From 4f589a07afc2350b429dbdc8bba42e8ae71e1e00 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: soup Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2025 20:05:09 -0500 Subject: [PATCH] . --- bake/lib/lib.rs | 3 + bake/lib/syn/ast.rs | 23 + bake/lib/syn/cst.rs | 167 + bake/lib/syn/mod.rs | 238 + bake/lib/syn/tok.rs | 200 + bake/lib/wald/mod.rs | 164 + flake.lock | 2 +- klout/Cargo.lock | 228 + klout/Cargo.toml | 11 +- klout/corpora/dracula.txt | 15851 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ klout/corpora/frankenstein.txt | 7737 +++++++++++++ klout/corpora/walden.txt | 10591 +++++++++++++++++ klout/corpora/winnie-the-pooh.txt | 4006 +++++++ klout/corpora/wuthering-heights.txt | 12726 +++++++++++++++++++++ klout/data/initial_layout.txt | 3 - klout/data/matrices.txt | 10 +- klout/settings.toml | 10 + klout/src/gen_data.rs | 172 + klout/src/klout.rs | 197 +- nix/deno-flake/flake.nix | 67 +- pritty/src/main.ts | 0 21 files changed, 52348 insertions(+), 58 deletions(-) create mode 100644 bake/lib/syn/ast.rs create mode 100644 bake/lib/syn/cst.rs create mode 100644 bake/lib/syn/mod.rs create mode 100644 bake/lib/syn/tok.rs create mode 100644 bake/lib/wald/mod.rs create mode 100644 klout/corpora/dracula.txt create mode 100644 klout/corpora/frankenstein.txt create mode 100644 klout/corpora/walden.txt create mode 100644 klout/corpora/winnie-the-pooh.txt create mode 100644 klout/corpora/wuthering-heights.txt create mode 100644 klout/settings.toml create mode 100644 klout/src/gen_data.rs create mode 100644 pritty/src/main.ts diff --git a/bake/lib/lib.rs b/bake/lib/lib.rs index b926c3b..c0ce8a3 100644 --- a/bake/lib/lib.rs +++ b/bake/lib/lib.rs @@ -1,3 +1,6 @@ +mod syn; +mod wald; + pub type Result = core::result::Result; #[derive(Debug)] diff --git a/bake/lib/syn/ast.rs b/bake/lib/syn/ast.rs new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ed331c --- /dev/null +++ b/bake/lib/syn/ast.rs @@ -0,0 +1,23 @@ +use super::{ + cst::{self, NodeKind}, + tok::{self, TokenKind}, +}; + +pub struct Atom<'a>(&'a cst::Node); +impl cst::Node { + pub fn as_atom(&self) -> Option { + if *self.kind() != NodeKind::Atom { + return None; + } + + Some(Atom(self)) + } +} +impl Atom<'_> { + pub fn value(&self) -> &tok::Atom { + match &self.0.token().unwrap().kind { + TokenKind::Atom(a) => a, + _ => unreachable!(), + } + } +} diff --git a/bake/lib/syn/cst.rs b/bake/lib/syn/cst.rs new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c18d48c --- /dev/null +++ b/bake/lib/syn/cst.rs @@ -0,0 +1,167 @@ +use super::{ + ast, + tok::{Token, TokenKind, Tokens}, +}; + +#[derive(Debug)] +pub struct Tree { + nodes: Vec, +} +impl Tree { + pub fn new() -> Self { + let mut out = Self { nodes: vec![] }; + out.register({ + let mut node = Node::unregistered(); + node.kind = NodeKind::Root; + + node + }); + + out + } + + pub fn register(&mut self, mut node: Node) -> NodeRef { + node.id = self.nodes.len(); + let out = NodeRef(node.id); + + self.nodes.push(node); + + out + } + + pub fn root(&self) -> NodeRef { + NodeRef(0) + } + + pub fn add_child(&mut self, parent: NodeRef, child: NodeRef) { + parent.resolve_mut(self).children.push(child); + child.resolve_mut(self).parent = Some(parent); + } + + pub fn nth_child( + &self, + parent: NodeRef, + child_index: usize, + ) -> Option { + parent.resolve(self).children.get(child_index).copied() + } + + pub fn children_of( + &self, + parent: NodeRef, + ) -> impl Iterator { + parent.resolve(self).children.iter().copied() + } +} + +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Debug)] +struct NodeRef(usize); +impl NodeRef { + fn resolve<'a>(&self, tree: &'a Tree) -> &'a Node { + &tree.nodes[self.0] + } + + fn resolve_mut<'a>(&self, tree: &'a mut Tree) -> &'a mut Node { + &mut tree.nodes[self.0] + } +} + +#[derive(Default, Debug)] +pub struct Node { + id: usize, + parent: Option, + children: Vec, + kind: NodeKind, + whitespace: Option, + token: Option, +} +impl Node { + fn unregistered() -> Self { + Self { + id: usize::MAX, + parent: None, + children: vec![], + kind: NodeKind::Unknown, + whitespace: None, + token: None, + } + } + + pub fn kind(&self) -> &NodeKind { + &self.kind + } + + pub fn token(&self) -> Option<&Token> { + self.token.as_ref() + } +} + +#[derive(Default, Debug, Eq, PartialEq)] +pub enum NodeKind { + #[default] + Unknown, + List, + Token, + Atom, + Root, +} + +pub fn parse(corpus: &str) -> Tree { + let mut tree = Tree::new(); + let mut tokens = Tokens::new(corpus); + + while let Some(nr) = parse_one(&mut tree, &mut tokens) { + let root = tree.root(); + tree.add_child(root, nr); + } + + tree +} + +pub fn parse_one(tree: &mut Tree, tokens: &mut Tokens) -> Option { + let tok = tokens.next()?; + let (ws, tok) = match tok.kind { + TokenKind::Whitespace(_) => (Some(tok), tokens.next()), + _ => (None, Some(tok)), + }; + + let mut node = Node::unregistered(); + node.whitespace = ws; + let tok = match tok { + Some(tok) => tok, + None => { + node.kind = NodeKind::Token; + return Some(tree.register(node)); + }, + }; + + match &tok.kind { + TokenKind::Atom(_) => { + node.kind = NodeKind::Atom; + }, + _ => todo!(), + } + + node.token = Some(tok); + + Some(tree.register(node)) +} + +#[cfg(test)] +mod test { + use crate::syn::{ + cst::NodeKind, + tok::{Atom, TokenKind}, + }; + + use super::parse; + + #[test] + fn atom1() { + let tree = parse("32"); + let mut children = + tree.children_of(tree.root()).map(|n| n.resolve(&tree)); + + let first = children.next().unwrap().as_atom().unwrap().value(); + } +} diff --git a/bake/lib/syn/mod.rs b/bake/lib/syn/mod.rs new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbd3258 --- /dev/null +++ b/bake/lib/syn/mod.rs @@ -0,0 +1,238 @@ +use crate::wald::{NodeRef, NodeStorage, Text}; + +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq)] +#[repr(u16)] +pub enum NodeKind { + // Tokens + // These are the "leaf" nodes + LPar, + RPar, + Whitespace, + Word, + + // Composite + /// A generic node that wraps multiple tokens. This is useful for e.g. + /// attaching whitespace to a Word. + Multi, + List, + Root, + + #[doc(hidden)] + _ErrFirst, + ErrUnexpectedEOF, + #[doc(hidden)] + _ErrLast, + #[doc(hidden)] + _Last, +} +impl From for NodeKind { + fn from(value: u16) -> Self { + assert!(value < NodeKind::_Last as u16); + + unsafe { core::mem::transmute::(value) } + } +} + +impl From for u16 { + fn from(val: NodeKind) -> Self { + val as u16 + } +} + +pub fn breaks_word(b: u8) -> bool { + b.is_ascii_whitespace() || b == b')' || b == b'(' +} + +pub struct Parser<'a> { + input: &'a str, + at: usize, + nodes: &'a mut NodeStorage, +} + +impl<'a> Parser<'a> { + pub fn new(nodes: &'a mut NodeStorage, input: &'a str) -> Self { + Self { + nodes, + input, + at: 0, + } + } + + pub fn head(&self) -> Option { + self.input[self.at..].bytes().next() + } + + pub fn skip(&mut self, amt: usize) { + self.at += amt; + } + + pub fn skip_while(&mut self, mut f: impl FnMut(u8) -> bool) { + while let Some(head) = self.head() { + if !f(head) { + break; + } + + self.skip(1); + } + } + + pub fn parse_whitespace(&mut self) -> Option { + let start = self.at; + self.skip_while(|b| b.is_ascii_whitespace()); + let end = self.at; + let span = start..end; + if span.is_empty() { + return None; + } + + let node = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::Whitespace.into()); + self.nodes.set_text(node, Text::Span(span)); + + Some(node) + } + + pub fn parse_word(&mut self, whitespace: Option) -> NodeRef { + let start = self.at; + self.skip_while(|b| !breaks_word(b)); + let end = self.at; + + let node_word = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::Word.into()); + self.nodes.set_text(node_word, Text::Span(start..end)); + + let node_multi = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::Multi.into()); + if let Some(node_whitespace) = whitespace { + self.nodes.append_child(node_multi, node_whitespace); + } + self.nodes.append_child(node_multi, node_word); + + node_multi + } + + pub fn parse_list(&mut self, whitespace: Option) -> NodeRef { + assert!(self.head().unwrap() == b'('); + + let node_list = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::List.into()); + if let Some(node_whitespace) = whitespace { + self.nodes.append_child(node_list, node_whitespace); + } + + // LPar + let start = self.at; + self.skip(1); + let end = self.at; + + let node_lpar = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::LPar.into()); + self.nodes.set_text(node_lpar, Text::Span(start..end)); + self.nodes.append_child(node_list, node_lpar); + + loop { + let head = match self.head() { + None => { + let node_err = + self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::ErrUnexpectedEOF.into()); + self.nodes.append_child(node_list, node_err); + + break; + }, + Some(h) => h, + }; + + if head == b')' { + let start = self.at; + self.skip(1); + let end = self.at; + + let node_rpar = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::RPar.into()); + self.nodes.set_text(node_rpar, Text::Span(start..end)); + self.nodes.append_child(node_list, node_rpar); + + break; + } + + let node_child = self.parse_one().unwrap(); + self.nodes.append_child(node_list, node_child); + } + + node_list + } + + pub fn parse_one(&mut self) -> Option { + let whitespace = self.parse_whitespace(); + + let head = self.head()?; + let node = match head { + b'(' => self.parse_list(whitespace), + _ => self.parse_word(whitespace), + }; + + Some(node) + } + + pub fn parse(&mut self) { + assert!(self.nodes.nodes().next().is_none()); + + let node_root = self.nodes.new_node(NodeKind::Root.into()); + + while let Some(node) = self.parse_one() { + self.nodes.append_child(node_root, node); + } + } +} + +pub fn parse(storage: &mut NodeStorage, input: &str) { + let mut parser = Parser::new(storage, input); + parser.parse(); +} + +#[cfg(test)] +mod test { + use crate::{ + syn::{parse, NodeKind}, + wald::NodeStorage, + }; + + #[test] + fn simple_print_input_exactly() { + let input = r#"(+ 3 4)"#; + let mut storage = NodeStorage::new(); + parse(&mut storage, input); + + assert!(!storage + .nodes() + .any(|n| (NodeKind::_ErrFirst.into()..NodeKind::_ErrLast.into()) + .contains(&storage.tag(n)))); + + let root = storage + .nodes() + .find(|&n| storage.tag(n) == NodeKind::Root.into()) + .unwrap(); + let display = storage.display_syntax(input, root); + + let output = format!("{display}"); + assert_eq!(input, output); + } + + #[test] + fn traversal() { + let input = r#"(+ 3 4)"#; + let mut nodes = NodeStorage::new(); + parse(&mut nodes, input); + + let three = nodes + .nodes() + .find(|&n| nodes.text(n).as_str(input) == "3") + .unwrap(); + + let three_multi = nodes.parent(three).unwrap(); + let four_multi = nodes.sibling_next(three_multi).unwrap(); + let four = nodes + .children(four_multi) + .find(|&n| nodes.tag(n) == NodeKind::Word.into()) + .unwrap(); + + assert_eq!(nodes.text(four).as_str(input), "4"); + + let list = nodes.parent(three_multi).unwrap(); + assert_eq!(list, nodes.parent(four_multi).unwrap()); + } +} diff --git a/bake/lib/syn/tok.rs b/bake/lib/syn/tok.rs new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4a8dd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/bake/lib/syn/tok.rs @@ -0,0 +1,200 @@ +use std::ops::Range; + +#[derive(Eq, PartialEq, Debug)] +pub struct Span(Range); + +impl From> for Span { + fn from(value: Range) -> Self { + Self(value) + } +} + +#[derive(Eq, PartialEq, Debug)] +pub enum TokenError { + InvalidByteInNumericLiteral, +} + +#[derive(PartialEq, Debug)] +pub enum TokenKind { + Whitespace(String), + LPar(u8), + RPar(u8), + Atom(Atom), + Error(TokenError), +} + +#[derive(PartialEq, Debug)] +pub struct Token { + pub kind: TokenKind, + pub span: Span, +} +impl Token { +} + +#[derive(PartialEq, Debug)] +pub enum Atom { + Keyword(String), + Identifier(String), + String(String), + Integer(i64), + Float(f64), +} + +fn is_numlit(b: u8) -> bool { + b.is_ascii_digit() || b == b'.' +} + +fn is_identifier(b: u8) -> bool { + !ends_literal(b) +} + +fn ends_literal(b: u8) -> bool { + [b'(', b')'].contains(&b) || b.is_ascii_whitespace() +} + +pub struct Tokens<'a> { + at: usize, + corpus: &'a str, +} +impl<'a> Tokens<'a> { + pub fn new(corpus: &'a str) -> Self { + Self { corpus, at: 0 } + } + + fn head(&self) -> Option { + if self.at >= self.corpus.len() { + return None; + } + + self.corpus[self.at..].bytes().next() + } + + fn pop_head(&mut self) -> Option { + let out = self.head()?; + self.at += 1; + + Some(out) + } + + fn chomp_while(&mut self, mut f: impl FnMut(u8) -> bool) { + loop { + let ch = match self.pop_head() { + None => return, + Some(ch) => ch, + }; + + if !f(ch) { + self.at -= 1; + return; + } + } + } + + fn next(&mut self) -> Option { + let start = self.at; + let ch = self.pop_head()?; + + let tk = match ch { + b'(' => TokenKind::LPar(ch), + b')' => TokenKind::RPar(ch), + _ if ch.is_ascii_whitespace() => { + self.chomp_while(|b| b.is_ascii_whitespace()); + + TokenKind::Whitespace(self.corpus[start..self.at].to_string()) + }, + _ if ch.is_ascii_digit() => { + let mut is_float = false; + + self.chomp_while(|b| { + if b == b'.' { + is_float = true; + } + + is_numlit(b) + }); + + if !self.head().map(ends_literal).unwrap_or(true) { + TokenKind::Error(TokenError::InvalidByteInNumericLiteral) + } else { + TokenKind::Atom(if is_float { + Atom::Float( + self.corpus[start..self.at].parse().unwrap(), + ) + } else { + Atom::Integer( + self.corpus[start..self.at].parse().unwrap(), + ) + }) + } + }, + b':' => { + self.chomp_while(is_identifier); + + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Keyword( + self.corpus[start..self.at].to_string(), + )) + }, + _ => { + self.chomp_while(is_identifier); + + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Identifier( + self.corpus[start..self.at].to_string(), + )) + }, + }; + + Some(Token { + kind: tk, + span: Span::from(start..self.at), + }) + } +} + +impl Iterator for Tokens<'_> { + type Item = Token; + + fn next(&mut self) -> Option { + Self::next(self) + } +} + +#[cfg(test)] +mod test_tokenize { + use super::{Atom, TokenKind}; + + use super::Tokens; + + #[test] + fn simple1() { + let tokens: Vec<_> = + Tokens::new("(:hello)").map(|tk| tk.kind).collect(); + + assert_eq!( + tokens, + [ + TokenKind::LPar(b'('), + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Keyword(":hello".to_string())), + TokenKind::RPar(b')'), + ] + ) + } + + #[test] + fn simple2() { + let tokens: Vec<_> = + Tokens::new("(-> 1 2.4)").map(|t| t.kind).collect(); + + assert_eq!( + tokens, + [ + TokenKind::LPar(b'('), + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Identifier("->".to_string())), + TokenKind::Whitespace(" ".to_string()), + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Integer(1)), + TokenKind::Whitespace(" ".to_string()), + TokenKind::Atom(Atom::Float(2.4)), + TokenKind::RPar(b')'), + ] + ) + } +} diff --git a/bake/lib/wald/mod.rs b/bake/lib/wald/mod.rs new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a634e34 --- /dev/null +++ b/bake/lib/wald/mod.rs @@ -0,0 +1,164 @@ +use std::{fmt::Display, ops::Range}; + +pub enum Text { + Span(Range), + Static(&'static str), + String(String), +} +impl Default for Text { + fn default() -> Self { + Self::Static("") + } +} + +impl Text { + pub fn empty() -> Self { + Self::default() + } + + pub fn is_empty(&self) -> bool { + match self { + Self::Span(s) => s.is_empty(), + Self::Static(s) => s.is_empty(), + Self::String(s) => s.is_empty(), + } + } + + pub fn as_str<'a>(&'a self, text: &'a str) -> &'a str { + match self { + Self::Span(s) => &text[s.clone()], + Self::Static(s) => s, + Self::String(s) => s.as_str(), + } + } +} + +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Hash, Debug)] +pub struct NodeRef(usize); +#[derive(Default)] +pub struct NodeStorage { + tags: Vec, + parents: Vec>, + children: Vec>, + siblings_prev: Vec>, + siblings_next: Vec>, + texts: Vec, +} +impl NodeStorage { + pub fn nodes(&self) -> impl Iterator { + (0..self.tags.len()).map(NodeRef) + } + + pub fn new_node(&mut self, tag: u16) -> NodeRef { + let node = NodeRef(self.tags.len()); + self.tags.push(tag); + self.parents.push(None); + self.children.push(vec![]); + self.siblings_prev.push(None); + self.siblings_next.push(None); + self.texts.push(Text::default()); + + node + } + + pub fn tag(&self, node: NodeRef) -> u16 { + self.tags[node.0] + } + + pub fn parent(&self, node: NodeRef) -> Option { + self.parents[node.0] + } + + pub fn set_parent(&mut self, child: NodeRef, parent: NodeRef) { + self.parents[child.0] = Some(parent); + } + + pub fn children(&self, node: NodeRef) -> impl Iterator { + self.children[node.0].iter().copied() + } + + pub fn append_child(&mut self, parent: NodeRef, child: NodeRef) { + self.set_parent(child, parent); + + let children = &mut self.children[parent.0]; + let child_index = children.len(); + + children.push(child); + + if child_index > 0 { + let prev_index = child_index - 1; + let prev_sibling = children[prev_index]; + self.set_sibling_next(prev_sibling, child); + self.set_sibling_prev(child, prev_sibling); + } + } + + pub fn sibling_next(&mut self, node: NodeRef) -> Option { + self.siblings_next[node.0] + } + + pub fn set_sibling_next(&mut self, this: NodeRef, next: NodeRef) { + self.siblings_next[this.0] = Some(next); + } + + pub fn sibling_prev(&mut self, node: NodeRef) -> Option { + self.siblings_prev[node.0] + } + + pub fn set_sibling_prev(&mut self, this: NodeRef, prev: NodeRef) { + self.siblings_prev[this.0] = Some(prev); + } + + pub fn text(&self, node: NodeRef) -> &Text { + &self.texts[node.0] + } + + pub fn set_text(&mut self, node: NodeRef, text: Text) { + self.texts[node.0] = text; + } + + pub fn display_syntax<'a>( + &'a self, + text: &'a str, + node: NodeRef, + ) -> impl Display + 'a { + struct DisplaySyntax<'a> { + nodes: &'a NodeStorage, + node: NodeRef, + text: &'a str, + } + + impl Display for DisplaySyntax<'_> { + fn fmt(&self, f: &mut std::fmt::Formatter<'_>) -> std::fmt::Result { + let s = match self.nodes.text(self.node) { + Text::Span(s) => &self.text[s.clone()], + Text::Static(s) => s, + Text::String(s) => s.as_str(), + }; + + write!(f, "{s}")?; + for child in self.nodes.children(self.node) { + write!( + f, + "{}", + self.nodes.display_syntax(self.text, child) + )?; + } + + Ok(()) + } + } + + DisplaySyntax { + nodes: self, + node, + text, + } + } +} + +impl NodeStorage { + pub fn new() -> Self { + Self::default() + } +} diff --git a/flake.lock b/flake.lock index f516fb0..35dac74 100644 --- a/flake.lock +++ b/flake.lock @@ -24,7 +24,7 @@ }, "locked": { "lastModified": 1, - "narHash": "sha256-PVtFcvxh3Aqgel46BBFzxN0IvEVDzw/n/hWJ76mVThQ=", + "narHash": "sha256-YOJheOuchbi3vU4jlQ9hMcyDU+bK9tzi+4dskNeE6Ww=", "path": "./nix/deno-flake", "type": "path" }, diff --git a/klout/Cargo.lock b/klout/Cargo.lock index 6b6aeec..5207e91 100644 --- a/klout/Cargo.lock +++ b/klout/Cargo.lock @@ -14,6 +14,12 @@ version = "1.0.0" source = "registry+https://github.com/rust-lang/crates.io-index" checksum = "baf1de4339761588bc0619e3cbc0120ee582ebb74b53b4efbf79117bd2da40fd" +[[package]] +name = "equivalent" +version = "1.0.1" +source = "registry+https://github.com/rust-lang/crates.io-index" +checksum = "5443807d6dff69373d433ab9ef5378ad8df50ca6298caf15de6e52e24aaf54d5" + [[package]] name = "eyre" version = "0.6.12" @@ -35,18 +41,45 @@ dependencies = [ 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a/klout/corpora/dracula.txt b/klout/corpora/dracula.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7cba3eb --- /dev/null +++ b/klout/corpora/dracula.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15851 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dracula + +This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Dracula + +Author: Bram Stoker + +Release date: October 1, 1995 [eBook #345] + Most recently updated: November 12, 2023 + +Language: English + +Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRACULA *** + + + + + DRACULA + + _by_ + + Bram Stoker + + [Illustration: colophon] + + NEW YORK + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + + _Publishers_ + + Copyright, 1897, in the United States of America, according + to Act of Congress, by Bram Stoker + + [_All rights reserved._] + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES + AT + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y. + + + + + TO + + MY DEAR FRIEND + + HOMMY-BEG + + + + +Contents + +CHAPTER I. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER II. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER III. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER IV. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER V. Letters—Lucy and Mina +CHAPTER VI. Mina Murray’s Journal +CHAPTER VII. Cutting from “The Dailygraph,” 8 August +CHAPTER VIII. Mina Murray’s Journal +CHAPTER IX. Mina Murray’s Journal +CHAPTER X. Mina Murray’s Journal +CHAPTER XI. Lucy Westenra’s Diary +CHAPTER XII. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XIII. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XIV. Mina Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER XV. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XVI. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XVII. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XVIII. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XIX. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER XX. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER XXI. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XXII. Jonathan Harker’s Journal +CHAPTER XXIII. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XXIV. Dr. Seward’s Phonograph Diary, spoken by Van Helsing +CHAPTER XXV. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XXVI. Dr. Seward’s Diary +CHAPTER XXVII. Mina Harker’s Journal + + + + +How these papers have been placed in sequence will be made manifest in +the reading of them. All needless matters have been eliminated, so that +a history almost at variance with the possibilities of later-day belief +may stand forth as simple fact. There is throughout no statement of +past things wherein memory may err, for all the records chosen are +exactly contemporary, given from the standpoints and within the range +of knowledge of those who made them. + + + + +DRACULA + + + + +CHAPTER I + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL + +(_Kept in shorthand._) + + +_3 May. Bistritz._--Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at +Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an +hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I +got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the +streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived +late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The +impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the +East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is +here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish +rule. + +We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. +Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or +rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was +very good but thirsty. (_Mem._, get recipe for Mina.) I asked the +waiter, and he said it was called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was a +national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the +Carpathians. I found my smattering of German very useful here; indeed, I +don’t know how I should be able to get on without it. + +Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the +British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library +regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the +country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a +nobleman of that country. I find that the district he named is in the +extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states, +Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian +mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe. I was +not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the +Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare +with our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post +town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter +here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my +travels with Mina. + +In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: +Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the +descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the +East and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended +from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered +the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it. I +read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the +horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of +imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (_Mem._, I +must ask the Count all about them.) + +I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had +all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my +window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been +the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was +still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous +knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then. +I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour +which they said was “mamaliga,” and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a +very excellent dish, which they call “impletata.” (_Mem._, get recipe +for this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little +before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to +the station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour +before we began to move. It seems to me that the further east you go the +more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China? + +All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of +beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the +top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by +rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side +of them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, and +running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At every +station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts +of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I +saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats +and home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque. The women +looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy +about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, +and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something +fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there +were petticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were the +Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy +hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous +heavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass +nails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and +had long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very +picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would be +set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are, +however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural +self-assertion. + +It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a +very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier--for the +Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina--it has had a very stormy +existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series +of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate +occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent +a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war +proper being assisted by famine and disease. + +Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I +found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of +course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was +evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a +cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress--white +undergarment with long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff +fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed and +said, “The Herr Englishman?” “Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.” She +smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, +who had followed her to the door. He went, but immediately returned with +a letter:-- + + “My Friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting + you. Sleep well to-night. At three to-morrow the diligence will + start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo + Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust + that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you + will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land. + +“Your friend, + +“DRACULA.” + + +_4 May._--I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, +directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on +making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and +pretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be +true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he +answered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old +lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of +way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that +was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could +tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, +and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak +further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask +any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means +comforting. + +Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a +very hysterical way: + +“Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?” She was in such an excited +state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and +mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I +was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her +that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, +she asked again: + +“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was the fourth of May. +She shook her head as she said again: + +“Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?” On +my saying that I did not understand, she went on: + +“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that to-night, when +the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have +full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?” +She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but +without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not +to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very +ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business +to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I therefore +tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked +her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go. She then rose and +dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me. I +did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been +taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it +seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a +state of mind. She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the +rosary round my neck, and said, “For your mother’s sake,” and went out +of the room. I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting +for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still +round my neck. Whether it is the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostly +traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I +am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should +ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the +coach! + + * * * * * + +_5 May. The Castle._--The grey of the morning has passed, and the sun is +high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or +hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are +mixed. I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, +naturally I write till sleep comes. There are many odd things to put +down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I +left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly. I dined on what they +called “robber steak”--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red +pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple +style of the London cat’s meat! The wine was Golden Mediasch, which +produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not +disagreeable. I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else. + +When I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him +talking with the landlady. They were evidently talking of me, for every +now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting +on the bench outside the door--which they call by a name meaning +“word-bearer”--came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them +pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for +there were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot +dictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not +cheering to me, for amongst them were “Ordog”--Satan, “pokol”--hell, +“stregoica”--witch, “vrolok” and “vlkoslak”--both of which mean the same +thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is +either were-wolf or vampire. (_Mem._, I must ask the Count about these +superstitions) + +When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time +swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and +pointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got a +fellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; he would not answer at +first, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was a +charm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me, +just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man; but every one +seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I +could not but be touched. I shall never forget the last glimpse which I +had of the inn-yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing +themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of +rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the +centre of the yard. Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered +the whole front of the box-seat--“gotza” they call them--cracked his big +whip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on +our journey. + +I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the +scene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or rather +languages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not have +been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping +land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned +with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the +road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom--apple, +plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass under +the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these +green hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road, +losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the +straggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the +hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still we +seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand then +what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no +time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summertime +excellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter +snows. In this respect it is different from the general run of roads in +the Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they are not to be kept +in too good order. Of old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the +Turk should think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, +and so hasten the war which was always really at loading point. + +Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes +of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right +and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon +them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful range, +deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where +grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock and +pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, where +the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the +mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again +the white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as +we swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered +peak of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to +be right before us:-- + +“Look! Isten szek!”--“God’s seat!”--and he crossed himself reverently. + +As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind +us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This was +emphasised by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the +sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and there +we passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticed +that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses, +and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves. Here and there +was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not even +turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender of +devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world. There were +many things new to me: for instance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here +and there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white stems +shining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves. Now and +again we passed a leiter-wagon--the ordinary peasant’s cart--with its +long, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the +road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of home-coming +peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their +coloured, sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long +staves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold, +and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the +gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which +ran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the +Pass, the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of +late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods +that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of +greyness, which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a +peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and +grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset +threw into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the +Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the +hills were so steep that, despite our driver’s haste, the horses could +only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, +but the driver would not hear of it. “No, no,” he said; “you must not +walk here; the dogs are too fierce”; and then he added, with what he +evidently meant for grim pleasantry--for he looked round to catch the +approving smile of the rest--“and you may have enough of such matters +before you go to sleep.” The only stop he would make was a moment’s +pause to light his lamps. + +When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the +passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as +though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully +with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on +to further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of +patch of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the +hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the crazy coach +rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a +stormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared +to fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each +side and to frown down upon us; we were entering on the Borgo Pass. One +by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed +upon me with an earnestness which would take no denial; these were +certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good +faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of +fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at +Bistritz--the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye. +Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side the +passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the +darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either +happening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one would +give me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for +some little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on +the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the +air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the +mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got +into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance +which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the +glare of lamps through the blackness; but all was dark. The only light +was the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our +hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandy +road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle. +The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock +my own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do, when +the driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something which I +could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; I +thought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then turning to me, he said +in German worse than my own:-- + +“There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He will +now come on to Bukovina, and return to-morrow or the next day; better +the next day.” Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh and +snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then, +amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing +of themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook +us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of our +lamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and +splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown +beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I +could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red +in the lamplight, as he turned to us. He said to the driver:-- + +“You are early to-night, my friend.” The man stammered in reply:-- + +“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger replied:-- + +“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot +deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.” As he +spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with +very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my +companions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Lenore”:-- + + “Denn die Todten reiten schnell”-- + (“For the dead travel fast.”) + +The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a +gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time +putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. “Give me the Herr’s +luggage,” said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags were +handed out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of the +coach, as the calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a +hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his strength must have been +prodigious. Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we +swept into the darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steam +from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projected +against it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Then +the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept +on their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt a +strange chill, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrown +over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in +excellent German:-- + +“The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all +care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the +country) underneath the seat, if you should require it.” I did not take +any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I felt a +little strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had there been +any alternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting that +unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along, +then we made a complete turn and went along another straight road. It +seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground +again; and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was +so. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but +I really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any +protest would have had no effect in case there had been an intention to +delay. By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was +passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was +within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I +suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my +recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense. + +Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road--a +long, agonised wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by +another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind which +now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed +to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp +it through the gloom of the night. At the first howl the horses began to +strain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they +quieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway from +sudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each +side of us began a louder and a sharper howling--that of wolves--which +affected both the horses and myself in the same way--for I was minded to +jump from the calèche and run, whilst they reared again and plunged +madly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength to keep them +from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to +the sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able +to descend and to stand before them. He petted and soothed them, and +whispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers +doing, and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became +quite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again +took his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This +time, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a +narrow roadway which ran sharply to the right. + +Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over the +roadway till we passed as through a tunnel; and again great frowning +rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, we +could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the +rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. +It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall, +so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The +keen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew +fainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer +and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I +grew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver, +however, was not in the least disturbed; he kept turning his head to +left and right, but I could not see anything through the darkness. + +Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The +driver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses, and, +jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know +what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer; but while +I wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took +his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep +and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated +endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare. +Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness +around us I could watch the driver’s motions. He went rapidly to where +the blue flame arose--it must have been very faint, for it did not seem +to illumine the place around it at all--and gathering a few stones, +formed them into some device. Once there appeared a strange optical +effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, +for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, but +as the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me +straining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue +flames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the +wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle. + +At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he +had yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to tremble worse +than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see any cause +for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but just +then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the +jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I saw +around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues, +with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more +terrible in the grim silence which held them than even when they howled. +For myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man +feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand +their true import. + +All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had +some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared, and +looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to see; +but the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side; and they +had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, for +it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the +ring and to aid his approach. I shouted and beat the side of the +calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as +to give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know +not, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and +looking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept his +long arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves +fell back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across +the face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness. + +When I could see again the driver was climbing into the calèche, and the +wolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a +dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The time +seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost complete +darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept on +ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the main +always ascending. Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the +driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a +vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, +and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit +sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL--_continued_ + + +_5 May._--I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully +awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In +the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark +ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than +it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight. + +When the calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand +to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious +strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have +crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placed +them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and +studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of +massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was +massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and +weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the +reins; the horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down one +of the dark openings. + +I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell +or knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and dark +window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The +time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon +me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? +What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a +customary incident in the life of a solicitor’s clerk sent out to +explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor’s +clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor--for just before leaving +London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a +full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if +I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I +expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with +the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt +in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the +pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake +and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to +wait the coming of the morning. + +Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching +behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming +light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of +massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise +of long disuse, and the great door swung back. + +Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white +moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck +of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver +lamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind, +throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the +open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly +gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:-- + +“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!” He made no +motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his +gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that +I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and +holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, +an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as +ice--more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said:-- + +“Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the +happiness you bring!” The strength of the handshake was so much akin to +that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that +for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was +speaking; so to make sure, I said interrogatively:-- + +“Count Dracula?” He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:-- + +“I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; +the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.” As he was +speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, +took my luggage; he had carried it in before I could forestall him. I +protested but he insisted:-- + +“Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not +available. Let me see to your comfort myself.” He insisted on carrying +my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and +along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang +heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced +to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, +and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, +flamed and flared. + +The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing +the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit +by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing +through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a +welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with +another log fire,--also added to but lately, for the top logs were +fresh--which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself +left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the +door:-- + +“You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your +toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come +into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared.” + +The light and warmth and the Count’s courteous welcome seemed to have +dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, +I discovered that I was half famished with hunger; so making a hasty +toilet, I went into the other room. + +I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the +great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of +his hand to the table, and said:-- + +“I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse +me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.” + +I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me. +He opened it and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handed +it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of +pleasure. + +“I must 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 into 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.” + +The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I +fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese +and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was +my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many +questions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had +experienced. + +By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s desire had drawn +up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, +at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an +opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked +physiognomy. + +His face was a strong--a very strong--aquiline, with high bridge of the +thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and +hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His +eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy +hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I +could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather +cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over +the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a +man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops +extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm +though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor. + +Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees +in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing +them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather +coarse--broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in +the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp +point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not +repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a +horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could +not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a +grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his +protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the +fireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I looked towards the +window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a +strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from +down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count’s eyes +gleamed, and he said:-- + +“Listen to them--the children of the night. What music they make!” +Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he +added:-- + +“Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the +hunter.” Then he rose and said:-- + +“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!” With a courteous bow, he opened for me +himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom.... + +I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, +which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the +sake of those dear to me! + + * * * * * + +_7 May._--It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the +last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my +own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had +supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the +pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which +was written:-- + +“I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.--D.” I set to and +enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I +might let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one. +There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the +extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service +is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value. +The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of +my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have +been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, +though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, +but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of +the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my +table, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I +could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant +anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves. +Some time after I had finished my meal--I do not know whether to call it +breakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o’clock when I had +it--I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about +the castle until I had asked the Count’s permission. There was +absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing +materials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of +library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked. + +In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English +books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and +newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines +and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books +were of the most varied kind--history, geography, politics, political +economy, botany, geology, law--all relating to England and English life +and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the +London Directory, the “Red” and “Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, the +Army and Navy Lists, and--it somehow gladdened my heart to see it--the +Law List. + +Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count +entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good +night’s rest. Then he went on:-- + +“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that +will interest you. These companions”--and he laid his hand on some of +the 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 it to speak.” + +“But, Count,” I said, “you know and speak English thoroughly!” He bowed +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.” + +“Indeed,” I said, “you speak excellently.” + +“Not so,” he answered. “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, ‘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 awhile, 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.” + +Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might +come into that room when I chose. He answered: “Yes, certainly,” and +added:-- + +“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.” I said I was sure of +this, and then he went on:-- + +“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 +what strange things there may be.” + +This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted to +talk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many questions regarding +things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. +Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by +pretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked most +frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked +him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, for +instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue +flames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a +certain night of the year--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 concealed. “That treasure has been hidden,” he +went on, “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.” + +“But how,” said I, “can it have remained so long undiscovered, when +there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?” +The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, +sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:-- + +“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. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to +find these places again?” + +“There you are right,” I said. “I know no more than the dead where even +to look for them.” Then we drifted into other matters. + +“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the house which you +have procured for me.” With an apology for my remissness, I went into my +own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in +order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I +passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp +lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit +in the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa, +reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw’s Guide. When I +came in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with him I +went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in +everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its +surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the +subject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much +more than I did. When I remarked this, he answered:-- + +“Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there +I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan--nay, pardon me, I +fall into my country’s habit of putting your patronymic first--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!” + +We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at +Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the +necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to +Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a +place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I +inscribe here:-- + +“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 are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with +rust. + +“The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old _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 mediæval times, for one part is of stone +immensely 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.” + +When I had finished, he said:-- + +“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 lie 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.” Somehow his words and his look +did not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his +smile look malignant and saturnine. + +Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my papers +together. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some of +the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally at +England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found in +certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed +that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new +estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the +Yorkshire coast. + +It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. “Aha!” he +said; “still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I +am informed that your supper is ready.” He took my arm, and we went into +the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The +Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away from +home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. +After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with +me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour +after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not +say anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host’s wishes in +every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified +me; but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one at +the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. +They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to +the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and +tied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere +can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up +with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; Count +Dracula, jumping to his feet, said:-- + +“Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so +long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of +England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by +us,” and, with a courtly bow, he quickly left me. + +I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little to +notice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the +warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have +written of this day. + + * * * * * + +_8 May._--I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too +diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for +there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I +cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had +never come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling on +me; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I +could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, +and he!--I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Let +me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to bear up, and +imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say +at once how I stand--or seem to. + +I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could +not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window, +and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, +and heard the Count’s voice saying to me, “Good-morning.” I started, for +it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass +covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly, +but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count’s +salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. +This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I +could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in +the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there was no +sign of a man in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming on +the top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague +feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near; but at +the instant I saw that the cut had bled a little, and the blood was +trickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half +round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his +eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at +my throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the string of beads which +held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passed +so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there. + +“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more +dangerous than you think in this country.” Then seizing the shaving +glass, he went on: “And this is the wretched thing that has done the +mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with it!” and +opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung +out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones +of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very +annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or +the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal. + +When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I could +not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that +as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very +peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I +went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South. The +view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity +of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A +stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without +touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree +tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and +there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through +the forests. + +But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I +explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and +bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there +an available exit. + +The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL--_continued_ + + +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 were 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 to do them. +This gave me a fright, for if 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 in 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. To-night he may talk of +himself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, +however, not to awake his suspicion. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._--I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a few +questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subject +wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially of +battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he +afterwards explained by saying that to a _boyar_ the pride of his house +and name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their +fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always said “we,” +and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could put +down all he said exactly as he said it, for to me it was most +fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. He +grew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great +white moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands as +though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I +shall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its way the story of +his race:-- + +“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 intent 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, who, expelled from Scythia 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 held 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 we +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 heart to +conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohács, 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.” + +It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (_Mem._, this +diary seems horribly like the beginning of the “Arabian Nights,” for +everything has to break off at cockcrow--or like the ghost of Hamlet’s +father.) + + * * * * * + +_12 May._--Let me begin with facts--bare, meagre facts, verified by +books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not +confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own +observation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came from +his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on the +doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over +books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the +matters I had been examining at Lincoln’s Inn. There was a certain +method in the Count’s inquiries, so I shall try to put them down in +sequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me. + +First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. I +told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be +wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only +one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate +against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on to +ask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one man to +attend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in case +local help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking +solicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by any +chance mislead him, so he said:-- + +“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 residence might, perhaps, +have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to +seek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest. 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?” I answered that +certainly it would be most easy, but that we solicitors had a system of +agency one for the other, so that local work could be done locally on +instruction from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placing +himself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried out by +him without further trouble. + +“But,” said he, “I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?” + +“Of course,” I replied; and “such is often done by men of business, who +do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person.” + +“Good!” he said, and then went on to ask about the means of making +consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of +difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guarded +against. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability, +and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a +wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or +foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not +evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were +wonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points of which he had +spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books +available, he suddenly stood up and said:-- + +“Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter +Hawkins, or to any other?” It was with some bitterness in my heart that +I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of +sending letters to anybody. + +“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, laying a heavy hand on my +shoulder: “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.” + +“Do you wish me to stay so long?” I asked, for my heart grew cold at the +thought. + +“I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, +employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, +it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not +stinted. Is it not so?” + +What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins’s interest, not +mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count +Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing +which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I +could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his +mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but +in his own smooth, resistless way:-- + +“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?” As he spoke he handed me three sheets of +note-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign +post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, +with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood +as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for +he would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes +now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for +to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he +did see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a +book whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them to +some books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed them with his +own, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door +had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which +were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for +under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way +I could. + +One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The +Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to +Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, +bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just +about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in my +seat, having just had time to replace the letters as they had been and +to resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter in his +hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped +them carefully, and then turning to me, said:-- + +“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.” At the door he +turned, and after a moment’s pause said:-- + +“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 finished his +speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were +washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether any +dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom +and mystery which seemed closing around me. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--I endorse the last words written, but this time there is no +doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where he is +not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed--I imagine that +my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain. + +When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not hearing any +sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could look out +towards the South. There was some sense of freedom in the vast expanse, +inaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the narrow darkness +of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was indeed in +prison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, though it were of +the night. I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. +It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all +sorts of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my +terrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over the beautiful +expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as +day. In the soft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadows +in the valleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed +to cheer me; there was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As I +leaned from the window my eye was caught by something moving a storey +below me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from the order of +the rooms, that the windows of the Count’s own room would look out. The +window at which I stood was tall and deep, stone-mullioned, and though +weatherworn, was still complete; but it was evidently many a day since +the case had been there. I drew back behind the stonework, and looked +carefully out. + +What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the window. I did not +see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his +back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had +so many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested and +somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interest +and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to +repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the +window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, +_face down_ with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. At +first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the +moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it could +be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the +stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus +using every projection and inequality move downwards with considerable +speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall. + +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.... + + * * * * * + +_15 May._--Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion. +He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down, and a good +deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window. When his head +had disappeared, I leaned out to try and see more, but without +avail--the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. I +knew he had left the castle now, and thought to use the opportunity to +explore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, and +taking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked, as I had +expected, and the locks were comparatively new; but I went down the +stone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally. I found I could +pull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great chains; but the +door was locked, and the key was gone! That key must be in the Count’s +room; I must watch should his door be unlocked, so that I may get it and +escape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the various stairs +and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or two +small rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in +them except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At last, +however, I found one door at the top of the stairway which, though it +seemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder, +and found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance came +from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door +rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which I might not have +again, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts forced it back so that +I could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle further to the right +than the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I could +see that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the +windows of the end room looking out both west and south. On the latter +side, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice. The castle +was built on the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it was +quite impregnable, and great windows were placed here where sling, or +bow, or culverin could not reach, and consequently light and comfort, +impossible to a position which had to be guarded, were secured. To the +west was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged +mountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with +mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crevices and +crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion of the castle +occupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the furniture had more air of +comfort than any I had seen. The windows were curtainless, and the +yellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one to +see even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over +all and disguised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. My +lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was +glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the place +which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it was better +than living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate from the +presence of the Count, and after trying a little to school my nerves, I +found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak +table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much +thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my +diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is +nineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my +senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own +which mere “modernity” cannot kill. + + * * * * * + +_Later: the Morning of 16 May._--God preserve my sanity, for to this I +am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past. +Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not +go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely it +is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this +hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I +can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his +purpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way +lies madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which +have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant +when he made Hamlet say:-- + + “My tablets! quick, my tablets! + ’Tis meet that I put it down,” etc., + +for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock +had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. +The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me. + +The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it frightens +me more now when I think of it, for in future he has a fearful hold upon +me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say! + +When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book and +pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count’s warning came into my mind, +but I took a pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me, +and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The soft +moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of freedom +which refreshed me. I determined not to return to-night to the +gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat +and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for +their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great +couch out of its place near the corner, so that as I lay, I could look +at the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of and uncaring for +the dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose I must have fallen +asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly +real--so real that now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the +morning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep. + +I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since I +came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight, +my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of +dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by +their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming +when I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them, they threw +no shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some +time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline +noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes that seemed to be +almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was +fair, as fair as can be, with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes +like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it +in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the +moment how or where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like +pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something +about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some +deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would +kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some +day it should meet Mina’s eyes and cause her pain; but it is the truth. +They whispered together, and then they all three laughed--such a +silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have +come through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, +tingling sweetness of water-glasses when played on by a cunning hand. +The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her +on. One said:-- + +“Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to +begin.” The other added:-- + +“He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.” I lay quiet, +looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. +The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement +of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent +the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter +underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood. + +I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under +the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply +gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling +and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips +like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining +on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp +teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of +my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she +paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked +her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the +skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that +is to tickle it approaches nearer--nearer. I could feel the soft, +shivering touch of the lips on the super-sensitive skin of my throat, +and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. +I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited--waited with beating +heart. + +But at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick as +lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of his +being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily I +saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with +giant’s power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the +white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with +passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to +the demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light +in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them. His +face was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires; +the thick eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving bar +of white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman +from him, and then motioned to the others, as though he were beating +them back; it was the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to the +wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper seemed to +cut through the air and then ring round the room he said:-- + +“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.” The fair girl, +with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:-- + +“You yourself never loved; you never love!” On this the other women +joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the +room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure +of fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, +and said in a soft whisper:-- + +“Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it +not so? Well, now I promise you that 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.” + +“Are we to have nothing to-night?” said one of them, with a low laugh, +as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and which +moved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer he +nodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If my +ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a +half-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with +horror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadful +bag. There was no door near them, and they could not have passed me +without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of the +moonlight and pass out through the window, for I could see outside the +dim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely faded away. + +Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL--_continued_ + + +I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must +have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but +could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were +certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by +in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am +rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and +many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been +evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause or +another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one +thing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed +me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I +am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not +have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this +room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of +sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who +were--who _are_--waiting to suck my blood. + + * * * * * + +_18 May._--I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for +I _must_ know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the +stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the +jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt +of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. +I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise. + + * * * * * + +_19 May._--I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in +the suavest tones 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. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state +of things it would be madness to quarrel openly 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. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath +which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained +to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would +ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much +impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would +be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my +prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new +suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and asked +him what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, and +then said:-- + +“The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June +29.” + +I know now the span of my life. God help me! + + * * * * * + +_28 May._--There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to +send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are +encamped in the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes of +them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though +allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands +of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law. +They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or _boyar_, and +call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion, +save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the Romany +tongue. + +I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them +posted. I have already spoken them through my window to begin +acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and many +signs, which, however, I could not understand any more than I could +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 have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my window +with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. The +man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them +in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to +read. As the Count did not come in, I have written here.... + + * * * * * + +The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest +voice as he opened two letters:-- + +“The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they +come, I shall, of course, take care. See!”--he must have looked at +it--“one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other”--here +he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and +the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly--“the +other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is +not signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us.” And he calmly held letter +and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. Then he +went on:-- + +“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?” He held +out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean +envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When +he went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later +I went over and tried it, and the door was locked. + +When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his +coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very +courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been +sleeping, he said:-- + +“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, I pray.” I passed to my room and went to bed, +and, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. + + * * * * * + +_31 May._--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself +with some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, so +that I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a +surprise, again a shock! + +Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda, +relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that +might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and pondered +awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my +portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes. + +The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and +rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new +scheme of villainy.... + + * * * * * + +_17 June._--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed +cudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and pounding +and scraping of horses’ feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard. +With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great +leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of +each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty +sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I +ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through the +main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a +shock: my door was fastened on the outside. + +Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me +stupidly and pointed, but just then the “hetman” of the Szgany came out, +and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which they +laughed. Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised +entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. +The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick +rope; these were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks +handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. When +they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of the +yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting on +it for luck, lazily went each to his horse’s head. Shortly afterwards, I +heard the cracking of their whips die away in the distance. + + * * * * * + +_24 June, before morning._--Last night the Count left me early, and +locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the +winding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened south. I +thought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going on. +The Szgany 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 the end of some +ruthless villainy. + +I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw +something coming out of the Count’s window. I drew back and watched +carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to +find that he had 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 could be no doubt as to his quest, +and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that 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. + +It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up +here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which +is even a criminal’s right and consolation. + +I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and for a long time sat +doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some +quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were +like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in +clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense of +soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the +embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more +fully the aërial gambolling. + +Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far +below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to +ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to +the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to +awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling, +and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I +was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the +moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom +beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom +shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my +senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were +becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the +three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat +safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lamp +was burning brightly. + +When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the +Count’s room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and then +there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With a +beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and +could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried. + +As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without--the agonised cry of a +woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out between +the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her +hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning +against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she +threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:-- + +“Monster, give me my child!” + +She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same +words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her +breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant +emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I could not see +her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door. + +Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard 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. Before many minutes +had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, +through the wide entrance into the courtyard. + +There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but +short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips. + +I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and +she was better dead. + +What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful +thing of night and gloom and fear? + + * * * * * + +_25 June, morning._--No man knows till he has suffered from the night +how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the +sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great +gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me +as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as +if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must +take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last +night one of my post-dated letters went 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! + +It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or +threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen the +Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that +he may be awake whilst they sleep? 