Читать книгу Dracula - Брэм Стокер, Bram Stoker, John Edgar Browning - Страница 6

«9 May.

«My dearest Lucy,

«Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply

overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress

is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the

sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in

the air. I have been working very hard lately, because I want to

keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have been practising

shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be

able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough

I can take down what he wants to say in this way and write it

out for him on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very

hard. He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is

keeping a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I

am with you I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean

one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-

corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever

I feel inclined. I do not suppose there will be much of interest

to other people; but it is not intended for them. I may show it to

Jonathan some day if there is in it anything worth sharing, but

it is really an exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady

journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying

to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice,

one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during

a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans

when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan

from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a

week. I am longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see

strange countries. I wonder if we I mean Jonathan and I

shall ever see them together. There is the ten o’clock bell ring-

ing. Good-bye.

«Your loving

«MlNA.

«Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me

anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,

handsome, curly-haired man???»

32 Dracula

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.

«17, Chatham Street,

«Wednesday.

«My dearest Mina,

«I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad corre-

spondent. I wrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter

was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is

really nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now,

and we go a good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and

rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it

was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Some one has

evidently been telling tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often

comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well together;

they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some

time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not al-

ready engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being hand-

some, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever.

Just fancy! He is only nine-and- twenty, and he has an immense

lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced

him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I

think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the

most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what

a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a

curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to

read one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I

flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from

my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? / do, and I

can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble

than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that

I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think

I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to

be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is

slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day. There,

it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since

we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, and

laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I

would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love

him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me,

he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love

him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with

you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I

would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing

Letters, Etc. 53

this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the let-

ter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let

me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it.

Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and,

Mina, pray for my happiness.

«LUCY.

«P.S. I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.

JL.

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.

«24 May.

«My dearest Mina,

«Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter.

It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.

«My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old prov-

erbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet

I never had a proposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day

I have had three. Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day!

Isn’t it awful! I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the

poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don’t know what

to do with myself. And three proposals! But, for goodness’ sake,

don’t tell any of the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of

extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured and slighted

if in their very first day at home they did not get six at least.

Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged

and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married wo-

men, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three,

but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one, except, of

course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I would, if I were

in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman ought to tell her

husband everything don’t you think so, dear? and I must be

fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair

as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair

as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just before

lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum

man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very

cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently

been schooling himself as to all sorts of little things, and re-

membered them; but he almost managed to sit down on his silk

hat, which men don’t generally do when they are cool, and then

when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing with a lancet

in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,, Mina,

54 Dracula

very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,

though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with

me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy

he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry

he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present

trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could. love him in time;

and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with

some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else.

He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my

confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman’s

heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt

a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told

him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong

and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped

I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count

him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can’t help crying: and you

must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is

all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn’t at all a happy

thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know

loves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted,

and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment,

you are passing quite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here

aL present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy.

11 Evening.

«Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when

I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear,

number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an Ameri-

can from Texas, and he looks so youug and so fresh that it seems

almost impossible that he has been to so many places and has

had such adventures. I sympathise with poor Desdemona when

she had such a dangerous stream poured in her ear, even by a

black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards that we

think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know

now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl

love me. No, I don’t, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his

stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet My dear, I am

somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone.

It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn’t,

for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I

could; I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you before-

hand that Mr. Morris doesn’t always speak slang that is to

say, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really

Letters, Etc. 55

well educated and has exquisite manners but he f ouna out that

it amused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I

was present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such

funny things. I air afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for

it fits exactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way

slang has. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do

not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any

as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as

happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he

was very nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so

sweetly:

«' Miss Lucy, I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the fixin’s

of your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that

is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when

you quit. Won’t you just hitch up alongside of me and let us go

down the long road together, driving in double harness?»

«Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it

didn’t seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward;

so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of

hitching, and that I wasn’t broken to harness at all yet. Then

he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that

if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, 1

an occasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look

serious when he was saying it, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit

serious too I know, Mina, you will think me a horrid flirt

though I couldn’t help feeling a sort of exultation that he was

number two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say

a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making,

laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest

over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful

always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I sup-

pose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he

suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I

could have loved him for if I had been free:

««Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should not

be here speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean

grit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like

one good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care

for? And if there is I’ll never trouble you a hair’s breadth again,

but will be, if you will let me,» a very faithful friend.»

«M} dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are

so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this

great- aearted, true gentleman. 1 burst into tears I am afraid.

56 Dracula

my dear, you will think this a very sloppy letter in more ways

than one and I really felt very badly. Why can’t they let a girl

marry three men, or as many. as want her, and save all t\iis

trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it. I am glad to

say that, though I was crying, I was able to look into Mr. Mor-

ris’s brave eyes, and I told him out straight:

««Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet

that he even loves me. ' I was right to speak to him so frankly,

for quite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands

and took mine I think I put them into his and said in a hearty

way:

«« That’s my brave girl. It’s better worth being late for a

chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in

the world. Don’t cry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard nut to

crack; and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn’t

know his happiness, well, he’d better look for it soon, or he’ll

have to deal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have

made me a friend, and that’s rarer than a lover; it’s more un-

selfish anyhow. My dear, I’m going to have a pretty lonely

walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won’t you give me one

kiss? It’ll be something to keep off the darkness now and then.

You can, you know, if you like, for that other good fellow he

must be a good fellow, my dear, and a fine fellow, or you could

not love him hasn’t spoken yet. 7 That quite won me, Mina,

for it was brave and sweet of him, and noble, too, to a rival

wasn’t it? and he so sad; so I leant over and kissed him.

He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down

into my face I am afraid I was blushing very much he

said:

««Little girl, I hold your hand, and you’ve kissed me, and if

these things don’t make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you

for your sweet honesty to me, and good-bye. ' He wrung my hand,

and taking up his hat, went straight out of the room without

looking back, without a tear or a quiver or a pause; and JL*am

cryiifg like a baby. Oh, why must a man like that be made un-

happy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the

very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free only I

don’t want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel

I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it;

and I don’t wish to tell of the number three until it crji be all

happy.

«Ever your loving

«I. UCY.

Letters, Etc. 57

«P.S. Oh, about number Three I needn’t tell you of num-

ber Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only

a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were

round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I

don’t know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the

future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His good*

ness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and

such a friend.

«Good-bye.»

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

(Kept in phonograph)

25 M ay. Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest,

so diary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of

empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient impor-

tance to be worth the doing. … As I knew that the only cure

for this sort of thing was work, I went down amongst the pa-

tients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of much

interest. He is so quaint that I am determined to understand him

as well as I can. To-day I seemed to get nearer than ever before

to the heart of his mystery.

I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a

view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucination..

In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of

cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness

a thing which I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth

of hell.

(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit

of hell?) Omnia Ronuz venalia sunt. Hell has its price! verb. sap.

If there be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to

trace it afterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do

so, therefore

R. M. Renfield, aetat 59. Sanguine temperament; R great

physical strength; morbidly excitable; periods of gloom, ending

in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the

sanguine temperament itself and the disturbing influence end

in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possibly dangerous man,

probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as

secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think

of on ^this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal

force is balanced with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc, f

58 Dracula

is the fixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only acci*

dent or a series of accidents can balance it.

Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.

11 25 May.

f>: My dear Art,

«We’ve told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and dressed

one another’s wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas;

and drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more

yarns to be told, and other wounds to be healed, and another

health to be drunk. Won’t you let this be at my camp-fire to-

morrow night? I have no hesitation hi asking you, as I know a

certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner-party, and that you

are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at the Korea,

Jack Seward. He’s coming, too, and we both want to mingle our

weeps over the wine-cup, and to dr-ink a health with all our

hearts to the happiest man in all the wide world, who has won

the noblest heart that God has made and the best worth whining.

We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving greeting, and a

health as true as your own right hand. We shall both swear to

leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain pair of eyes.

Come!

«Yours, as ever and always,