.—Hark!
HOWLING OF WOLVES HEARD AS THE COUNT RAISES HIS HAND.
HARKER: I shall wait till morning.
EXIT DRACULA.
SOUND OF VOICES AND WOMEN LAUGHING OUTSIDE DOOR.
DRACULA: (Outside) Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come.
Wait. Have patience. To-morrow night, to-morrow night, is yours!
HARKER: To-morrow! To-morrow! Lord, help me and those to whom I am dear!
I shall scale the wall again and gain the Count’s room. He may kill me, but death now seems the happier choice of evils.
~ * ~
Scene 8
THE CHAPEL VAULT.
HARKER DESCENDS BY WALL AND PEERS ROUND.
HARKER: The great box is in the same place, close against the wall. The lid laid
on it; not fastened down, the nails ready in their places to be hammered home. I must search the body for the key. (Raises lid and lays it back against wall)
Ah! Something which filled my very soul with horror. The Count, looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache are changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks are fuller, and the white skin seems ruby-red underneath; the mouth is redder than ever, for on the lips are gouts of fresh blood, which trickle from the corners of the mouth and run over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seem set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath are bloated. It seems as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood like a filthy leech. I must search, or I am lost. The coming night may see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three.
This was the being I am helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he may amongst its teeming millions satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to fatten on the helpless. The very thought drives me mad. I shall rid the world of such a monster. There is no lethal weapon at hand, but with this ... (Seizes shovel and strikes at Count, head turns and he sees eyes. Shovel strikes wide and gashes forehead and, as he pulls it away flange catches lid and pulls it over chest. Distant roll of wheels and cracking of whips) I shall rush out when they open the hall door.
CLIMBS WALL AND DISAPPEARS.
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Scene 9
THE LIBRARY.
AS HARKER ENTERS BY WINDOW DOOR SLAMS AND SHUTS.
HARKER: I am still a prisoner, and the net of doom is closing round me more
closely.
I hear the sound of many tramping feet and the sound of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.
The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdrawn: then another door opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! In the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szagany as they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the pit.
I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle farther than I have yet attempted. (Takes gold from table)
I may find a way from this dreadful place. And then away for home! Away to the quickest and nearest train! Away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!
CLIMBS OUT BY WINDOW.
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