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 worst 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! + + * * * * * + +_Same day, later._--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 +around the building on this side. The stones are big and roughly cut, +and the mortar has 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 knew pretty +well the direction and distance of the Count’s window, and made for it +as well as I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did +not feel dizzy--I 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, and 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, sickly odour, the +odour of old earth newly turned. As I went 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 ground 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, 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 two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments +of old coffins and piles of dust; in the third, however, 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; 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. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried +to think.... + + * * * * * + +_29 June._--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. + +I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can +look as he said:-- + +“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; to-morrow I shall not be +here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the +Szgany, 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.” I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity. +Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in +connection with such a monster, so asked him point-blank:-- + +“Why may I not go to-night?” + +“Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission.” + +“But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.” He smiled, +such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick +behind his smoothness. He said:-- + +“And your baggage?” + +“I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.” + +The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my +eyes, it seemed so real:-- + +“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!” With a stately gravity, he, with the +lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he +stopped. + +“Hark!” + +Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if the +sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music of a great +orchestra seems to leap under the bâton of the conductor. After a pause +of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew back +the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it +open. + +To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. Suspiciously, I +looked all round, but could see no key of any kind. + +As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew louder +and angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed +feet as they leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew then that +to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such +allies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the door +continued slowly to open, and only the Count’s body stood in the gap. +Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my +doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There +was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and +as a last chance I cried out:-- + +“Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!” and covered my face with my +hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep of his +powerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged +and echoed through the hall as they shot back into their places. + +In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I went +to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand +to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that +Judas in hell might be proud of. + +When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard a +whispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my ears +deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:-- + +“Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have +patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!” There was a low, +sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw +without the three terrible women licking their lips. As I appeared they +all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away. + +I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so near +the end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I am +dear! + + * * * * * + +_30 June, morning._--These may be the last words I ever write in this +diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself +on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me +ready. + +At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the morning +had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I felt that I was safe. +With a glad heart, I opened my door and ran down to the hall. I had seen +that the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me. With hands +that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back the +massive bolts. + +But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and pulled, at +the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in its +casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left the +Count. + +Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I +determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count’s +room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of +evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled +down the wall, as before, into the Count’s room. It was empty, but that +was as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold +remained. I went through the door in the corner and down the winding +stair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well +enough where to find the monster I sought. + +The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lid +was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in their +places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, so +I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and then I saw +something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, +but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair +and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, +and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than +ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the +corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, +burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches +underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were +simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his +repletion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in +me revolted at the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost. The +coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those +horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the +key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile +on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I +was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come +he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and +create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the +helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me +to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, +but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the +cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the +hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full +upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to +paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, +merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my +hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade +caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid +thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face, +blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held its +own in the nethermost hell. + +I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain seemed +on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over me. As I +waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry voices coming +closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and the +cracking of whips; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had +spoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box which +contained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count’s +room, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened. +With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the +key in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There must +have been some other means of entry, or some one had a key for one of +the locked doors. Then there came the sound of many feet tramping and +dying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to +run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance; +but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the +door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from +the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was +hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing +round me more closely. + +As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feet +and the crash 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 withdraw: 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 Szgany 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 wall +farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with +me, lest I want it later. 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! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra._ + + +“_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 ringing. Good-bye. + +“Your loving + +“MINA. + +“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???” + + +_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 correspondent. 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 already +engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent _parti_, being handsome, 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? _I 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 this even to you. I am afraid to stop, +or I should tear up the letter, 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. + +“L.” + +_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 proverbs 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 women, 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 remembered 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, 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 at present, I feel so +miserable, though I am so happy. + +“_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 American from Texas, and +he looks so young 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 +beforehand 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 well +educated and has exquisite manners--but he found 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 am 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, 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 suppose 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.’ + +“My 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-hearted, true +gentleman. I burst into tears--I am afraid, 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 this 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. Morris’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 unselfish 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.’ 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 I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a man like +that be made unhappy 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 can be all happy. + +“Ever your loving + +“LUCY. + +“P.S.--Oh, about number Three--I needn’t tell you of number 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 goodness 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 May._--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 importance to be worth +the doing.... As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was +work, I went down amongst the patients. 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 Romæ 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, ætat 59.--Sanguine temperament; 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., is the fixed +point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of +accidents can balance it. + + +_Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._ + +“_25 May._ + +“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 in 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 drink 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 winning. 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, + +“QUINCEY P. MORRIS.” + + +_Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris._ + +“_26 May._ + +“Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your ears +tingle. + +“ART.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL + + +_24 July. Whitby._--Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and +lovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent in +which they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, the +Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near the +harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which the +view seems somehow further away than it really is. The valley is +beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high land +on either side you look right across it, unless you are near enough to +see down. The houses of the old town--the side away from us--are all +red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow, like the +pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby +Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of +“Marmion,” where the girl was built up in the wall. It is a most noble +ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there is +a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it and +the town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big +graveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to my mind the nicest spot in +Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the +harbour and all up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness +stretches out into the sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour that +part of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been +destroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches +out over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside +them, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long +looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come and +sit here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now, with my +book on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old men who are +sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit up here and +talk. + +The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wall +stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, in +the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs along outside +of it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely, +and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a +narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens. + +It is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away to +nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between +banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on this +side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge of +which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of +it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a +mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is +lost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this; he +is coming this way.... + +He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is all +gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is +nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing +fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical +person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady +at the abbey he said very brusquely:-- + +“I wouldn’t fash masel’ about them, miss. Them things be all wore out. +Mind, I don’t say that they never was, but I do say that they wasn’t in +my time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an’ the like, +but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks from York and +Leeds that be always eatin’ cured herrin’s an’ drinkin’ tea an’ lookin’ +out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel’ who’d be +bothered tellin’ lies to them--even the newspapers, which is full of +fool-talk.” I thought he would be a good person to learn interesting +things from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about +the whale-fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin +when the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said:-- + +“I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn’t like +to be kept waitin’ when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to +crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of ’em; an’, miss, I lack +belly-timber sairly by the clock.” + +He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, down +the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from +the town up to the church, there are hundreds of them--I do not know how +many--and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle that +a horse could easily walk up and down them. I think they must originally +have had something to do with the abbey. I shall go home too. Lucy went +out visiting with her mother, and as they were only duty calls, I did +not go. They will be home by this. + + * * * * * + +_1 August._--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most +interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come +and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should think +must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will not admit +anything, and downfaces everybody. If he can’t out-argue them he bullies +them, and then takes their silence for agreement with his views. Lucy +was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock; she has got a +beautiful colour since she has been here. I noticed that the old men did +not lose any time in coming up and sitting near her when we sat down. +She is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in love with her +on the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did not contradict her, but +gave me double share instead. I got him on the subject of the legends, +and he went off at once into a sort of sermon. I must try to remember it +and put it down:-- + +“It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that’s what it be, an’ +nowt else. These bans an’ wafts an’ boh-ghosts an’ barguests an’ bogles +an’ all anent them is only fit to set bairns an’ dizzy women +a-belderin’. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an’ all grims an’ signs +an’ warnin’s, be all invented by parsons an’ illsome beuk-bodies an’ +railway touters to skeer an’ scunner hafflin’s, an’ to get folks to do +somethin’ that they don’t other incline to. It makes me ireful to think +o’ them. Why, it’s them that, not content with printin’ lies on paper +an’ preachin’ them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin’ them on the +tombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will; all them +steans, holdin’ up their heads as well as they can out of their pride, +is acant--simply tumblin’ down with the weight o’ the lies wrote on +them, ‘Here lies the body’ or ‘Sacred to the memory’ wrote on all of +them, an’ yet in nigh half of them there bean’t no bodies at all; an’ +the memories of them bean’t cared a pinch of snuff about, much less +sacred. Lies all of them, nothin’ but lies of one kind or another! My +gog, but it’ll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when they +come tumblin’ up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an’ tryin’ to +drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was; some of them +trimmlin’ and ditherin’, with their hands that dozzened an’ slippy from +lyin’ in the sea that they can’t even keep their grup o’ them.” + +I could see from the old fellow’s self-satisfied air and the way in +which he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he was +“showing off,” so I put in a word to keep him going:-- + +“Oh, Mr. Swales, you can’t be serious. Surely these tombstones are not +all wrong?” + +“Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin’ where they make +out the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowl be +like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Now +look you here; you come here a stranger, an’ you see this kirk-garth.” I +nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite +understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church. +He went on: “And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that be +happed here, snod an’ snog?” I assented again. “Then that be just where +the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom as +old Dun’s ’bacca-box on Friday night.” He nudged one of his companions, +and they all laughed. “And my gog! how could they be otherwise? Look at +that one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank: read it!” I went over and +read:-- + +“Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast of +Andres, April, 1854, æt. 30.” When I came back Mr. Swales went on:-- + +“Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the coast +of Andres! an’ you consated his body lay under! Why, I could name ye a +dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above”--he pointed +northwards--“or where the currents may have drifted them. There be the +steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print of +the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey--I knew his father, lost in +the _Lively_ off Greenland in ’20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the +same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year +later; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned +in the Gulf of Finland in ’50. Do ye think that all these men will have +to make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums +aboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they’d be jommlin’ an’ +jostlin’ one another that way that it ’ud be like a fight up on the ice +in the old days, when we’d be at one another from daylight to dark, an’ +tryin’ to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis.” This was +evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and his +cronies joined in with gusto. + +“But,” I said, “surely you are not quite correct, for you start on the +assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have to +take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you think +that will be really necessary?” + +“Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!” + +“To please their relatives, I suppose.” + +“To please their relatives, you suppose!” This he said with intense +scorn. “How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wrote +over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?” He +pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, on +which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. “Read the +lies on that thruff-stean,” he said. The letters were upside down to me +from where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant over +and read:-- + +“Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a +glorious resurrection, on July, 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at +Kettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly +beloved son. ‘He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.’ +Really, Mr. Swales, I don’t see anything very funny in that!” She spoke +her comment very gravely and somewhat severely. + +“Ye don’t see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that’s because ye don’t gawm the +sorrowin’ mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was +acrewk’d--a regular lamiter he was--an’ he hated her so that he +committed suicide in order that she mightn’t get an insurance she put on +his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that +they had for scarin’ the crows with. ’Twarn’t for crows then, for it +brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That’s the way he fell off the +rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I’ve often heard him +say masel’ that he hoped he’d go to hell, for his mother was so pious +that she’d be sure to go to heaven, an’ he didn’t want to addle where +she was. Now isn’t that stean at any rate”--he hammered it with his +stick as he spoke--“a pack of lies? and won’t it make Gabriel keckle +when Geordie comes pantin’ up the grees with the tombstean balanced on +his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!” + +I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as she +said, rising up:-- + +“Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannot +leave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of a +suicide.” + +“That won’t harm ye, my pretty; an’ it may make poor Geordie gladsome to +have so trim a lass sittin’ on his lap. That won’t hurt ye. Why, I’ve +sat here off an’ on for nigh twenty years past, an’ it hasn’t done me +no harm. Don’t ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn’ lie +there either! It’ll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see the +tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field. +There’s the clock, an’ I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!” And off +he hobbled. + +Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that we +took hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur and +their coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for I +haven’t heard from Jonathan for a whole month. + + * * * * * + +_The same day._ I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no +letter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan. +The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over the +town, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly; +they run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To my +left the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house next +the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind +me, and there is a clatter of a donkey’s hoofs up the paved road below. +The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further +along the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street. +Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see them +both. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish he +were here. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_5 June._--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I get to +understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed; +selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the +object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, +but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love of +animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I +sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd +sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such a +quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, he +did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in +simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: “May I have +three days? I shall clear them away.” Of course, I said that would do. I +must watch him. + + * * * * * + +_18 June._--He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got several +very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and +the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he +has used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his +room. + + * * * * * + +_1 July._--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his +flies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked +very sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at all +events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the same time +as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when a +horrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, +he caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger +and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his +mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it +was very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life, and +gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must +watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deep problem +in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he is always +jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of +figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the +totals added in batches again, as though he were “focussing” some +account, as the auditors put it. + + * * * * * + +_8 July._--There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea in +my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh, +unconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to your +conscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so that I +might notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were except +that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. He has +managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. His means +of taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished. Those that +do remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in the flies by +tempting them with his food. + + * * * * * + +_19 July._--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of +sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I came +in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour--a very, +very great favour; and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I asked +him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice and +bearing:-- + +“A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, +and teach, and feed--and feed--and feed!” I was not unprepared for this +request, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and +vivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows +should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders; so +I said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have a +cat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered:-- + +“Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should +refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?” I shook +my head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, but +that I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning of +danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meant +killing. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test him +with his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall know +more. + + * * * * * + +_10 p. m._--I have visited him again and found him sitting in a corner +brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before me and +implored me to let him have a cat; that his salvation depended upon it. +I was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it, whereupon +he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the corner +where I had found him. I shall see him in the morning early. + + * * * * * + +_20 July._--Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant went his +rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his sugar, +which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning his +fly-catching again; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. I +looked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him where they +were. He replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away. +There were a few feathers about the room and on his pillow a drop of +blood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me if +there were anything odd about him during the day. + + * * * * * + +_11 a. m._--The attendant has just been to me to say that Renfield has +been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. “My belief is, +doctor,” he said, “that he has eaten his birds, and that he just took +and ate them raw!” + + * * * * * + +_11 p. m._--I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to make +even him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it. The thought +that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and the theory +proved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to +invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoöphagous +(life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as he +can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. He +gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then +wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his later +steps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It +might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered at +vivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why not advance science +in its most difficult and vital aspect--the knowledge of the brain? Had +I even the secret of one such mind--did I hold the key to the fancy of +even one lunatic--I might advance my own branch of science to a pitch +compared with which Burdon-Sanderson’s physiology or Ferrier’s +brain-knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient +cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a good +cause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an +exceptional brain, congenitally? + +How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own scope. I +wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He has +closed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new record. How +many of us begin a new record with each day of our lives? + +To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope, +and that truly I began a new record. So it will be until the Great +Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to +profit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be +angry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only wait on +hopeless and work. Work! work! + +If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there--a +good, unselfish cause to make me work--that would be indeed happiness. + + +_Mina Murray’s Journal._ + +_26 July._--I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here; it +is like whispering to one’s self and listening at the same time. And +there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes it +different from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I +had not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned; but +yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from +him. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said the enclosed +had just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, +and says that he is just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan; +I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy, +although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking in +her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decided +that I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra has +got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and +along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over +with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place. Poor dear, she is +naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy’s +father, had the same habit; that he would get up in the night and dress +himself and go out, if he were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in the +autumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is +to be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan +and I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try to +make both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood--he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only +son of Lord Godalming--is coming up here very shortly--as soon as he can +leave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is +counting the moments till he comes. She wants to take him up to the seat +on the churchyard cliff and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it +is the waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when he +arrives. + + * * * * * + +_27 July._--No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him, +though why I should I do not know; but I do wish that he would write, if +it were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I +am awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so +hot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety and the perpetually +being wakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and +wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy’s health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has been +suddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriously +ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch +her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely +rose-pink. She has lost that anæmic look which she had. I pray it will +all last. + + * * * * * + +_3 August._--Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan, not even to +Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill. He +surely would have written. I look at that last letter of his, but +somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it is +his writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked much in +her sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about her +which I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watching +me. She tries the door, and finding it locked, goes about the room +searching for the key. + +_6 August._--Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting +dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should +feel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last +letter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable +than ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and +the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and +learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write is +hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey--except +the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock; +grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the +grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers. The sea +is tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a roar, +muffled in the sea-mists drifting inland. The horizon is lost in a grey +mist. All is vastness; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and +there is a “brool” over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom. +Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shrouded in +the mist, and seem “men like trees walking.” The fishing-boats are +racing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep into +the harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is +making straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that +he wants to talk.... + +I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he sat +down beside me, he said in a very gentle way:-- + +“I want to say something to you, miss.” I could see he was not at ease, +so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak +fully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:-- + +“I’m afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked +things I’ve been sayin’ about the dead, and such like, for weeks past; +but I didn’t mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I’m gone. We +aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don’t +altogether like to think of it, and we don’t want to feel scart of it; +an’ that’s why I’ve took to makin’ light of it, so that I’d cheer up my +own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain’t afraid of dyin’, not a +bit; only I don’t want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at +hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to +expect; and I’m so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin’ his +scythe. Ye see, I can’t get out o’ the habit of caffin’ about it all at +once; the chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of +Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don’t ye dooal an’ greet, my +deary!”--for he saw that I was crying--“if he should come this very +night I’d not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a +waitin’ for somethin’ else than what we’re doin’; and death be all that +we can rightly depend on. But I’m content, for it’s comin’ to me, my +deary, and comin’ quick. It may be comin’ while we be lookin’ and +wonderin’. Maybe it’s in that wind out over the sea that’s bringin’ with +it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!” he +cried suddenly. “There’s something in that wind and in the hoast beyont +that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It’s in the +air; I feel it comin’. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my call +comes!” He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth +moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes’ silence, he got +up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled +off. It all touched me, and upset me very much. + +I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his +arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time +kept looking at a strange ship. + +“I can’t make her out,” he said; “she’s a Russian, by the look of her; +but she’s knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn’t know her mind +a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can’t decide whether to +run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is +steered mighty strangely, for she doesn’t mind the hand on the wheel; +changes about with every puff of wind. We’ll hear more of her before +this time to-morrow.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CUTTING FROM “THE DAILYGRAPH,” 8 AUGUST + + +(_Pasted in Mina Murray’s Journal._) + +From a Correspondent. + +_Whitby_. + +One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been +experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had +been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of +August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great +body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, +Robin Hood’s Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in +the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_ made +trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of +“tripping” both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the +afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff +churchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of +sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of +“mares’-tails” high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was then +blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical +language is ranked “No. 2: light breeze.” The coastguard on duty at once +made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has +kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic +manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very +beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, that +there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old +churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black +mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its +downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour--flame, +purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here and +there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all +sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The +experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the +sketches of the “Prelude to the Great Storm” will grace the R. A. and R. +I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then and +there that his “cobble” or his “mule,” as they term the different +classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. +The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there +was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on +the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. There +were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, +which usually “hug” the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but +few fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign +schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The +foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for +comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal +her to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down she +was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating +swell of the sea, + + “As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.” + +Shortly before ten o’clock the stillness of the air grew quite +oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep +inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the +band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in the +great harmony of nature’s silence. A little after midnight came a +strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to +carry a strange, faint, hollow booming. + +Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the +time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize, +the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in +growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a very few minutes +the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. +White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the +shelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept +the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier +of Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such +force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, +or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary +to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else the +fatalities of the night would have been increased manifold. To add to +the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came +drifting inland--white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, +so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of +imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were +touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many +a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist +cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the +lightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals +of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock +of the footsteps of the storm. + +Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of +absorbing interest--the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with +each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to +snatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat, with +a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now and again +the white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the East +Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been +tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in +the pauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. +Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat, +with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance +of the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the +piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of +joy from the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed +to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush. + +Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner +with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed +earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east, +and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they +realized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and the +port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time +to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, +it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the +harbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so +great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost +visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such +speed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up somewhere, +if it was only in hell.” Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than +any hitherto--a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things +like a grey pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, +for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the +booming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder +than before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour +mouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited +breathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant +of the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, _mirabile dictu_, between +the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, +swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and +gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a +shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a +corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each +motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A great +awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had +found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However, +all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. The +schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on +that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many +storms into the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the East +Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier. + +There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on +the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the +“top-hammer” came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant +the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as +if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow +on the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard +hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat +tombstones--“thruff-steans” or “through-stones,” as they call them in +the Whitby vernacular--actually project over where the sustaining cliff +has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed +intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight. + +It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, as +all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or were +out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern +side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the +first to climb on board. The men working the searchlight, after scouring +the entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the +light on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and +when he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at +once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general +curiosity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a good way +round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your +correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. +When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, +whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the +courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted +to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman +whilst actually lashed to the wheel. + +It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for +not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastened +by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between +the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it +was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by +the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but +the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of +the wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he +was tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of the +state of things, and a doctor--Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot +Place--who came immediately after me, declared, after making +examination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In his +pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of +paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard said +the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his +teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some +complications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannot +claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a +derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young +law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already +completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the +statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of +delegated possession, is held in a _dead hand_. It is needless to say +that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where +he held his honourable watch and ward till death--a steadfastness as +noble as that of the young Casabianca--and placed in the mortuary to +await inquest. + +Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating; +crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is beginning to redden over +the Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, further +details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into +harbour in the storm. + +_Whitby_ + +_9 August._--The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in the +storm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself. It +turns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and is called the +_Demeter_. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a +small amount of cargo--a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould. +This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of +7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and formally took +possession of the goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too, +acting for the charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and +paid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day except +the strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have been +most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with +existing regulations. As the matter is to be a “nine days’ wonder,” they +are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of after +complaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which +landed when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of the +S. P. C. A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend the +animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be found; +it seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that it +was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is still +hiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such a +possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for it +is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred +mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found +dead in the roadway opposite to its master’s yard. It had been fighting, +and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away, +and its belly was slit open as if with a savage claw. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have been +permitted to look over the log-book of the _Demeter_, which was in order +up to within three days, but contained nothing of special interest +except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest, however, is +with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day produced +at the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two between them +unfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is no motive for +concealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a +rescript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship and +supercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized with +some kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that +this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course my +statement must be taken _cum grano_, since I am writing from the +dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated for +me, time being short. + + LOG OF THE “DEMETER.” + + +_Varna to Whitby._ + +_Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep +accurate note henceforth till we land._ + + * * * * * + +On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth. +At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands ... two mates, +cook, and myself (captain). + + * * * * * + +On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs +officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m. + + * * * * * + +On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of +guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, but +quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago. + + * * * * * + +On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. +Seemed scared, but would not speak out. + + * * * * * + +On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, who +sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong; they only +told him there was _something_, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper +with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but +all was quiet. + + * * * * * + +On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky, was +missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells last +night; was relieved by Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more +downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but +would not say more than there was _something_ aboard. Mate getting very +impatient with them; feared some trouble ahead. + + * * * * * + +On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in +an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange man +aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering +behind the deck-house, as there was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall, +thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companion-way, +and go along the deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously, +but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. +He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may +spread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully from +stem to stern. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they +evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from +stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to such +foolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keep +them out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while the +rest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we left +no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there +were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when +search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but +said nothing. + + * * * * * + +_22 July_.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with +sails--no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. +Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad +weather. Passed Gibralter and out through Straits. All well. + + * * * * * + +_24 July_.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short, +and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last +night another man lost--disappeared. Like the first, he came off his +watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a round +robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate +angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do +some violence. + + * * * * * + +_28 July_.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, +and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly +know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate +volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours’ sleep. +Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is +steadier. + + * * * * * + +_29 July_.--Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew too +tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one +except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search, +but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate +and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause. + + * * * * * + +_30 July_.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine, +all sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate telling +me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and +two hands left to work ship. + + * * * * * + +_1 August_.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in +the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere. +Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower, +as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible +doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature +seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, +working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are +Russian, he Roumanian. + + * * * * * + +_2 August, midnight_.--Woke up from few minutes’ sleep by hearing a cry, +seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and +ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on +watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits +of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as +he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and +only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God +seems to have deserted us. + + * * * * * + +_3 August_.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, and +when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran +before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the +mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He +looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given +way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my +ear, as though fearing the very air might hear: “_It_ is here; I know +it, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, +and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind +It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the +air.” And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into +space. Then he went on: “But It is here, and I’ll find It. It is in the +hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I’ll unscrew them one by one and +see. You work the helm.” And, with a warning look and his finger on his +lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could +not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chest +and a lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, +raving mad, and it’s no use my trying to stop him. He can’t hurt those +big boxes: they are invoiced as “clay,” and to pull them about is as +harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and +write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. +Then, if I can’t steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut +down sails and lie by, and signal for help.... + + * * * * * + +It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate +would come out calmer--for I heard him knocking away at something in the +hold, and work is good for him--there came up the hatchway a sudden, +startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he +came as if shot from a gun--a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and +his face convulsed with fear. “Save me! save me!” he cried, and then +looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in +a steady voice he said: “You had better come too, captain, before it is +too late. _He_ is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me +from Him, and it is all that is left!” Before I could say a word, or +move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately +threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was +this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has +followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these +horrors when I get to port? _When_ I get to port! Will that ever be? + + * * * * * + +_4 August._--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there is +sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go +below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in +the dimness of the night I saw It--Him! God forgive me, but the mate was +right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like a +sailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not +leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie +my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with +them I shall tie that which He--It!--dare not touch; and then, come good +wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am +growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the +face again, I may not have time to act.... If we are wrecked, mayhap +this bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand; if not, +... well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God +and the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying +to do his duty.... + + * * * * * + +Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce; +and whether or not the man himself committed the murders there is now +none to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is +simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it is +arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Esk +for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey +steps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners +of more than a hundred boats have already given in their names as +wishing to follow him to the grave. + +No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is much +mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, I +believe, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see the funeral; and so +will end this one more “mystery of the sea.” + + +_Mina Murray’s Journal._ + +_8 August._--Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not +sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the +chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to be +like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up +twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and +managed to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It +is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is +thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any, +disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her +life. + +Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see +if anything had happened in the night. There were very few people about, +and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big, +grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam that +topped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouth +of the harbour--like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow I +felt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, +oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfully +anxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything! + + * * * * * + +_10 August._--The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was most +touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffin +was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the +churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst +the cortège of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down +again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way. +The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat so that we stood on +it when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset. +She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that +her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing: +she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if +there be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additional +cause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on our +seat, his neck being broken. He had evidently, as the doctor said, +fallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look of +fear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poor +dear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so +sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other +people do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did +not much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the men +who came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog. +The dog is always with him. They are both quiet persons, and I never saw +the man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would +not come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few +yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then +harshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a +noise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs +bristling out like a cat’s tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally +the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and then +took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it on +the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched the +stone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It did +not try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was +in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect, +to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to +touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly +fear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the world +without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The +whole agglomeration of things--the ship steered into port by a dead +man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the +touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror--will all +afford material for her dreams. + +I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so I +shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood’s Bay and +back. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL + + +_Same day, 11 o’clock p. m._--Oh, but I am tired! If it were not that I +had made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night. We had a lovely +walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing, I think, to some +dear cows who came nosing towards us in a field close to the lighthouse, +and frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot everything +except, of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe the slate clean +and give us a fresh start. We had a capital “severe tea” at Robin Hood’s +Bay in a sweet little old-fashioned inn, with a bow-window right over +the seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. I believe we should have +shocked the “New Woman” with our appetites. Men are more tolerant, bless +them! Then we walked home with some, or rather many, stoppages to rest, +and with our hearts full of a constant dread of wild bulls. Lucy was +really tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as soon as we could. +The young curate came in, however, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay +for supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I +know it was a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that +some day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a new +class of curates, who don’t take supper, no matter how they may be +pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy is asleep and +breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and +looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her seeing her +only in the drawing-room, I wonder what he would say if he saw her now. +Some of the “New Women” writers will some day start an idea that men and +women should be allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or +accepting. But I suppose the New Woman won’t condescend in future to +accept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will make +of it, too! There’s some consolation in that. I am so happy to-night, +because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned the +corner, and that we are over her troubles with dreaming. I should be +quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan.... God bless and keep him. + + * * * * * + +_11 August, 3 a. m._--Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write. +I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an +agonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary.... +Suddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear +upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark, +so I could not see Lucy’s bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bed +was empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The +door was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her +mother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some +clothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room it +struck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue to her +dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house; dress, outside. +Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places. “Thank God,” I said +to myself, “she cannot be far, as she is only in her nightdress.” I ran +downstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in +all the other open rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear +chilling my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It +was not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The people +of the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that +Lucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what +might happen; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details. I took a +big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in the +Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along the North +Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. At +the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to +the East Cliff, in the hope or fear--I don’t know which--of seeing Lucy +in our favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black, +driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of +light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see +nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary’s Church and all +around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey +coming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as +a sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually +visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for +there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a +half-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too +quick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost +immediately; but it seemed to me as though something dark stood behind +the seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, +whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another +glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the +fish-market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East +Cliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see; I rejoiced +that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The +time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath +came laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have +gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with +lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I got almost +to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now +close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. There +was undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the +half-reclining white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! Lucy!” and +something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face +and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the +entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and +the seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in +view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly +that I could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the back +of the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living +thing about. + +When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her lips +were parted, and she was breathing--not softly as usual with her, but in +long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at every +breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the +collar of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst she did so +there came a little shudder through her, as though she felt the cold. I +flung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges tight round her neck, +for I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air, +unclad as she was. I feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to +have my hands free that I might help her, I fastened the shawl at her +throat with a big safety-pin; but I must have been clumsy in my anxiety +and pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathing +became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moaned. When I +had her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet and then began +very gently to wake her. At first she did not respond; but gradually she +became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing +occasionally. At last, as time was passing fast, and, for many other +reasons, I wished to get her home at once, I shook her more forcibly, +till finally she opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised +to see me, as, of course, she did not realise all at once where she was. +Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body must +have been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat appalled at waking +unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She +trembled a little, and clung to me; when I told her to come at once with +me home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we +passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me wince. She +stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes; but I would not. +However, when we got to the pathway outside the churchyard, where there +was a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with +mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, no +one, in case we should meet any one, should notice my bare feet. + +Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul. Once we saw +a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front of +us; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as +there are here, steep little closes, or “wynds,” as they call them in +Scotland. My heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought I +should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for her +health, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation +in case the story should get wind. When we got in, and had washed our +feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into +bed. Before falling asleep she asked--even implored--me not to say a +word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. I +hesitated at first to promise; but on thinking of the state of her +mother’s health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret her, +and thinking, too, of how such a story might become distorted--nay, +infallibly would--in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do +so. I hope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to +my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping +soundly; the reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea.... + + * * * * * + +_Same day, noon._--All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and seemed +not to have even changed her side. The adventure of the night does not +seem to have harmed her; on the contrary, it has benefited her, for she +looks better this morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry to +notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might +have been serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. I must have +pinched up a piece of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there are +two little red points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress +was a drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she +laughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it +cannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny. + + * * * * * + +_Same day, night._--We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and the +sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to Mulgrave +Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I walking by the +cliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, for +I could not but feel how _absolutely_ happy it would have been had +Jonathan been with me. But there! I must only be patient. In the evening +we strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohr +and Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she +has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door +and secure the key the same as before, though I do not expect any +trouble to-night. + + * * * * * + +_12 August._--My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I +was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in her sleep, to +be a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went back to bed +under a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard the birds +chirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was glad to see, +was even better than on the previous morning. All her old gaiety of +manner seemed to have come back, and she came and snuggled in beside me +and told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was about +Jonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she succeeded +somewhat, for, though sympathy can’t alter facts, it can help to make +them more bearable. + + * * * * * + +_13 August._--Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my wrist as +before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in bed, +still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and pulling +aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the soft +effect of the light over the sea and sky--merged together in one great, +silent mystery--was beautiful beyond words. Between me and the moonlight +flitted a great bat, coming and going in great whirling circles. Once or +twice it came quite close, but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me, +and flitted away across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back +from the window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. +She did not stir again all night. + + * * * * * + +_14 August._--On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems +to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to +get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or +dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home for +dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and +stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun, low +down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness; the red light was +thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe +everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and +suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself:-- + +“His red eyes again! They are just the same.” It was such an odd +expression, coming _apropos_ of nothing, that it quite startled me. I +slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare +at her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look on +her face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing, but +followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat, +whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little startled myself, +for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes like +burning flames; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red +sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church behind our +seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the +refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I +called Lucy’s attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself +with a start, but she looked sad all the same; it may have been that she +was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it; so I +said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went +early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself; +I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet +sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home--it was then +bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the +Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen--I threw a glance +up at our window, and saw Lucy’s head leaning out. I thought that +perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief and +waved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just then, +the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the light fell +on the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up against +the side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and +by her, seated on the window-sill, was something that looked like a +good-sized bird. I was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs, +but as I came into the room she was moving back to her bed, fast +asleep, and breathing heavily; she was holding her hand to her throat, +as though to protect it from cold. + +I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly; I have taken care that the +door is locked and the window securely fastened. + +She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than is her wont, and +there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like. I +fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it +is. + + * * * * * + +_15 August._--Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, and +slept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at breakfast. +Arthur’s father is better, and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucy +is full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later on +in the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy as her +very own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have some one to +protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She confided to me that she has got +her death-warrant. She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy; +her doctor told her that within a few months, at most, she must die, for +her heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would be +almost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair of +the dreadful night of Lucy’s sleep-walking. + + * * * * * + +_17 August._--No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to +write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our happiness. +No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst her +mother’s hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy’s +fading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys +the fresh air; but all the time the roses in her cheeks are fading, and +she gets weaker and more languid day by day; at night I hear her gasping +as if for air. I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at +night, but she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open +window. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I +tried to wake her I could not; she was in a faint. When I managed to +restore her she was as weak as water, and cried silently between long, +painful struggles for breath. When I asked her how she came to be at the +window she shook her head and turned away. I trust her feeling ill may +not be from that unlucky prick of the safety-pin. I looked at her throat +just now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds seem not to have healed. +They are still open, and, if anything, larger than before, and the +edges of them are faintly white. They are like little white dots with +red centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on the +doctor seeing about them. + + +_Letter, Samuel F. Billington & Son, Solicitors, Whitby, to Messrs. +Carter, Paterson & Co., London._ + +“_17 August._ + +“Dear Sirs,-- + +“Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great Northern +Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet, immediately +on receipt at goods station King’s Cross. The house is at present empty, +but enclosed please find keys, all of which are labelled. + +“You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form the +consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the house +and marked ‘A’ on rough diagram enclosed. Your agent will easily +recognise the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. The +goods leave by the train at 9:30 to-night, and will be due at King’s +Cross at 4:30 to-morrow afternoon. As our client wishes the delivery +made as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by your having teams ready +at King’s Cross at the time named and forthwith conveying the goods to +destination. In order to obviate any delays possible through any routine +requirements as to payment in your departments, we enclose cheque +herewith for ten pounds (£10), receipt of which please acknowledge. +Should the charge be less than this amount, you can return balance; if +greater, we shall at once send cheque for difference on hearing from +you. You are to leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the +house, where the proprietor may get them on his entering the house by +means of his duplicate key. + +“Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business courtesy in +pressing you in all ways to use the utmost expedition. + +_“We are, dear Sirs, + +“Faithfully yours, + +“SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON.”_ + + +_Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to Messrs. Billington & +Son, Whitby._ + +“_21 August._ + +“Dear Sirs,-- + +“We beg to acknowledge £10 received and to return cheque £1 17s. 9d, +amount of overplus, as shown in receipted account herewith. Goods are +delivered in exact accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcel +in main hall, as directed. + +“We are, dear Sirs, + +“Yours respectfully. + +“_Pro_ CARTER, PATERSON & CO.” + + +_Mina Murray’s Journal._ + +_18 August._--I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the seat in the +churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well all +night, and did not disturb me once. The roses seem coming back already +to her cheeks, though she is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If she +were in any way anæmic I could understand it, but she is not. She is in +gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence +seems to have passed from her, and she has just reminded me, as if I +needed any reminding, of _that_ night, and that it was here, on this +very seat, I found her asleep. As she told me she tapped playfully with +the heel of her boot on the stone slab and said:-- + +“My poor little feet didn’t make much noise then! I daresay poor old Mr. +Swales would have told me that it was because I didn’t want to wake up +Geordie.” As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she +had dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that sweet, puckered +look came into her forehead, which Arthur--I call him Arthur from her +habit--says he loves; and, indeed, I don’t wonder that he does. Then she +went on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to +herself:-- + +“I didn’t quite dream; but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted to be +here in this spot--I don’t know why, for I was afraid of something--I +don’t know what. I remember, though I suppose I was asleep, passing +through the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, and +I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling--the +whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once--as +I went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long and +dark with red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something very +sweet and very bitter all around me at once; and then I seemed sinking +into deep green water, and there was a singing in my ears, as I have +heard there is to drowning men; and then everything seemed passing away +from me; my soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air. +I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me, +and then there was a sort of agonising feeling, as if I were in an +earthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you do +it before I felt you.” + +Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I +listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought it +better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to other +subjects, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home the +fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more +rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a very +happy evening together. + + * * * * * + +_19 August._--Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, news of +Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why he did not write. I +am not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. Mr. Hawkins sent +me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh, so kindly. I am to leave in the +morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary, +and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a bad thing if +we were to be married out there. I have cried over the good Sister’s +letter till I can feel it wet against my bosom, where it lies. It is of +Jonathan, and must be next my heart, for he is _in_ my heart. My journey +is all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I am only taking one change of +dress; Lucy will bring my trunk to London and keep it till I send for +it, for it may be that ... I must write no more; I must keep it to say +to Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and touched must +comfort me till we meet. + + +_Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, +Buda-Pesth, to Miss Wilhelmina Murray._ + +“_12 August._ + +“Dear Madam,-- + +“I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong +enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Joseph +and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks, +suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love, +and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins, +Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry for his +delay, and that all of his work is completed. He will require some few +weeks’ rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He +wishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him, and that he +would like to pay for his staying here, so that others who need shall +not be wanting for help. + +“Believe me, + +“Yours, with sympathy and all blessings, + +“SISTER AGATHA. + +“P. S.--My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know something +more. He has told me all about you, and that you are shortly to be his +wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful shock--so says +our doctor--and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful; of +wolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say of +what. Be careful with him always that there may be nothing to excite him +of this kind for a long time to come; the traces of such an illness as +his do not lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but we +knew nothing of his friends, and there was on him nothing that any one +could understand. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard +was told by the station-master there that he rushed into the station +shouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour that +he was English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the +way thither that the train reached. + +“Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by his +sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I have no +doubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of him for +safety’s sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many, +many, happy years for you both.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_19 August._--Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. About +eight o’clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does when +setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my interest +in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the +attendant and at times servile; but to-night, the man tells me, he was +quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all. All he +would say was:-- + + “I don’t want to talk to you: you don’t count now; the Master is at + hand.” + +The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which has +seized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong man with +homicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. The +combination is a dreadful one. At nine o’clock I visited him myself. His +attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant; in his sublime +self-feeling the difference between myself and attendant seemed to him +as nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that +he himself is God. These infinitesimal distinctions between man and man +are too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves +away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but the God created +from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, +if men only knew! + +For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater and +greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept strict +observation all the same. All at once that shifty look came into his +eyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea, and with it +the shifty movement of the head and back which asylum attendants come to +know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and sat on the edge of his +bed resignedly, and looked into space with lack-lustre eyes. I thought I +would find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and tried to +lead him to talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed to excite +his attention. At first he made no reply, but at length said testily:-- + +“Bother them all! I don’t care a pin about them.” + +“What?” I said. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t care about +spiders?” (Spiders at present are his hobby and the note-book is filling +up with columns of small figures.) To this he answered enigmatically:-- + +“The bride-maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride; +but when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes +that are filled.” + +He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his bed +all the time I remained with him. + +I am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, and +how different things might have been. If I don’t sleep at once, chloral, +the modern Morpheus--C_{2}HCl_{3}O. H_{2}O! I must be careful not to let +it grow into a habit. No, I shall take none to-night! I have thought of +Lucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need be, +to-night shall be sleepless.... + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Glad I made the resolution; gladder that I kept to it. I had +lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when the +night-watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that Renfield +had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once; my patient is +too dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his might +work out dangerously with strangers. The attendant was waiting for me. +He said he had seen him not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in his +bed, when he had looked through the observation-trap in the door. His +attention was called by the sound of the window being wrenched out. He +ran back and saw his feet disappear through the window, and had at once +sent up for me. He was only in his night-gear, and cannot be far off. +The attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where he should +go than to follow him, as he might lose sight of him whilst getting out +of the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn’t get through +the window. I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost, +and, as we were only a few feet above ground, landed unhurt. The +attendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had taken a +straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got through the belt +of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates our +grounds from those of the deserted house. + +I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men +immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our friend +might be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the wall, +dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield’s figure just +disappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On the +far side of the house I found him pressed close against the old +ironbound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, apparently to some +one, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what he was saying, lest +I might frighten him, and he should run off. Chasing an errant swarm of +bees is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when the fit of escaping +is upon him! After a few minutes, however, I could see that he did not +take note of anything around him, and so ventured to draw nearer to +him--the more so as my men had now crossed the wall and were closing him +in. I heard him say:-- + +“I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You will +reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and afar +off. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will not pass +me by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?” + +He _is_ a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and fishes +even when he believes he is in a Real Presence. His manias make a +startling combination. When we closed in on him he fought like a tiger. +He is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast than a man. I +never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before; and I hope I +shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his strength and +his danger in good time. With strength and determination like his, he +might have done wild work before he was caged. He is safe now at any +rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn’t get free from the strait-waistcoat +that keeps him restrained, and he’s chained to the wall in the padded +room. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are +more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement. + +Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time:-- + +“I shall be patient, Master. It is coming--coming--coming!” + +So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep, but this +diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep to-night. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._ + +“_Buda-Pesth, 24 August._ + +“My dearest Lucy,-- + +“I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we +parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hull +all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I +feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I +knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some +nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one, +oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out +of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his +face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not +remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At +least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had some +terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try +to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse, +tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I +wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself, +and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the +secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear +them, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the +next day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again, +and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved +about, added: ‘I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about +anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be, +have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes +to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can +treat of.’ I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my +poor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of +_my_ being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I +felt a thrill of joy through me when I _knew_ that no other woman was a +cause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his +face while he sleeps. He is waking!... + +“When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get something +from the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all his things. +I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him to +let me look at it--for I knew then that I might find some clue to his +trouble--but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sent +me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment. +Then he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over the +note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:-- + +“‘Wilhelmina’--I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has +never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him--‘you know, +dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no +secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to +think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it +was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain +fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to +know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.’ For, my +dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities are +complete. ‘Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is +the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me +know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to +the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.’ He fell +back exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. I +have asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this +afternoon, and am waiting her reply.... + + * * * * * + +“She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission +church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soon +after as Jonathan awakes.... + + * * * * * + +“Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, very +happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and he +sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his ‘I will’ firmly +and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even those +words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, I +shall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities +I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the +chaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, it +is the first time I have written the words ‘my husband’--left me alone +with my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it +up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon +which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, +and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it +to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would +be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each +other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake +or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh, +Lucy, it was the first time he took _his wife’s_ hand, and said that it +was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go +through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to +have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I +shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the +year. + +“Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was the +happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him +except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love +and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me, +and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemn +pledge between us.... + +“Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because +it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to +me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from +the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now, +and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that +in your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear, +please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of +sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must +not wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be +_always_ as happy as I am _now_. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at +once, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan +is waking--I must attend to my husband! + +“Your ever-loving + +“MINA HARKER.” + + +_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker._ + +“_Whitby, 30 August._ + +“My dearest Mina,-- + +“Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your own +home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough to +stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it has +quite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of +life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given +up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a +week, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting +fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such +walks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing +together; and I love him more than ever. He _tells_ me that he loves me +more, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn’t love me +more than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. +So no more just at present from your loving + +“LUCY. + +“P. S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. +“P. P. S.--We are to be married on 28 September.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_20 August._--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has +now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion. +For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one +night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to +himself: “Now I can wait; now I can wait.” The attendant came to tell +me, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the +strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone +from his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading--I might +almost say, “cringing”--softness. I was satisfied with his present +condition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, +but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strange +thing that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for, +coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while looking +furtively at them:-- + +“They think I could hurt you! Fancy _me_ hurting _you_! The fools!” + +It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated +even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same I +do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in +common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or has +he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needful +to him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not speak. Even the +offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. He will +only say: “I don’t take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now, +and I can wait; I can wait.” + +After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet +until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at +length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted +him so that he swooned into a sort of coma. + + * * * * * + +... Three nights has the same thing happened--violent all day then quiet +from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. It +would almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went. +Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. He +escaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape with it. We +shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case they +are required.... + + * * * * * + +_23 August._--“The unexpected always happens.” How well Disraeli knew +life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our +subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one +thing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in +future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have given +orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room, +when once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise. The poor soul’s +body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! +The unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more escaped. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the +attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past him +and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow. +Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found him +in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw me +he became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, he +would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange thing +happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew +calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caught +the patient’s eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it looked +into the moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and +ghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this one +seemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had +some intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, and +presently said:-- + +“You needn’t tie me; I shall go quietly!” Without trouble we came back +to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and shall +not forget this night.... + + +_Lucy Westenra’s Diary_ + +_Hillingham, 24 August._--I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things +down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it will +be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I +seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the +change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, +for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel so +weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved +when he saw me, and I hadn’t the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder +if I could sleep in mother’s room to-night. I shall make an excuse and +try. + + * * * * * + +_25 August._--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my +proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to +worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when the +clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling +asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but I +did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must then have +fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. This +morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains +me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don’t seem ever to +get air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I +know he will be miserable to see me so. + + +_Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward._ + +“_Albemarle Hotel, 31 August._ + +“My dear Jack,-- + +“I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has no special +disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I have +asked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask her mother, for to +disturb the poor lady’s mind about her daughter in her present state of +health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom is +spoken--disease of the heart--though poor Lucy does not know it yet. I +am sure that there is something preying on my dear girl’s mind. I am +almost distracted when I think of her; to look at her gives me a pang. I +told her I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred at +first--I know why, old fellow--she finally consented. It will be a +painful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for _her_ sake, and +I must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at +Hillingham to-morrow, two o’clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in +Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of being +alone with you. I shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; I +am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I +can after you have seen her. Do not fail! + +“ARTHUR.” + + +_Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward._ + +“_1 September._ + +“Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully +by to-night’s post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.” + + +_Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood._ + +“_2 September._ + +“My dear old fellow,-- + +“With regard to Miss Westenra’s health I hasten to let you know at once +that in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any malady +that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means satisfied with +her appearance; she is woefully different from what she was when I saw +her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have full +opportunity of examination such as I should wish; our very friendship +makes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom can +bridge over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to +draw, in a measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I have +done and propose doing. + +“I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present, +and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying all she knew +to mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have no +doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is. +We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful, we +got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulness +amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left with +me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained, +for the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door was closed, +however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chair +with a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her +high spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction to +make a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:-- + +“‘I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.’ I reminded her +that a doctor’s confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously +anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that +matter in a word. ‘Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for +myself, but all for him!’ So I am quite free. + +“I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not see +the usual anæmic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test the +quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cord +gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was a +slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secured +a few drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitative +analysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should infer, in +itself a vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I was quite +satisfied that there is no need for anxiety; but as there must be a +cause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must be something +mental. She complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at +times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but +regarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she +used to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, +and that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where +Miss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has not +returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of; I +have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of +Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the +world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all things +were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your +relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience to +your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can for +her. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal +reason, so, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his +wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is because he knows +what he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopher +and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day; +and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron +nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution, +self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the +kindliest and truest heart that beats--these form his equipment for the +noble work that he is doing for mankind--work both in theory and +practice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. I +tell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence in +him. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenra +to-morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may not +alarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call. + +“Yours always, + +“JOHN SEWARD.” + + +_Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc., to Dr. +Seward._ + +“_2 September._ + +“My good Friend,-- + +“When I have received your letter I am already coming to you. By good +fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who have +trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who have +trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holds +dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so +swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our other +friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants my +aids and you call for them than all his great fortune could do. But it +is pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is to you that I come. +Have then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I may be near +to hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not too +late on to-morrow, for it is likely that I may have to return here that +night. But if need be I shall come again in three days, and stay longer +if it must. Till then good-bye, my friend John. + + “VAN HELSING.” + + +_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._ + +“_3 September._ + +“My dear Art,-- + +“Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham, and +found that, by Lucy’s discretion, her mother was lunching out, so that +we were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful examination of +the patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of +course I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned, +but says he must think. When I told him of our friendship and how you +trust to me in the matter, he said: ‘You must tell him all you think. +Tell him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am not +jesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.’ I asked +what he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when we had +come back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before starting on his +return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any further clue. You must not +be angry with me, Art, because his very reticence means that all his +brains are working for her good. He will speak plainly enough when the +time comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write an account of +our visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for +_The Daily Telegraph_. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that the +smuts in London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was a +student here. I am to get his report to-morrow if he can possibly make +it. In any case I am to have a letter. + +“Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I first +saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something of the +ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal. She was +very sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to make him +feel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was making a hard +struggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick +look under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to chat of +all things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinite +geniality that I could see poor Lucy’s pretense of animation merge into +reality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the conversation +gently round to his visit, and suavely said:-- + +“‘My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are so +much beloved. That is much, my dear, ever were there that which I do not +see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were of a +ghastly pale. To them I say: “Pouf!”’ And he snapped his fingers at me +and went on: ‘But you and I shall show them how wrong they are. How can +he’--and he pointed at me with the same look and gesture as that with +which once he pointed me out to his class, on, or rather after, a +particular occasion which he never fails to remind me of--‘know anything +of a young ladies? He has his madmans to play with, and to bring them +back to happiness, and to those that love them. It is much to do, and, +oh, but there are rewards, in that we can bestow such happiness. But the +young ladies! He has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell +themselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many +sorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send him away to +smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk all +to ourselves.’ I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently the +professor came to the window and called me in. He looked grave, but +said: ‘I have made careful examination, but there is no functional +cause. With you I agree that there has been much blood lost; it has +been, but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way anæmic. I have +asked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question, +that so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say. +And yet there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must go +back home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and if +there be cause I shall come again. The disease--for not to be all well +is a disease--interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest me +too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.’ + +“As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were alone. +And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern watch. I trust +your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to you, my +dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two people who +are both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father, and +you are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall send you word to +come at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious unless you hear from +me.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_4 September._--Zoöphagous patient still keeps up our interest in him. +He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time. Just +before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The attendant knew +the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came at a +run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became so +violent that it took all their strength to hold him. In about five +minutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet, and finally sank +into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now. The +attendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were really +appalling; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of the +other patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quite +understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I was +some distance away. It is now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, and +as yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, +woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to show +something directly. I cannot quite understand it. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Another change in my patient. At five o’clock I looked in on +him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. He +was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his capture +by making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of +padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad +conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to +his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to +humour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has the +sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite a +harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into a +box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to find +a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for any +clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would not +rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of +far-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:-- + +“All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I do +it for myself!” Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said: +“Doctor, won’t you be very good to me and let me have a little more +sugar? I think it would be good for me.” + +“And the flies?” I said. + +“Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I like +it.” And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do +not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a man +as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._--Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra, +whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at our +own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. As +his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than in +the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky +beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows +and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul +water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone +building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart +to endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was going down, and from +his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and less +frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, an +inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual +recuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood up +quite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not to +hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straight +over to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his +fly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shut +the window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised +me, so I asked him: “Are you not going to keep flies any more?” + +“No,” said he; “I am sick of all that rubbish!” He certainly is a +wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of his +mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a clue +after all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noon +and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun at +periods which affects certain natures--as at times the moon does others? +We shall see. + + +_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._ + +“_4 September._--Patient still better to-day.” + + +_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._ + +“_5 September._--Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; sleeps +naturally; good spirits; colour coming back.” + + +_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._ + +“_6 September._--Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do not +lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you.” + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._ + +“_6 September._ + +“My dear Art,-- + +“My news to-day is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a bit. +There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it; Mrs. +Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has consulted me +professionally about her. I took advantage of the opportunity, and told +her that my old master, Van Helsing, the great specialist, was coming to +stay with me, and that I would put her in his charge conjointly with +myself; so now we can come and go without alarming her unduly, for a +shock to her would mean sudden death, and this, in Lucy’s weak +condition, might be disastrous to her. We are hedged in with +difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall +come through them all right. If any need I shall write, so that, if you +do not hear from me, take it for granted that I am simply waiting for +news. In haste + +“Yours ever, + +“JOHN SEWARD.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_7 September._--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at +Liverpool Street was:-- + +“Have you said anything to our young friend the lover of her?” + +“No,” I said. “I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. I +wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were coming, as Miss +Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him know if need be.” + +“Right, my friend,” he said, “quite right! Better he not know as yet; +perhaps he shall never know. I pray so; but if it be needed, then he +shall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you. You deal +with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other; and inasmuch +as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God’s madmen, +too--the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen what you do nor why +you do it; you tell them not what you think. So you shall keep knowledge +in its place, where it may rest--where it may gather its kind around it +and breed. You and I shall keep as yet what we know here, and here.” He +touched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then touched himself +the same way. “I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I shall +unfold to you.” + +“Why not now?” I asked. “It may do some good; we may arrive at some +decision.” He stopped and looked at me, and said:-- + +“My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it has +ripened--while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, and the sunshine +has not yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull the +ear and rub him between his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, +and say to you: ‘Look! he’s good corn; he will make good crop when the +time comes.’” I did not see the application, and told him so. For reply +he reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, as +he used long ago to do at lectures, and said: “The good husbandman tell +you so then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not find the +good husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow; that is for +the children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as of +the work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn, +and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout; if he sprout at all, +there’s some promise; and I wait till the ear begins to swell.” He broke +off, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on, and very +gravely:-- + +“You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever more +full than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master, and +I trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, that +knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. +Even if you have not kept the good practise, let me tell you that this +case of our dear miss is one that may be--mind, I say _may be_--of such +interest to us and others that all the rest may not make him kick the +beam, as your peoples say. Take then good note of it. Nothing is too +small. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts and surmises. +Hereafter it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. We +learn from failure, not from success!” + +When I described Lucy’s symptoms--the same as before, but infinitely +more marked--he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with him a +bag in which were many instruments and drugs, “the ghastly paraphernalia +of our beneficial trade,” as he once called, in one of his lectures, the +equipment of a professor of the healing craft. When we were shown in, +Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I +expected to find her. Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained +that even death has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case +where any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some +cause or other, the things not personal--even the terrible change in her +daughter to whom she is so attached--do not seem to reach her. It is +something like the way Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an +envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that +which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered +selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice +of egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we have +knowledge of. + +I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid down +a rule that she should not be present with Lucy or think of her illness +more than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so readily that +I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I were +shown up to Lucy’s room. If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, I +was horrified when I saw her to-day. She was ghastly, chalkily pale; the +red seemed to have gone even from her lips and gums, and the bones of +her face stood out prominently; her breathing was painful to see or +hear. Van Helsing’s face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows converged +till they almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not +seem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent. Then +Van Helsing beckoned to me, and we went gently out of the room. The +instant we had closed the door he stepped quickly along the passage to +the next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him and +closed the door. “My God!” he said; “this is dreadful. There is no time +to be lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart’s +action as it should be. There must be transfusion of blood at once. Is +it you or me?” + +“I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me.” + +“Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am prepared.” + +I went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a knock at +the hall-door. When we reached the hall the maid had just opened the +door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying in +an eager whisper:-- + +“Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter, and +have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to see for +myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you, +sir, for coming.” When first the Professor’s eye had lit upon him he had +been angry at his interruption at such a time; but now, as he took in +his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood which +seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to +him gravely as he held out his hand:-- + +“Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She is +bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that.” For he +suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. “You are to +help her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is your +best help.” + +“What can I do?” asked Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me, and I shall do it. My +life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for +her.” The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old +knowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer:-- + +“My young sir, I do not ask so much as that--not the last!” + +“What shall I do?” There was fire in his eyes, and his open nostril +quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the shoulder. “Come!” +he said. “You are a man, and it is a man we want. You are better than +me, better than my friend John.” Arthur looked bewildered, and the +Professor went on by explaining in a kindly way:-- + +“Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have +or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform +what we call transfusion of blood--to transfer from full veins of one to +the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is +the more young and strong than me”--here Arthur took my hand and wrung +it hard in silence--“but, now you are here, you are more good than us, +old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not +so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!” Arthur turned to him +and said:-- + +“If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you would +understand----” + +He stopped, with a sort of choke in his voice. + +“Good boy!” said Van Helsing. “In the not-so-far-off you will be happy +that you have done all for her you love. Come now and be silent. You +shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and you +must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame; you know how it is with +her! There must be no shock; any knowledge of this would be one. Come!” + +We all went up to Lucy’s room. Arthur by direction remained outside. +Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing. She was not +asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoke +to us; that was all. Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laid +them on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and +coming over to the bed, said cheerily:-- + +“Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a good +child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes.” She had made +the effort with success. + +It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, marked +the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began to +flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to manifest +its potency; and she fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was +satisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off his +coat. Then he added: “You may take that one little kiss whiles I bring +over the table. Friend John, help to me!” So neither of us looked whilst +he bent over her. + +Van Helsing turning to me, said: + +“He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not +defibrinate it.” + +Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed the +operation. As the transfusion went on something like life seemed to come +back to poor Lucy’s cheeks, and through Arthur’s growing pallor the joy +of his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to grow +anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur, strong man as he +was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucy’s system must +have undergone that what weakened Arthur only partially restored her. +But the Professor’s face was set, and he stood watch in hand and with +his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my own +heart beat. Presently he said in a soft voice: “Do not stir an instant. +It is enough. You attend him; I will look to her.” When all was over I +could see how much Arthur was weakened. I dressed the wound and took his +arm to bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning round--the +man seems to have eyes in the back of his head:-- + +“The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he shall have +presently.” And as he had now finished his operation, he adjusted the +pillow to the patient’s head. As he did so the narrow black velvet band +which she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an old +diamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up, +and showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not notice it, but I +could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing’s +ways of betraying emotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned to +me, saying: “Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the port +wine, and let him lie down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep +much and eat much, that he may be recruited of what he has so given to +his love. He must not stay here. Hold! a moment. I may take it, sir, +that you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you that in all ways +the operation is successful. You have saved her life this time, and you +can go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell +her all when she is well; she shall love you none the less for what you +have done. Good-bye.” + +When Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping gently, +but her breathing was stronger; I could see the counterpane move as her +breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at her intently. +The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in a +whisper:-- + +“What do you make of that mark on her throat?” + +“What do you make of it?” + +“I have not examined it yet,” I answered, and then and there proceeded +to loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there were two +punctures, not large, but not wholesome-looking. There was no sign of +disease, but the edges were white and worn-looking, as if by some +trituration. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or whatever it +was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood; but I abandoned +the idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bed +would have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl must +have lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion. + +“Well?” said Van Helsing. + +“Well,” said I, “I can make nothing of it.” The Professor stood up. “I +must go back to Amsterdam to-night,” he said. “There are books and +things there which I want. You must remain here all the night, and you +must not let your sight pass from her.” + +“Shall I have a nurse?” I asked. + +“We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night; see that +she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not sleep all +the night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be back as soon as +possible. And then we may begin.” + +“May begin?” I said. “What on earth do you mean?” + +“We shall see!” he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a moment +later and put his head inside the door and said with warning finger held +up:-- + +“Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm befall, you +shall not sleep easy hereafter!” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary--continued._ + +_8 September._--I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked itself +off towards dusk, and she waked naturally; she looked a different being +from what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even were good, +and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of the +absolute prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. Westenra +that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit up with her she +almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her daughter’s renewed +strength and excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and made +preparations for my long vigil. When her maid had prepared her for the +night I came in, having in the meantime had supper, and took a seat by +the bedside. She did not in any way make objection, but looked at me +gratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemed +sinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together +and shook it off. This was repeated several times, with greater effort +and with shorter pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that she +did not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once:-- + +“You do not want to go to sleep?” + +“No; I am afraid.” + +“Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for.” + +“Ah, not if you were like me--if sleep was to you a presage of horror!” + +“A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?” + +“I don’t know; oh, I don’t know. And that is what is so terrible. All +this weakness comes to me in sleep; until I dread the very thought.” + +“But, my dear girl, you may sleep to-night. I am here watching you, and +I can promise that nothing will happen.” + +“Ah, I can trust you!” I seized the opportunity, and said: “I promise +you that if I see any evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once.” + +“You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I will +sleep!” And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief, and sank +back, asleep. + +All night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on and on +in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips were +slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity of a +pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that no bad +dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind. + +In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and took +myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a short +wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent result +of the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took me all +day to clear off; it was dark when I was able to inquire about my +zoöphagous patient. The report was good; he had been quite quiet for the +past day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilst +I was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at Hillingham to-night, as +it might be well to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by the +night mail and would join me early in the morning. + + * * * * * + +_9 September_.--I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to +Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my +brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral +exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook hands +with me she looked sharply in my face and said:-- + +“No sitting up to-night for you. You are worn out. I am quite well +again; indeed, I am; and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I who +will sit up with you.” I would not argue the point, but went and had my +supper. Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I +made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than +excellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next +her own, where a cozy fire was burning. “Now,” she said, “you must stay +here. I shall leave this door open and my door too. You can lie on the +sofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to +bed whilst there is a patient above the horizon. If I want anything I +shall call out, and you can come to me at once.” I could not but +acquiesce, for I was “dog-tired,” and could not have sat up had I tried. +So, on her renewing her promise to call me if she should want anything, +I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything. + + +_Lucy Westenra’s Diary._ + +_9 September._--I feel so happy to-night. I have been so miserably weak, +that to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine after +a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky. Somehow Arthur feels very, +very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me. I suppose +it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner +eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Love +rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I know +where my thoughts are. If Arthur only knew! My dear, my dear, your ears +must tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of +last night! How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me. +And to-night I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at hand and +within call. Thank everybody for being so good to me! Thank God! +Good-night, Arthur. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_10 September._--I was conscious of the Professor’s hand on my head, and +started awake all in a second. That is one of the things that we learn +in an asylum, at any rate. + +“And how is our patient?” + +“Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,” I answered. + +“Come, let us see,” he said. And together we went into the room. + +The blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst Van +Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed. + +As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room, I +heard the Professor’s low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its rarity, a +deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he moved back, and +his exclamation of horror, “Gott in Himmel!” needed no enforcement from +his agonised face. He raised his hand and pointed to the bed, and his +iron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to tremble. + +There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more horribly +white and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white, and the gums +seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes see in a +corpse after a prolonged illness. Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp +in anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habit +stood to him, and he put it down again softly. “Quick!” he said. “Bring +the brandy.” I flew to the dining-room, and returned with the decanter. +He wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and +wrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonising +suspense said:-- + +“It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work is +undone; we must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now; I have +to call on you yourself this time, friend John.” As he spoke, he was +dipping into his bag and producing the instruments for transfusion; I +had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve. There was no +possibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one; and so, +without a moment’s delay, we began the operation. After a time--it did +not seem a short time either, for the draining away of one’s blood, no +matter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling--Van Helsing +held up a warning finger. “Do not stir,” he said, “but I fear that with +growing strength she may wake; and that would make danger, oh, so much +danger. But I shall precaution take. I shall give hypodermic injection +of morphia.” He proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out his +intent. The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to merge +subtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pride +that I could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallid +cheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to +feel his own life-blood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves. + +The Professor watched me critically. “That will do,” he said. “Already?” +I remonstrated. “You took a great deal more from Art.” To which he +smiled a sad sort of smile as he replied:-- + +“He is her lover, her _fiancé_. You have work, much work, to do for her +and for others; and the present will suffice.” + +When we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I applied +digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, whilst I waited his +leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick. By-and-by +he bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine for +myself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and half +whispered:-- + +“Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should turn up +unexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once frighten him and +enjealous him, too. There must be none. So!” + +When I came back he looked at me carefully, and then said:-- + +“You are not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on your sofa, and +rest awhile; then have much breakfast, and come here to me.” + +I followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they were. I +had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my strength. I +felt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of the amazement at +what had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering over +and over again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and how +she could have been drained of so much blood with no sign anywhere to +show for it. I think I must have continued my wonder in my dreams, for, +sleeping and waking, my thoughts always came back to the little +punctures in her throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of their +edges--tiny though they were. + +Lucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly well and +strong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van Helsing +had seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strict +injunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I could hear his +voice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph office. + +Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that anything +had happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested. When her mother +came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any change whatever, but +said to me gratefully:-- + +“We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you really +must now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking pale +yourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit; that you +do!” As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only momentarily, +for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long such an unwonted +drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as she turned +imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my finger on my +lips; with a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows. + +Van Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently said to me: +“Now you go home, and eat much and drink enough. Make yourself strong. I +stay here to-night, and I shall sit up with little miss myself. You and +I must watch the case, and we must have none other to know. I have grave +reasons. No, do not ask them; think what you will. Do not fear to think +even the most not-probable. Good-night.” + +In the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or either of +them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to let them; and +when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing’s wish that either he or I should sit +up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with the “foreign +gentleman.” I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is because +I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on Lucy’s account, that +their devotion was manifested; for over and over again have I seen +similar instances of woman’s kindness. I got back here in time for a +late dinner; went my rounds--all well; and set this down whilst waiting +for sleep. It is coming. + + * * * * * + +_11 September._--This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found Van +Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly after I had +arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. He opened it +with much impressment--assumed, of course--and showed a great bundle of +white flowers. + +“These are for you, Miss Lucy,” he said. + +“For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!” + +“Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are medicines.” Here +Lucy made a wry face. “Nay, but they are not to take in a decoction or +in nauseous form, so you need not snub that so charming nose, or I shall +point out to my friend Arthur what woes he may have to endure in seeing +so much beauty that he so loves so much distort. Aha, my pretty miss, +that bring the so nice nose all straight again. This is medicinal, but +you do not know how. I put him in your window, I make pretty wreath, and +hang him round your neck, so that you sleep well. Oh yes! they, like the +lotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the waters +of Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores sought +for in the Floridas, and find him all too late.” + +Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and smelling +them. Now she threw them down, saying, with half-laughter, and +half-disgust:-- + +“Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke on me. Why, +these flowers are only common garlic.” + +To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his sternness, his +iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting:-- + +“No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in all I do; +and I warn you that you do not thwart me. Take care, for the sake of +others if not for your own.” Then seeing poor Lucy scared, as she might +well be, he went on more gently: “Oh, little miss, my dear, do not fear +me. I only do for your good; but there is much virtue to you in those so +common flowers. See, I place them myself in your room. I make myself the +wreath that you are to wear. But hush! no telling to others that make so +inquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence is a part of obedience; +and obedience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms that wait +for you. Now sit still awhile. Come with me, friend John, and you shall +help me deck the room with my garlic, which is all the way from Haarlem, +where my friend Vanderpool raise herb in his glass-houses all the year. +I had to telegraph yesterday, or they would not have been here.” + +We went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The Professor’s +actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopoeia +that I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched them +securely; next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all over +the sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might get +in would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp he rubbed +all over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at each side, and round +the fireplace in the same way. It all seemed grotesque to me, and +presently I said:-- + +“Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but +this certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here, or he +would say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil spirit.” + +“Perhaps I am!” he answered quietly as he began to make the wreath which +Lucy was to wear round her neck. + +We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when she +was in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic round her +neck. The last words he said to her were:-- + +“Take care you do not disturb it; and even if the room feel close, do +not to-night open the window or the door.” + +“I promise,” said Lucy, “and thank you both a thousand times for all +your kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with such +friends?” + +As we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing said:-- + +“To-night I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want--two nights of travel, +much reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the day to follow, +and a night to sit up, without to wink. To-morrow in the morning early +you call for me, and we come together to see our pretty miss, so much +more strong for my ‘spell’ which I have work. Ho! ho!” + +He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights +before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must +have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but +I felt it all the more, like unshed tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +_Lucy Westenra’s Diary._ + + +_12 September._--How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear Dr. +Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these flowers. He +positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have been +right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread +being alone to-night, and I can go to sleep without fear. I shall not +mind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible struggle that I +have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, +or the pain of the fear of sleep, with such unknown horrors as it has +for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no +dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings +nothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am to-night, hoping for sleep, +and lying like Ophelia in the play, with “virgin crants and maiden +strewments.” I never liked garlic before, but to-night it is delightful! +There is peace in its smell; I feel sleep coming already. Good-night, +everybody. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_13 September._--Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as usual, +up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting. The +Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him now. + +Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham at +eight o’clock. It was a lovely morning; the bright sunshine and all the +fresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the completion of nature’s +annual work. The leaves were turning to all kinds of beautiful colours, +but had not yet begun to drop from the trees. When we entered we met +Mrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She is always an early +riser. She greeted us warmly and said:-- + +“You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is still +asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go in, lest I +should disturb her.” The Professor smiled, and looked quite jubilant. He +rubbed his hands together, and said:-- + +“Aha! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working,” to +which she answered:-- + +“You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor. Lucy’s state this +morning is due in part to me.” + +“How you do mean, ma’am?” asked the Professor. + +“Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went into +her room. She was sleeping soundly--so soundly that even my coming did +not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot of those +horrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and she had actually +a bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the heavy odour would be +too much for the dear child in her weak state, so I took them all away +and opened a bit of the window to let in a little fresh air. You will be +pleased with her, I am sure.” + +She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted early. As +she had spoken, I watched the Professor’s face, and saw it turn ashen +grey. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst the poor lady +was present, for he knew her state and how mischievous a shock would be; +he actually smiled on her as he held open the door for her to pass into +her room. But the instant she had disappeared he pulled me, suddenly and +forcibly, into the dining-room and closed the door. + +Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. He +raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and then beat +his palms together in a helpless way; finally he sat down on a chair, +and putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobs +that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raised +his arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. “God! God! +God!” he said. “What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that +we are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, sent down from the +pagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poor +mother, all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does such +thing as lose her daughter body and soul; and we must not tell her, we +must not even warn her, or she die, and then both die. Oh, how we are +beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he +jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils +or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him +all the same.” He went to the hall-door for his bag; and together we +went up to Lucy’s room. + +Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the bed. +This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with the same +awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern sadness and +infinite pity. + +“As I expected,” he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his which +meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and then +began to set out on the little table the instruments for yet another +operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognised the +necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a +warning hand. “No!” he said. “To-day you must operate. I shall provide. +You are weakened already.” As he spoke he took off his coat and rolled +up his shirt-sleeve. + +Again the operation; again the narcotic; again some return of colour to +the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This time I +watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested. + +Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she must +not remove anything from Lucy’s room without consulting him; that the +flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odour +was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the care of the case +himself, saying that he would watch this night and the next and would +send me word when to come. + +After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and +seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal. + +What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of life +amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain. + + +_Lucy Westenra’s Diary._ + +_17 September._--Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong +again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through some +long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and +feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim +half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness +in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress +more poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to +life as a diver coming up through a great press of water. Since, +however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems +to have passed away; the noises that used to frighten me out of my +wits--the flapping against the windows, the distant voices which seemed +so close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and +commanded me to do I know not what--have all ceased. I go to bed now +without any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have grown +quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day from +Haarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a +day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left +alone. Thank God for mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and for all our +friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for +last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found +him asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again, +although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against +the window-panes. + + +_“The Pall Mall Gazette,” 18 September._ + + THE ESCAPED WOLF. + + PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER. + + _Interview with the Keeper in the Zoölogical Gardens._ + +After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually using +the words “Pall Mall Gazette” as a sort of talisman, I managed to find +the keeper of the section of the Zoölogical Gardens in which the wolf +department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the cottages in +the enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just sitting down to +his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk, +elderly, and without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their +hospitality be of the average kind, their lives must be pretty +comfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he called “business” +until the supper was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the +table was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said:-- + +“Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You’ll excoose me +refoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives the +wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea afore +I begins to arsk them questions.” + +“How do you mean, ask them questions?” I queried, wishful to get him +into a talkative humour. + +“’Ittin’ of them over the ’ead with a pole is one way; scratchin’ of +their hears is another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a show-orf +to their gals. I don’t so much mind the fust--the ’ittin’ with a pole +afore I chucks in their dinner; but I waits till they’ve ’ad their +sherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the +ear-scratchin’. Mind you,” he added philosophically, “there’s a deal of +the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here’s you a-comin’ and +arskin’ of me questions about my business, and I that grumpy-like that +only for your bloomin’ ’arf-quid I’d ’a’ seen you blowed fust ’fore I’d +answer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic-like if I’d like you to +arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without offence +did I tell yer to go to ’ell?” + +“You did.” + +“An’ when you said you’d report me for usin’ of obscene language that +was ’ittin’ me over the ’ead; but the ’arf-quid made that all right. I +weren’t a-goin’ to fight, so I waited for the food, and did with my ’owl +as the wolves, and lions, and tigers does. But, Lor’ love yer ’art, now +that the old ’ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, an’ rinsed +me out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and I’ve lit hup, you may scratch +my ears for all you’re worth, and won’t git even a growl out of me. +Drive along with your questions. I know what yer a-comin’ at, that ’ere +escaped wolf.” + +“Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me how it +happened; and when I know the facts I’ll get you to say what you +consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole affair will +end.” + +“All right, guv’nor. This ’ere is about the ’ole story. That ’ere wolf +what we called Bersicker was one of three grey ones that came from +Norway to Jamrach’s, which we bought off him four years ago. He was a +nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of. I’m more +surprised at ’im for wantin’ to get out nor any other animile in the +place. But, there, you can’t trust wolves no more nor women.” + +“Don’t you mind him, sir!” broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery laugh. “’E’s +got mindin’ the animiles so long that blest if he ain’t like a old wolf +’isself! But there ain’t no ’arm in ’im.” + +“Well, sir, it was about two hours after feedin’ yesterday when I first +hear my disturbance. I was makin’ up a litter in the monkey-house for a +young puma which is ill; but when I heard the yelpin’ and ’owlin’ I kem +away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin’ like a mad thing at the +bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn’t much people about that +day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a ’ook +nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin’ through it. He +had a ’ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, +for it seemed as if it was ’im as they was hirritated at. He ’ad white +kid gloves on ’is ’ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says: +‘Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.’ + +“‘Maybe it’s you,’ says I, for I did not like the airs as he give +’isself. He didn’t git angry, as I ’oped he would, but he smiled a kind +of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp teeth. ‘Oh no, they +wouldn’t like me,’ ’e says. + +“‘Ow yes, they would,’ says I, a-imitatin’ of him. ‘They always likes a +bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which you ’as a +bagful.’ + +“Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us a-talkin’ they +lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let me stroke his ears +same as ever. That there man kem over, and blessed but if he didn’t put +in his hand and stroke the old wolf’s ears too! + +“‘Tyke care,’ says I. ‘Bersicker is quick.’ + +“‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘I’m used to ’em!’ + +“‘Are you in the business yourself?’ I says, tyking off my ’at, for a +man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to keepers. + +“‘No,’ says he, ‘not exactly in the business, but I ’ave made pets of +several.’ And with that he lifts his ’at as perlite as a lord, and walks +away. Old Bersicker kep’ a-lookin’ arter ’im till ’e was out of sight, +and then went and lay down in a corner and wouldn’t come hout the ’ole +hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon was hup, the wolves +here all began a-’owling. There warn’t nothing for them to ’owl at. +There warn’t no one near, except some one that was evidently a-callin’ a +dog somewheres out back of the gardings in the Park road. Once or twice +I went out to see that all was right, and it was, and then the ’owling +stopped. Just before twelve o’clock I just took a look round afore +turnin’ in, an’, bust me, but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker’s +cage I see the rails broken and twisted about and the cage empty. And +that’s all I know for certing.” + +“Did any one else see anything?” + +“One of our gard’ners was a-comin’ ’ome about that time from a ’armony, +when he sees a big grey dog comin’ out through the garding ’edges. At +least, so he says, but I don’t give much for it myself, for if he did ’e +never said a word about it to his missis when ’e got ’ome, and it was +only after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had been up all +night-a-huntin’ of the Park for Bersicker, that he remembered seein’ +anything. My own belief was that the ’armony ’ad got into his ’ead.” + +“Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of the +wolf?” + +“Well, sir,” he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, “I think I can; +but I don’t know as ’ow you’d be satisfied with the theory.” + +“Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals from +experience, can’t hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even to try?” + +“Well then, sir, I accounts for it this way; it seems to me that ’ere +wolf escaped--simply because he wanted to get out.” + +From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the joke I +could see that it had done service before, and that the whole +explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn’t cope in badinage +with the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart, +so I said:-- + +“Now, Mr. Bilder, we’ll consider that first half-sovereign worked off, +and this brother of his is waiting to be claimed when you’ve told me +what you think will happen.” + +“Right y’are, sir,” he said briskly. “Ye’ll excoose me, I know, for +a-chaffin’ of ye, but the old woman here winked at me, which was as much +as telling me to go on.” + +“Well, I never!” said the old lady. + +“My opinion is this: that ’ere wolf is a-’idin’ of, somewheres. The +gard’ner wot didn’t remember said he was a-gallopin’ northward faster +than a horse could go; but I don’t believe him, for, yer see, sir, +wolves don’t gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein’ built that +way. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when they gets +in packs and does be chivyin’ somethin’ that’s more afeared than they is +they can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, whatever it is. But, +Lor’ bless you, in real life a wolf is only a low creature, not half so +clever or bold as a good dog; and not half a quarter so much fight in +’im. This one ain’t been used to fightin’ or even to providin’ for +hisself, and more like he’s somewhere round the Park a-’idin’ an’ +a-shiverin’ of, and, if he thinks at all, wonderin’ where he is to get +his breakfast from; or maybe he’s got down some area and is in a +coal-cellar. My eye, won’t some cook get a rum start when she sees his +green eyes a-shining at her out of the dark! If he can’t get food he’s +bound to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher’s +shop in time. If he doesn’t, and some nursemaid goes a-walkin’ orf with +a soldier, leavin’ of the hinfant in the perambulator--well, then I +shouldn’t be surprised if the census is one babby the less. That’s +all.” + +I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing up +against the window, and Mr. Bilder’s face doubled its natural length +with surprise. + +“God bless me!” he said. “If there ain’t old Bersicker come back by +’isself!” + +He went to the door and opened it; a most unnecessary proceeding it +seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so +well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us; a +personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea. + +After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither Bilder nor +his wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a dog. The animal +itself was as peaceful and well-behaved as that father of all +picture-wolves--Red Riding Hood’s quondam friend, whilst moving her +confidence in masquerade. + +The whole scene was an unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos. The +wicked wolf that for half a day had paralysed London and set all the +children in the town shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort of +penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine +prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most tender +solicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent said:-- + +“There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of trouble; +didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head all cut and full of broken +glass. ’E’s been a-gettin’ over some bloomin’ wall or other. It’s a +shyme that people are allowed to top their walls with broken bottles. +This ’ere’s what comes of it. Come along, Bersicker.” + +He took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece of meat that +satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary conditions of the +fatted calf, and went off to report. + +I came off, too, to report the only exclusive information that is given +to-day regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_17 September._--I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up my +books, which, through press of other work and the many visits to Lucy, +had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst open, and in +rushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was +thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord +into the Superintendent’s study is almost unknown. Without an instant’s +pause he made straight at me. He had a dinner-knife in his hand, and, +as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was +too quick and too strong for me, however; for before I could get my +balance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely. +Before he could strike again, however, I got in my right and he was +sprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist bled freely, and quite a +little pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw that my friend was not +intent on further effort, and occupied myself binding up my wrist, +keeping a wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When the +attendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his employment +positively sickened me. He was lying on his belly on the floor licking +up, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was +easily secured, and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quite +placidly, simply repeating over and over again: “The blood is the life! +The blood is the life!” + +I cannot afford to lose blood just at present; I have lost too much of +late for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of Lucy’s +illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over-excited and +weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned +me, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do without +it. + + +_Telegram, Van Helsing, Antwerp, to Seward, Carfax._ + +(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late by +twenty-two hours.) + +“_17 September._--Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night. If not +watching all the time frequently, visit and see that flowers are as +placed; very important; do not fail. Shall be with you as soon as +possible after arrival.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_18 September._--Just off for train to London. The arrival of Van +Helsing’s telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I know +by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it is +possible that all may be well, but what _may_ have happened? Surely +there is some horrible doom hanging over us that every possible accident +should thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this cylinder with +me, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy’s phonograph. + + +_Memorandum left by Lucy Westenra._ + +_17 September. Night._--I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no +one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact +record of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and +have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the +doing. + +I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed as Dr. +Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep. + +I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after that +sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and which now I +know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was in +the next room--as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be--so that I might have +called him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not. Then there came to me +the old fear of sleep, and I determined to keep awake. Perversely sleep +would try to come then when I did not want it; so, as I feared to be +alone, I opened my door and called out: “Is there anybody there?” There +was no answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my door again. +Then outside in the shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog’s, but +more fierce and deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could +see nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its +wings against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined +not to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in; +seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. She +said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:-- + +“I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all +right.” + +I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come in +and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me; she did +not take off her dressing gown, for she said she would only stay a while +and then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my arms, and I in +hers, the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She was +startled and a little frightened, and cried out: “What is that?” I tried +to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet; but I could +hear her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After a while there was +the low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a +crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor. +The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the +aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey +wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting +posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst +other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing +insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a +second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange +and horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over--as if struck +with lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a +moment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my +eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole +myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken +window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that +travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to +stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother’s poor body, +which seemed to grow cold already--for her dear heart had ceased to +beat--weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while. + +The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered +consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the +dogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery, +seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and +stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the +nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to comfort +me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I could hear +their bare feet pattering outside my door. I called to them, and they +came in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it was that lay +over me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind rushed in through the +broken window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body of my +dear mother, and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I +had got up. They were all so frightened and nervous that I directed them +to go to the dining-room and have each a glass of wine. The door flew +open for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went +in a body to the dining-room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dear +mother’s breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing +had told me, but I didn’t like to remove them, and, besides, I would +have some of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that +the maids did not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went +to the dining-room to look for them. + +My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helpless +on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the table +half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, +and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the +sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother’s doctor uses for +her--oh! did use--was empty. What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back +in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for +the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I +dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the +broken window. + +The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from +the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? God +shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, +where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother +gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not +survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY + + +_18 September._--I drove at once to Hillingham and arrived early. +Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue alone. I knocked gently +and rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy or her +mother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door. After a while, +finding no response, I knocked and rang again; still no answer. I cursed +the laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such an +hour--for it was now ten o’clock--and so rang and knocked again, but +more impatiently, but still without response. Hitherto I had blamed only +the servants, but now a terrible fear began to assail me. Was this +desolation but another link in the chain of doom which seemed drawing +tight around us? Was it indeed a house of death to which I had come, too +late? I knew that minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean hours of +danger to Lucy, if she had had again one of those frightful relapses; +and I went round the house to try if I could find by chance an entry +anywhere. + +I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened and +locked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I heard the +rapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse’s feet. They stopped at the +gate, and a few seconds later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue. +When he saw me, he gasped out:-- + +“Then it was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did you +not get my telegram?” + +I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only got his +telegram early in the morning, and had not lost a minute in coming here, +and that I could not make any one in the house hear me. He paused and +raised his hat as he said solemnly:-- + +“Then I fear we are too late. God’s will be done!” With his usual +recuperative energy, he went on: “Come. If there be no way open to get +in, we must make one. Time is all in all to us now.” + +We went round to the back of the house, where there was a kitchen +window. The Professor took a small surgical saw from his case, and +handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the window. I +attacked them at once and had very soon cut through three of them. Then +with a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the sashes and +opened the window. I helped the Professor in, and followed him. There +was no one in the kitchen or in the servants’ rooms, which were close at +hand. We tried all the rooms as we went along, and in the dining-room, +dimly lit by rays of light through the shutters, found four +servant-women lying on the floor. There was no need to think them dead, +for their stertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum in the +room left no doubt as to their condition. Van Helsing and I looked at +each other, and as we moved away he said: “We can attend to them later.” +Then we ascended to Lucy’s room. For an instant or two we paused at the +door to listen, but there was no sound that we could hear. With white +faces and trembling hands, we opened the door gently, and entered the +room. + +How shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy and her +mother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was covered with a white +sheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the draught through the +broken window, showing the drawn, white face, with a look of terror +fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white and still more +drawn. The flowers which had been round her neck we found upon her +mother’s bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the two little wounds +which we had noticed before, but looking horribly white and mangled. +Without a word the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touching +poor Lucy’s breast; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one who +listens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to me:-- + +“It is not yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the brandy!” + +I flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and taste +it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which I found +on the table. The maids were still breathing, but more restlessly, and I +fancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure, +but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on another +occasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists and the palms of her +hands. He said to me:-- + +“I can do this, all that can be at the present. You go wake those maids. +Flick them in the face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make them +get heat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as +that beside her. She will need be heated before we can do anything +more.” + +I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of the +women. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug had evidently +affected her more strongly, so I lifted her on the sofa and let her +sleep. The others were dazed at first, but as remembrance came back to +them they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I was stern with +them, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one life +was bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would sacrifice +Miss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about their way, half clad +as they were, and prepared fire and water. Fortunately, the kitchen and +boiler fires were still alive, and there was no lack of hot water. We +got a bath and carried Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst +we were busy chafing her limbs there was a knock at the hall door. One +of the maids ran off, hurried on some more clothes, and opened it. Then +she returned and whispered to us that there was a gentleman who had come +with a message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that he +must wait, for we could see no one now. She went away with the message, +and, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him. + +I never saw in all my experience the Professor work in such deadly +earnest. I knew--as he knew--that it was a stand-up fight with death, +and in a pause told him so. He answered me in a way that I did not +understand, but with the sternest look that his face could wear:-- + +“If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fade +away into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon.” He went +on with his work with, if possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour. + +Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat was beginning to +be of some effect. Lucy’s heart beat a trifle more audibly to the +stethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement. Van Helsing’s +face almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her in +a hot sheet to dry her he said to me:-- + +“The first gain is ours! Check to the King!” + +We took Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laid +her in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her throat. I noticed +that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She was +still unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had +ever seen her. + +Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with her +and not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and then beckoned me +out of the room. + +“We must consult as to what is to be done,” he said as we descended the +stairs. In the hall he opened the dining-room door, and we passed in, he +closing the door carefully behind him. The shutters had been opened, but +the blinds were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette of +death which the British woman of the lower classes always rigidly +observes. The room was, therefore, dimly dark. It was, however, light +enough for our purposes. Van Helsing’s sternness was somewhat relieved +by a look of perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind about +something, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke:-- + +“What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must have +another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl’s life +won’t be worth an hour’s purchase. You are exhausted already; I am +exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they would have +courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open his +veins for her?” + +“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?” + +The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought +relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris. Van +Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face softened and a +glad look came into his eyes as I cried out: “Quincey Morris!” and +rushed towards him with outstretched hands. + +“What brought you here?” I cried as our hands met. + +“I guess Art is the cause.” + +He handed me a telegram:-- + +“Have not heard from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious. +Cannot leave. Father still in same condition. Send me word how Lucy is. +Do not delay.--HOLMWOOD.” + +“I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you have only to tell +me what to do.” + +Van Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him straight in +the eyes as he said:-- + +“A brave man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in +trouble. You’re a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work against +us for all he’s worth, but God sends us men when we want them.” + +Once again we went through that ghastly operation. I have not the heart +to go through with the details. Lucy had got a terrible shock and it +told on her more than before, for though plenty of blood went into her +veins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on the other +occasions. Her struggle back into life was something frightful to see +and hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs improved, and Van +Helsing made a subcutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with +good effect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watched +whilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the maids +to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I left Quincey lying down +after having a glass of wine, and told the cook to get ready a good +breakfast. Then a thought struck me, and I went back to the room where +Lucy now was. When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or +two of note-paper in his hand. He had evidently read it, and was +thinking it over as he sat with his hand to his brow. There was a look +of grim satisfaction in his face, as of one who has had a doubt solved. +He handed me the paper saying only: “It dropped from Lucy’s breast when +we carried her to the bath.” + +When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pause +asked him: “In God’s name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she, +mad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?” I was so bewildered that I +did not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the +paper, saying:-- + +“Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know +and understand it all in good time; but it will be later. And now what +is it that you came to me to say?” This brought me back to fact, and I +was all myself again. + +“I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not act +properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper would have +to be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no inquest, for if we +had it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and you +know, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs. Westenra +had disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of it. Let us +fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself to the +registrar and go on to the undertaker.” + +“Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she be +sad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the friends that +love her. One, two, three, all open their veins for her, besides one old +man. Ah yes, I know, friend John; I am not blind! I love you all the +more for it! Now go.” + +In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling him +that Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but was now +going on better; and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I told him +where I was going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going said:-- + +“When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all to +ourselves?” I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty about +the registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up in +the evening to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements. + +When I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would see him +as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was still +sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from his seat at her +side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that he +expected her to wake before long and was afraid of forestalling nature. +So I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast-room, where +the blinds were not drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful, or +rather less cheerless, than the other rooms. When we were alone, he said +to me:-- + +“Jack Seward, I don’t want to shove myself in anywhere where I’ve no +right to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl +and wanted to marry her; but, although that’s all past and gone, I can’t +help feeling anxious about her all the same. What is it that’s wrong +with her? The Dutchman--and a fine old fellow he is; I can see +that--said, that time you two came into the room, that you must have +_another_ transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted. +Now I know well that you medical men speak _in camera_, and that a man +must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is +no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that +so?” + +“That’s so,” I said, and he went on:-- + +“I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did +to-day. Is not that so?” + +“That’s so.” + +“And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at his +own place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quick +since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass +all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got at +her in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left open, there +wasn’t enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put a +bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me without +betraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?” As he spoke +the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture of suspense +regarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the terrible +mystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His very +heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him--and there was a +royal lot of it, too--to keep him from breaking down. I paused before +answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the +Professor wished kept secret; but already he knew so much, and guessed +so much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered +in the same phrase: “That’s so.” + +“And how long has this been going on?” + +“About ten days.” + +“Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty creature +that we all love has had put into her veins within that time the blood +of four strong men. Man alive, her whole body wouldn’t hold it.” Then, +coming close to me, he spoke in a fierce half-whisper: “What took it +out?” + +I shook my head. “That,” I said, “is the crux. Van Helsing is simply +frantic about it, and I am at my wits’ end. I can’t even hazard a guess. +There has been a series of little circumstances which have thrown out +all our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these shall +not occur again. Here we stay until all be well--or ill.” Quincey held +out his hand. “Count me in,” he said. “You and the Dutchman will tell me +what to do, and I’ll do it.” + +When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy’s first movement was to feel +in her breast, and, to my surprise, produced the paper which Van Helsing +had given me to read. The careful Professor had replaced it where it had +come from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit on Van +Helsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she looked around the room, +and seeing where she was, shuddered; she gave a loud cry, and put her +poor thin hands before her pale face. We both understood what that +meant--that she had realised to the full her mother’s death; so we tried +what we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but +she was very low in thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for +a long time. We told her that either or both of us would now remain with +her all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell +into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep she +took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped +over and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on +with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her +hands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering +the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as +if in thought, but he said nothing. + + * * * * * + +_19 September._--All last night she slept fitfully, being always afraid +to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The Professor and +I took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a moment +unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew +that all night long he patrolled round and round the house. + +When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucy’s +strength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the little +nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good. At times she +slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between +sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although more +haggard, and her breathing was softer; her open mouth showed the pale +gums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked positively longer and +sharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her eyes evidently +changed the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying +one. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him. +Quincey went off to meet him at the station. + +When he arrived it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun was setting full +and warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and gave more +colour to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply choking +with emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours that had passed, +the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, had +grown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was possible +were shortened. Arthur’s presence, however, seemed to act as a +stimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than she +had done since we arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as +cheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything. + +It was now nearly one o’clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting with +her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering +this on Lucy’s phonograph. Until six o’clock they are to try to rest. I +fear that to-morrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too +great; the poor child cannot rally. God help us all. + + +_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._ + +(Unopened by her.) + +“_17 September._ + +“My dearest Lucy,-- + +“It seems _an age_ since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You +will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my +budget of news. Well, I got my husband back all right; when we arrived +at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had +an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his house, where there +were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined together. After +dinner Mr. Hawkins said:-- + +“‘My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every +blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with +love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here +with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in +my will I have left you everything.’ I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and +the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one. + +“So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my +bedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral +close, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow +stone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and +cawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of +rooks--and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things and +housekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day; for, now that +Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about the +clients. + +“How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could run up to town for a +day or two to see you, dear, but I dare not go yet, with so much on my +shoulders; and Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to +put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the +long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden +way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual +placidity. However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent as the +days go on, and they will in time pass away altogether, I trust. And now +I have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, +and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, +and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it, +dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interests +you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his +‘respectful duty,’ but I do not think that is good enough from the +junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you +love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses +of the verb, I send you simply his ‘love’ instead. Good-bye, my dearest +Lucy, and all blessings on you. + +“Yours, + +“MINA HARKER.” + + +_Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., +etc., etc., to John Seward, M. D._ + +“_20 September._ + +“My dear Sir,-- + +“In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the conditions of +everything left in my charge.... With regard to patient, Renfield, there +is more to say. He has had another outbreak, which might have had a +dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended +with any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier’s cart with two men +made a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours--the house to +which, you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The men stopped at +our gate to ask the porter their way, as they were strangers. I was +myself looking out of the study window, having a smoke after dinner, and +saw one of them come up to the house. As he passed the window of +Renfield’s room, the patient began to rate him from within, and called +him all the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed a +decent fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to “shut up for a +foul-mouthed beggar,” whereon our man accused him of robbing him and +wanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were to +swing for it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice, +so he contented himself after looking the place over and making up his +mind as to what kind of a place he had got to by saying: ‘Lor’ bless +yer, sir, I wouldn’t mind what was said to me in a bloomin’ madhouse. I +pity ye and the guv’nor for havin’ to live in the house with a wild +beast like that.’ Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told him +where the gate of the empty house was; he went away, followed by threats +and curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could +make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a +well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had +ever occurred. I found him, to my astonishment, quite composed and most +genial in his manner. I tried to get him to talk of the incident, but he +blandly asked me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe +that he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to +say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for within half an +hour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through the +window of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the +attendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent +on some mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart which +had passed before coming down the road, having on it some great wooden +boxes. The men were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the +face, as if with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him the +patient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to +knock his head against the ground. If I had not seized him just at the +moment I believe he would have killed the man there and then. The other +fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt-end of his +heavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, but +seized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and +fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the others +were both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting; but as we +began to master him, and the attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat +on him, he began to shout: ‘I’ll frustrate them! They shan’t rob me! +they shan’t murder me by inches! I’ll fight for my Lord and Master!’ and +all sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable +difficulty that they got him back to the house and put him in the padded +room. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set +it all right; and he is going on well. + +“The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for +damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their +threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for +the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it +had not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and +raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work of +him. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary +state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of +their occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their +labours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their +drift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, and +with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore +that they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of +meeting so ‘bloomin’ good a bloke’ as your correspondent. I took their +names and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are as +follows:--Jack Smollet, of Dudding’s Rents, King George’s Road, Great +Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley’s Row, Guide Court, Bethnal +Green. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons, Moving and +Shipment Company, Orange Master’s Yard, Soho. + +“I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and shall +wire you at once if there is anything of importance. + +“Believe me, dear Sir, + +“Yours faithfully, + +“PATRICK HENNESSEY.” + + +_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra_. + +(Unopened by her.) + +“_18 September._ + +“My dearest Lucy,-- + +“Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly. +Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love him +that it really seems as though we had lost a father. I never knew either +father or mother, so that the dear old man’s death is a real blow to me. +Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels sorrow, +deep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has befriended him all his life, +and now at the end has treated him like his own son and left him a +fortune which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the +dream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says the +amount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He +begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and _my_ belief in _him_ +helps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave +shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard +that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his--a nature which +enabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from clerk to master +in a few years--should be so injured that the very essence of its +strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in +the midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one, +for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan +tries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread coming +up to London, as we must do the day after to-morrow; for poor Mr. +Hawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with his +father. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have to be chief +mourner. I shall try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a few +minutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings, + +“Your loving + +“MINA HARKER.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_20 September._--Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry +to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world +and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard +this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he has +been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late--Lucy’s mother +and Arthur’s father, and now.... Let me get on with my work. + +I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted Arthur to +go to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told him +that we should want him to help us during the day, and that we must not +all break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreed +to go. Van Helsing was very kind to him. “Come, my child,” he said; +“come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much +mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. You +must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms. +Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two +sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will +be comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we +sleep.” Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on Lucy’s +face, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She lay +quite still, and I looked round the room to see that all was as it +should be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this room, +as in the other, his purpose of using the garlic; the whole of the +window-sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy’s neck, over the silk +handkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of +the same odorous flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and +her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her +teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they +had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the +canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her, +and presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort +of dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly, +and peeped out by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight, +and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled +round--doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim--and every now +and again struck the window with its wings. When I came back to my seat, +I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic +flowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat +watching her. + +Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had prescribed. +She took but a little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be with +her now the unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hitherto +so marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the moment she +became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was +certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the +stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she +waked she clutched them close. There was no possibility of making any +mistake about this, for in the long hours that followed, she had many +spells of sleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times. + +At six o’clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then fallen +into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw Lucy’s face +I could hear the sissing indraw of his breath, and he said to me in a +sharp whisper: “Draw up the blind; I want light!” Then he bent down, +and, with his face almost touching Lucy’s, examined her carefully. He +removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from her throat. As +he did so he started back, and I could hear his ejaculation, “Mein +Gott!” as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked, too, +and as I noticed some queer chill came over me. + +The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared. + +For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face +at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:-- + +“She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark +me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and +let him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him.” + +I went to the dining-room and waked him. He was dazed for a moment, but +when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shutters +he thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucy +was still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both Van +Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his face with his +hands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where he remained, +perhaps a minute, with his head buried, praying, whilst his shoulders +shook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up. “Come,” I +said, “my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude: it will be best +and easiest for her.” + +When we came into Lucy’s room I could see that Van Helsing had, with +his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making +everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy’s +hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we +came into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered +softly:-- + +“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!” He was stooping to +kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. “No,” he whispered, “not +yet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more.” + +So Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her best, +with all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of her eyes. Then +gradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a little bit her +breast heaved softly, and her breath came and went like a tired child’s. + +And then insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed in +the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened, and the pale +gums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In a +sort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which +were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice, +such as I had never heard from her lips:-- + +“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!” Arthur bent +eagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, +had been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by +the neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which +I never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almost +across the room. + +“Not for your life!” he said; “not for your living soul and hers!” And +he stood between them like a lion at bay. + +Arthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what to do +or say; and before any impulse of violence could seize him he realised +the place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting. + +I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm as +of rage flit like a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champed +together. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily. + +Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and +putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing’s great brown +one; drawing it to her, she kissed it. “My true friend,” she said, in a +faint voice, but with untellable pathos, “My true friend, and his! Oh, +guard him, and give me peace!” + +“I swear it!” he said solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up his +hand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur, and said +to him: “Come, my child, take her hand in yours, and kiss her on the +forehead, and only once.” + +Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted. + +Lucy’s eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took +Arthur’s arm, and drew him away. + +And then Lucy’s breathing became stertorous again, and all at once it +ceased. + +“It is all over,” said Van Helsing. “She is dead!” + +I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where he +sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that +nearly broke me down to see. + +I went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy, and +his face was sterner than ever. Some change had come over her body. +Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks had +recovered some of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost their +deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the working +of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude as +might be. + + “We thought her dying whilst she slept, + And sleeping when she died.” + +I stood beside Van Helsing, and said:-- + +“Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!” + +He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:-- + +“Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!” + +When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:-- + +“We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY--_continued_. + + +The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and +her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly +formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were +afflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity. +Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to +me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out +from the death-chamber:-- + +“She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It’s quite a privilege to +attend on her. It’s not too much to say that she will do credit to our +establishment!” + +I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible from +the disordered state of things in the household. There were no relatives +at hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at his +father’s funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have been +bidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon +ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy’s +papers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a +foreigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and +so might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:-- + +“I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But +this is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the +coroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such +as this.” + +As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been +in Lucy’s breast, and which she had torn in her sleep. + +“When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs. +Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch +here in the room and in Miss Lucy’s old room all night, and I myself +search for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into +the hands of strangers.” + +I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had found +the name and address of Mrs. Westenra’s solicitor and had written to +him. All the poor lady’s papers were in order; explicit directions +regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the +letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room, +saying:-- + +“Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to +you.” + +“Have you got what you looked for?” I asked, to which he replied:-- + +“I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I +have, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a +diary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say +nothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with +his sanction, I shall use some.” + +When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:-- + +“And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you +and I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but +for the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!” + +Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had +certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small +_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers, +and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the +winding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and +turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tall +wax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy’s +loveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed, +instead of leaving traces of “decay’s effacing fingers,” had but +restored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes +that I was looking at a corpse. + +The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and +there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: “Remain till I +return,” and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic +from the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and +placed the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he +took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and +placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we +came away. + +I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the +door, he entered, and at once began to speak:-- + +“To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem +knives.” + +“Must we make an autopsy?” I asked. + +“Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you +now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out +her heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with +no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that make +the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, that +you loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall +operate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for +Arthur I must not; he will be free after his father’s funeral to-morrow, +and he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined +ready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall +unscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replace +all, so that none know, save we alone.” + +“But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body +without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing +to gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human +knowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous.” + +For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite +tenderness:-- + +“Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more +because it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden +that you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you +shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant +things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet +did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but +man; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you +send for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay +horrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was +dying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw +how she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so +weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not +hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes! + +“Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many +years trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so +strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend +John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is +not perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no +trust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel, +oh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!” He paused a +moment and went on solemnly: “Friend John, there are strange and +terrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to +a good end. Will you not have faith in me?” + +I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away, +and watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood without +moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage--she had +her back towards me, so did not see me--and go into the room where Lucy +lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful +to those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl +putting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch +alone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay +might not be lonely till laid to eternal rest.... + + * * * * * + +I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van +Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and +said:-- + +“You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it.” + +“Why not?” I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly +impressed me. + +“Because,” he said sternly, “it is too late--or too early. See!” Here he +held up the little golden crucifix. “This was stolen in the night.” + +“How, stolen,” I asked in wonder, “since you have it now?” + +“Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the +woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely +come, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus +unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.” + +He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a +new puzzle to grapple with. + +The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr. +Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial +and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all +cares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for +some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs +in absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain +entailed property of Lucy’s father’s which now, in default of direct +issue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate, +real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had +told us so much he went on:-- + +“Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and +pointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either +penniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial +alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into +collision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out +her wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were +right in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should +have proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment. +Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of +disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her +wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come +into possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her +mother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no +will--and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case--have been +treated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming, +though so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the +inheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just +rights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure +you, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.” + +He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part--in which +he was officially interested--of so great a tragedy, was an +object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding. + +He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and +see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to +us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile +criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o’clock, so +a little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in +very truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker, +true to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and +there was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at +once. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to, +explaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be +less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his _fiancée_ +quite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and +exerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them +the night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings +as we could avoid were saved. + +Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart +manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his +much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly +attached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a +bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he +was sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some +constraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to +bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I +felt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm and +led me in, saying huskily:-- + +“You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there was +no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don’t know how to +thank you for all you have done for her. I can’t think yet....” + +Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders and +laid his head on my breast, crying:-- + +“Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from me +all at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.” + +I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much +expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the +shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man’s +heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said +softly to him:-- + +“Come and look at her.” + +Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face. +God! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing her +loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, he +fell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At +last, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:-- + +“Jack, is she really dead?” + +I assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest--for I felt +that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer than +I could help--that it often happened that after death faces became +softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this was +especially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged +suffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, after +kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and +long, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as the +coffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in his +and kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away, +fondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came. + +I left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had said +good-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker’s men +to proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When he +came out of the room again I told him of Arthur’s question, and he +replied:-- + +“I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!” + +We all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to make +the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; but +when we had lit our cigars he said-- + +“Lord----”; but Arthur interrupted him:-- + +“No, no, not that, for God’s sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir: +I did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so +recent.” + +The Professor answered very sweetly:-- + +“I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you +‘Mr.,’ and I have grown to love you--yes, my dear boy, to love you--as +Arthur.” + +Arthur held out his hand, and took the old man’s warmly. + +“Call me what you will,” he said. “I hope I may always have the title of +a friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you for +your goodness to my poor dear.” He paused a moment, and went on: “I know +that she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was +rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so--you remember”--the +Professor nodded--“you must forgive me.” + +He answered with a grave kindness:-- + +“I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such +violence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not--that you +cannot--trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be +more times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot--and may +not--and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust +shall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as +though the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me from +first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for her +dear sake to whom I swore to protect.” + +“And, indeed, indeed, sir,” said Arthur warmly, “I shall in all ways +trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are +Jack’s friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like.” + +The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about to +speak, and finally said:-- + +“May I ask you something now?” + +“Certainly.” + +“You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?” + +“No, poor dear; I never thought of it.” + +“And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. I +want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy’s papers and +letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which, +be sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took them +before we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch +them--no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep +them, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them +safe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them back +to you. It’s a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for +Lucy’s sake?” + +Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:-- + +“Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I +am doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you +with questions till the time comes.” + +The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:-- + +“And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not be +all pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too--you most of +all, my dear boy--will have to pass through the bitter water before we +reach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our +duty, and all will be well!” + +I slept on a sofa in Arthur’s room that night. Van Helsing did not go to +bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and was +never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with +the wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose, +a heavy, overpowering smell into the night. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_22 September._--In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping. + +It seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much +between then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away and +no news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a +partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and +Jonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask me +about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand--see what +unexpected prosperity does for us--so it may be as well to freshen it up +again with an exercise anyhow.... + +The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselves +and the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, his +London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, the +President of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand in +hand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us.... + +We came back to town quietly, taking a ’bus to Hyde Park Corner. +Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while, so +we sat down; but there were very few people there, and it was +sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us think +of the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly. +Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old days +before I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can’t go on +for some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the +pedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he +was my husband, and we didn’t know anybody who saw us--and we didn’t +care if they did--so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautiful +girl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano’s, +when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said +under his breath: “My God!” I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I +fear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him +quickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him. + +He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and +half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and +black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty +girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us, +and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it was +hard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all +the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal’s. +Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I +feared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked +Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that +I knew as much about it as he did: “Do you see who it is?” + +“No, dear,” I said; “I don’t know him; who is it?” His answer seemed to +shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it was +to me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:-- + +“It is the man himself!” + +The poor dear was evidently terrified at something--very greatly +terrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to +support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out of +the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove +off. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage +moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a +hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:-- + +“I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be +so! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!” He was +distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the +subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew him +away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little +further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It was +a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place. +After a few minutes’ staring at nothing, Jonathan’s eyes closed, and he +went quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it +was the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty +minutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:-- + +“Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. +Come, and we’ll have a cup of tea somewhere.” He had evidently forgotten +all about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that +this episode had reminded him of. I don’t like this lapsing into +forgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must +not ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow +learn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I +must open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, +I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dear +soul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight +relapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he +may be:-- + +“You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and +that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.” + +Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor +Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have +lost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our +troubles. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_22 September._--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has +taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe +in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy’s death as any +of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America +can go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world +indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his +journey. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns +to-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which can +only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says +he has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor old +fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his +iron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting +some terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we were +standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in +the operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy’s veins; I +could see Van Helsing’s face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was +saying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married +and that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of +the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went +away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The +moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of +hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted +that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very +terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down +the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried, +till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman +does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the +circumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in +manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew +grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time. +His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and +forceful and mysterious. He said:-- + +“Ah, you don’t comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad, +though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But +no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come +just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your +door and say, ‘May I come in?’ is not the true laughter. No! he is a +king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no +time of suitability. He say, ‘I am here.’ Behold, in example I grieve my +heart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though +I am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other +sufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very +grave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her +coffin and say ‘Thud! thud!’ to my heart, till it send back the blood +from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so of +the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his +hair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet +when he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my +father-heart yearn to him as to no other man--not even to you, friend +John, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yet even +at such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, +‘Here I am! here I am!’ till the blood come dance back and bring some of +the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is +a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and +troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the +tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and +tears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the music that he +make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that +he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn +tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and, +like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain +become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the +sunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with +our labour, what it may be.” + +I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I +did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As he +answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different +tone:-- + +“Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this so lovely lady garlanded with +flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she +were truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely +churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother +who loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going ‘Toll! +toll! toll!’ so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the white +garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time +their eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And all +for what? She is dead; so! Is it not?” + +“Well, for the life of me, Professor,” I said, “I can’t see anything to +laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle +than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor +Art and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking.” + +“Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had +made her truly his bride?” + +“Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.” + +“Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then +what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, +and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church’s law, though +no wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, +am bigamist.” + +“I don’t see where the joke comes in there either!” I said; and I did +not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid +his hand on my arm, and said:-- + +“Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others +when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. +If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh; +if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so +now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him--for +he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time--maybe you would +perhaps pity me the most of all.” + +I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why. + +“Because I know!” + +And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will +sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her +kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming +London; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, +and where wild flowers grow of their own accord. + +So I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin +another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with +different people and different themes; for here at the end, where the +romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my +life-work, I say sadly and without hope, + + “FINIS.” + + +_“The Westminster Gazette,” 25 September._ + + A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY. + + +The neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a +series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what +was known to the writers of headlines as “The Kensington Horror,” or +“The Stabbing Woman,” or “The Woman in Black.” During the past two or +three days several cases have occurred of young children straying from +home or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all +these cases the children were too young to give any properly +intelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses +is that they had been with a “bloofer lady.” It has always been late in +the evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the +children have not been found until early in the following morning. It is +generally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missed +gave as his reason for being away that a “bloofer lady” had asked him to +come for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as +occasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of the +little ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A +correspondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending to +be the “bloofer lady” is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists +might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing the +reality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general +principles of human nature that the “bloofer lady” should be the popular +rôle at these _al fresco_ performances. Our correspondent naïvely says +that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of +these grubby-faced little children pretend--and even imagine +themselves--to be. + +There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of +the children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been +slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as might be +made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importance +individually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has +a system or method of its own. The police of the division have been +instructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying children, especially +when very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog +which may be about. + + + _“The Westminster Gazette,” 25 September._ + + _Extra Special._ + + THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR. + + ANOTHER CHILD INJURED. + + _The “Bloofer Lady.”_ + +We have just received intelligence that another child, missed last +night, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at the +Shooter’s Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, less +frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the +throat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and +looked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the common +story to tell of being lured away by the “bloofer lady.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL + + +_23 September_.--Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad that +he has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the terrible +things; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down with the +responsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to himself, +and now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of his +advancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon +him. He will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunch +at home. My household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal, +and lock myself up in my room and read it.... + + +_24 September_.--I hadn’t the heart to write last night; that terrible +record of Jonathan’s upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered, +whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth +in it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those +terrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall +never know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that man +we saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! I +suppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on some +train of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on our +wedding-day he said: “Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to +the bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane.” There seems to be +through it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count was +coming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with his +teeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must +not shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter +this very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other +eyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready, +poor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never let +him be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets +over the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask him +questions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him. + + +_Letter, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._ + +“_24 September._ + +(_Confidence_) + +“Dear Madam,-- + +“I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I +sent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra’s death. By the kindness of +Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am +deeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find +some letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you +love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is +for others’ good that I ask--to redress great wrong, and to lift much +and terrible troubles--that may be more great than you can know. May it +be that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and +of Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private +for the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if +you tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your +pardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good +you are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be, +enlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me. + +“VAN HELSING.” + + +_Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._ + +“_25 September._--Come to-day by quarter-past ten train if you can catch +it. Can see you any time you call. + +“WILHELMINA HARKER.” + +MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL. + +_25 September._--I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time +draws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect that +it will throw some light upon Jonathan’s sad experience; and as he +attended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all about +her. That is the reason of his coming; it is concerning Lucy and her +sleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the real +truth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my +imagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Of +course it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and that +awful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost forgotten +in my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must have told him +of her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all about +it; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows, so that he may +understand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs. +Westenra; I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even +a negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope, too, Dr. Van +Helsing will not blame me; I have had so much trouble and anxiety of +late that I feel I cannot bear more just at present. + +I suppose a cry does us all good at times--clears the air as other rain +does. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me, and +then Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a whole day +and night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I do +hope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing will +occur to upset him. It is two o’clock, and the doctor will be here soon +now. I shall say nothing of Jonathan’s journal unless he asks me. I am +so glad I have type-written out my own journal, so that, in case he asks +about Lucy, I can hand it to him; it will save much questioning. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how it +all makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be all +possible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan’s journal +first, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear +Jonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may +not upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be even +a consolation and a help to him--terrible though it be and awful in its +consequences--to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did +not deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt +which haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matter +which--waking or dreaming--may prove the truth, he will be more +satisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a +good man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur’s friend and Dr. +Seward’s, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after +Lucy. I feel from having seen him that he _is_ good and kind and of a +noble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan; +and then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good +end. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan’s +friend on “The Exeter News” told him that memory was everything in such +work--that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word +spoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare +interview; I shall try to record it _verbatim_. + +It was half-past two o’clock when the knock came. I took my courage _à +deux mains_ and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, and +announced “Dr. Van Helsing.” + +I rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight, +strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and +a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise +of the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the +head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face, +clean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile +mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive +nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the +mouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost +straight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart; +such a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it, +but falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set +widely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man’s moods. He +said to me:-- + +“Mrs. Harker, is it not?” I bowed assent. + +“That was Miss Mina Murray?” Again I assented. + +“It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear +child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come.” + +“Sir,” I said, “you could have no better claim on me than that you were +a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.” And I held out my hand. He took +it and said tenderly:-- + +“Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must be +good, but I had yet to learn----” He finished his speech with a courtly +bow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he at +once began:-- + +“I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin +to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were +with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary--you need not look +surprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in +imitation of you--and in that diary she traces by inference certain +things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In +great perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much +kindness to tell me all of it that you can remember.” + +“I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.” + +“Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always +so with young ladies.” + +“No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you +if you like.” + +“Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour.” I +could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit--I suppose it is +some of the taste of the original apple that remains still in our +mouths--so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful +bow, and said:-- + +“May I read it?” + +“If you wish,” I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and for +an instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed. + +“Oh, you so clever woman!” he said. “I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a +man of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things. +And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me? +Alas! I know not the shorthand.” By this time my little joke was over, +and I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from my +workbasket and handed it to him. + +“Forgive me,” I said: “I could not help it; but I had been thinking that +it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not +have time to wait--not on my account, but because I know your time must +be precious--I have written it out on the typewriter for you.” + +He took it and his eyes glistened. “You are so good,” he said. “And may +I read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read.” + +“By all means,” I said, “read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you +can ask me questions whilst we eat.” He bowed and settled himself in a +chair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers, +whilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be +disturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down +the room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and +took me by both hands. + +“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, “how can I say what I owe to you? This paper +is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so +much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that +you do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so +clever woman. Madam”--he said this very solemnly--“if ever Abraham Van +Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know. +It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a +friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you +and those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights; +you are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and +your husband will be blessed in you.” + +“But, doctor, you praise me too much, and--and you do not know me.” + +“Not know you--I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and +women; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to +him and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that you +have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every +line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your +marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell +all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that +angels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of +angels’ eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for +you trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your +husband--tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and +is he strong and hearty?” I saw here an opening to ask him about +Jonathan, so I said:-- + +“He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins’s +death.” He interrupted:-- + +“Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters.” I went +on:-- + +“I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he +had a sort of shock.” + +“A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of +a shock was it?” + +“He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something +which led to his brain fever.” And here the whole thing seemed to +overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he +experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that +has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose I +was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to +him, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands +and raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held my +hand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:-- + +“My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not +had much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here by +my friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such +nobility that I feel more than ever--and it has grown with my advancing +years--the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here +full of respect for you, and you have given me hope--hope, not in what I +am seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life +happy--good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for +the children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some +use to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my +study and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do _all_ for him +that I can--all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy +one. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious. +Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like not +where he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat +and smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not +speak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I +want to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I +will ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of +husband Jonathan’s trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat +now; afterwards you shall tell me all.” + +After lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:-- + +“And now tell me all about him.” When it came to speaking to this great +learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and +Jonathan a madman--that journal is all so strange--and I hesitated to go +on. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I +trusted him, so I said:-- + +“Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not +laugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of +fever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I +have even half believed some very strange things.” He reassured me by +his manner as well as his words when he said:-- + +“Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which +I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little +of any one’s belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keep +an open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close +it, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that +make one doubt if they be mad or sane.” + +“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off my +mind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long, +but I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble and +Jonathan’s. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that +happened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself and +judge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell +me what you think.” + +“I promise,” he said as I gave him the papers; “I shall in the morning, +so soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may.” + +“Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch +with us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, which +will leave you at Paddington before eight.” He was surprised at my +knowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have made +up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in +case he is in a hurry. + +So he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here +thinking--thinking I don’t know what. + + * * * * * + +_Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._ + +“_25 September, 6 o’clock._ + +“Dear Madam Mina,-- + +“I have read your husband’s so wonderful diary. You may sleep without +doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is _true_! I will pledge my +life on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no +dread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men, +that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that +room--ay, and going a second time--is not one to be injured in +permanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I +swear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to +ask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, for +I have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle--dazzle more +than ever, and I must think. + +“Yours the most faithful, + +“ABRAHAM VAN HELSING.” + + +_Letter, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._ + +“_25 September, 6:30 p. m._ + +“My dear Dr. Van Helsing,-- + +“A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great weight +off my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there are in +the world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster, be really +in London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a +wire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night from +Launceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fear +to-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please come +to breakfast at eight o’clock, if this be not too early for you? You can +get away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring +you to Paddington by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that, +if I do not hear, you will come to breakfast. + +“Believe me, + +“Your faithful and grateful friend, + +“MINA HARKER.” + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_26 September._--I thought never to write in this diary again, but the +time has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and +when we had supped she told me of Van Helsing’s visit, and of her having +given him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has been +about me. She showed me in the doctor’s letter that all I wrote down was +true. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to the +reality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in +the dark, and distrustful. But, now that I _know_, I am not afraid, even +of the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting +to London, and it was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing +is the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like what +Mina says. We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I +shall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over.... + +He was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where he +was, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned my +face round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny:-- + +“But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.” It was +so funny to hear my wife called “Madam Mina” by this kindly, +strong-faced old man. I smiled, and said:-- + +“I _was_ ill, I _have_ had a shock; but you have cured me already.” + +“And how?” + +“By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then everything +took a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to trust, even the +evidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I did not know +what to do; and so had only to keep on working in what had hitherto been +the groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I mistrusted +myself. Doctor, you don’t know what it is to doubt everything, even +yourself. No, you don’t; you couldn’t with eyebrows like yours.” He +seemed pleased, and laughed as he said:-- + +“So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with +so much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you will +pardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.” I +would listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply nodded +and stood silent. + +“She is one of God’s women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men and +other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its +light can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an +egoist--and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical and +selfish. And you, sir--I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy, +and some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from the +knowing of others; but I have seen your true self since last night. You +will give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our +lives.” + +We shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made me quite +choky. + +“And now,” he said, “may I ask you for some more help? I have a great +task to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here. +Can you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania? Later on I +may ask more help, and of a different kind; but at first this will do.” + +“Look here, sir,” I said, “does what you have to do concern the Count?” + +“It does,” he said solemnly. + +“Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30 train, you +will not have time to read them; but I shall get the bundle of papers. +You can take them with you and read them in the train.” + +After breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting he +said:-- + +“Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Mina +too.” + +“We shall both come when you will,” I said. + +I had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the previous +night, and while we were talking at the carriage window, waiting for the +train to start, he was turning them over. His eyes suddenly seemed to +catch something in one of them, “The Westminster Gazette”--I knew it by +the colour--and he grew quite white. He read something intently, +groaning to himself: “Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! so soon!” I do not +think he remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, and +the train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out of +the window and waved his hand, calling out: “Love to Madam Mina; I shall +write so soon as ever I can.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_26 September._--Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a week +since I said “Finis,” and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rather +going on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to +think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as +he ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he had +just started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any trouble +to me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I +gather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with +him, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of +good spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that +Arthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as to +them all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my +work with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might +fairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming +cicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be the +end God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows, +too, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He +went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came +back, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o’clock, +and thrust last night’s “Westminster Gazette” into my hand. + +“What do you think of that?” he asked as he stood back and folded his +arms. + +I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but he +took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyed +away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a +passage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. An +idea struck me, and I looked up. “Well?” he said. + +“It is like poor Lucy’s.” + +“And what do you make of it?” + +“Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured +her has injured them.” I did not quite understand his answer:-- + +“That is true indirectly, but not directly.” + +“How do you mean, Professor?” I asked. I was a little inclined to take +his seriousness lightly--for, after all, four days of rest and freedom +from burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one’s spirits--but +when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our +despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern. + +“Tell me!” I said. “I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to +think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.” + +“Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to +what poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only by +events, but by me?” + +“Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood.” + +“And how the blood lost or waste?” I shook my head. He stepped over and +sat down beside me, and went on:-- + +“You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold; +but you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears +hear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to +you. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, +and yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But +there are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men’s +eyes, because they know--or think they know--some things which other men +have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to +explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to +explain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs, +which think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretend +to be young--like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not +believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor +in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in +hypnotism----” + +“Yes,” I said. “Charcot has proved that pretty well.” He smiled as he +went on: “Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you +understand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great +Charcot--alas that he is no more!--into the very soul of the patient +that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you +simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion +be a blank? No? Then tell me--for I am student of the brain--how you +accept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my +friend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science which +would have been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered +electricity--who would themselves not so long before have been burned +as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that +Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and ‘Old Parr’ one hundred and +sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men’s blood in her poor +veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we +could have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do +you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the +qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me +why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived +for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, +till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can +you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that +come at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their +veins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang +on the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant +nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that +it is hot, flit down on them, and then--and then in the morning are +found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?” + +“Good God, Professor!” I said, starting up. “Do you mean to tell me that +Lucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in London +in the nineteenth century?” He waved his hand for silence, and went +on:-- + +“Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of +men; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and +why the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint? +Can you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are +some few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and +women who cannot die? We all know--because science has vouched for the +fact--that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of +years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of +the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die +and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the +corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men +come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian +fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?” Here +I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mind +his list of nature’s eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my +imagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me +some lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but +he used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of +thought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I +wanted to follow him, so I said:-- + +“Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so +that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going in +my mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows an +idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumping +from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without +knowing where I am going.” + +“That is good image,” he said. “Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is +this: I want you to believe.” + +“To believe what?” + +“To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once +of an American who so defined faith: ‘that faculty which enables us to +believe things which we know to be untrue.’ For one, I follow that man. +He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of +truth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway +truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value +him; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in +the universe.” + +“Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the +receptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read +your lesson aright?” + +“Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now +that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to +understand. You think then that those so small holes in the children’s +throats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?” + +“I suppose so.” He stood up and said solemnly:-- + +“Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse, +far, far worse.” + +“In God’s name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?” I cried. + +He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his +elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:-- + +“They were made by Miss Lucy!” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY--_continued_. + + +For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her life +struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to +him:-- + +“Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?” He raised his head and looked at me, and +somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. “Would I were!” he +said. “Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my +friend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell +you so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all +my life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted, +now so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a +fearful death? Ah no!” + +“Forgive me,” said I. He went on:-- + +“My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you, +for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not +expect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract +truth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have always +believed the ‘no’ of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad a +concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove +it. Dare you come with me?” + +This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron +excepted from the category, jealousy. + + “And prove the very truth he most abhorred.” + +He saw my hesitation, and spoke:-- + +“The logic is simple, no madman’s logic this time, jumping from tussock +to tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief; +at worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yet +very dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come, +I tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child +in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers +say the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were +in class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he +will not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we +wish to learn. And then----” + +“And then?” He took a key from his pocket and held it up. “And then we +spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is +the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give to +Arthur.” My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful +ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what +heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was +passing.... + +We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and +altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its +throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the +similarity to those which had been on Lucy’s throat. They were smaller, +and the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he +attributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some +animal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think +that it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern +heights of London. “Out of so many harmless ones,” he said, “there may +be some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some +sailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from +the Zoölogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred +there from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago +a wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a +week after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the +Heath and in every alley in the place until this ‘bloofer lady’ scare +came along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even +this poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he +might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted +to play with the ‘bloofer lady.’” + +“I hope,” said Van Helsing, “that when you are sending the child home +you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies +to stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another +night, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will +not let it away for some days?” + +“Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not +healed.” + +Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and +the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it +was, he said:-- + +“There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek +somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way.” + +We dined at “Jack Straw’s Castle” along with a little crowd of +bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o’clock we +started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps +made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual +radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he +went on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to +locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at +last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse +police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of +the churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty--for +it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us--we found +the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, +and standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to +precede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the +courtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My +companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after +carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring, +one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he +fumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, +proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed +with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some +days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites +turning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the +beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured +stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished +brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a +candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been +imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life--animal life--was +not the only thing which could pass away. + +Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so +that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm +dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he +made assurance of Lucy’s coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took +out a turnscrew. + +“What are you going to do?” I asked. + +“To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.” Straightway he began +taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the +casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed +to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have +stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took +hold of his hand to stop him. He only said: “You shall see,” and again +fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew +through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he +made a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of +the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We +doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to +such things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never +stopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of +the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the +edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the +coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to +look. + +I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty. + +It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but +Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground, +and so emboldened to proceed in his task. “Are you satisfied now, friend +John?” he asked. + +I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as +I answered him:-- + +“I am satisfied that Lucy’s body is not in that coffin; but that only +proves one thing.” + +“And what is that, friend John?” + +“That it is not there.” + +“That is good logic,” he said, “so far as it goes. But how do you--how +can you--account for it not being there?” + +“Perhaps a body-snatcher,” I suggested. “Some of the undertaker’s people +may have stolen it.” I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was +the only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. “Ah +well!” he said, “we must have more proof. Come with me.” + +He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed +them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the +bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and +locked it. He handed me the key, saying: “Will you keep it? You had +better be assured.” I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am +bound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. “A key is nothing,” I said; +“there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock +of that kind.” He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he +told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at +the other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark +figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my +sight. + +It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant +clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and +unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand +and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly +observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had +a dreary, miserable time. + +Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white +streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard +farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the +Professor’s side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I +too moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I +stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an +early cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered +juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim +figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden +by trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the +rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and +coming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When +he saw me he held it out to me, and said:-- + +“Are you satisfied now?” + +“No,” I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive. + +“Do you not see the child?” + +“Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?” I +asked. + +“We shall see,” said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way +out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child. + +When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of +trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child’s throat. It was +without a scratch or scar of any kind. + +“Was I right?” I asked triumphantly. + +“We were just in time,” said the Professor thankfully. + +We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted +about it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to +give some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should +have had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child. +So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we +heard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find +it; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out +well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman’s heavy +tramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until +he saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation +of astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a +cab near the “Spaniards,” and drove to town. + +I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours’ +sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall +go with him on another expedition. + + * * * * * + +_27 September._--It was two o’clock before we found a suitable +opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed, +and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily +away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw +the sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till +morning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should not +want more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the +reality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out of +place; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we were +incurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless. +Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead +nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to +open the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own +eyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however, +and rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road, +no matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again +courteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as +last night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine +streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy’s coffin, and I followed. +He bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock +of surprise and dismay shot through me. + +There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before her +funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and I +could not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than +before; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom. + +“Is this a juggle?” I said to him. + +“Are you convinced now?” said the Professor in response, and as he spoke +he put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the +dead lips and showed the white teeth. + +“See,” he went on, “see, they are even sharper than before. With this +and this”--and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below +it--“the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend +John?” Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I _could_ not +accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt to +argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:-- + +“She may have been placed here since last night.” + +“Indeed? That is so, and by whom?” + +“I do not know. Some one has done it.” + +“And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not +look so.” I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not +seem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor +triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising +the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and +examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:-- + +“Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here is +some dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire +when she was in a trance, sleep-walking--oh, you start; you do not know +that, friend John, but you shall know it all later--and in trance could +he best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance she +is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when +the Un-Dead sleep at home”--as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of +his arm to designate what to a vampire was “home”--“their face show what +they are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to +the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so +it make hard that I must kill her in her sleep.” This turned my blood +cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing’s +theories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in the +idea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in +my face, for he said almost joyously:-- + +“Ah, you believe now?” + +I answered: “Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to +accept. How will you do this bloody work?” + +“I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall +drive a stake through her body.” It made me shudder to think of so +mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling +was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to +shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing +called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, +or all objective? + +I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as +if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a +snap, and said:-- + +“I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I +did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what is +to be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that are +thousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This is +simple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to act +now would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have to +want Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the +wounds on Lucy’s throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child’s at +the hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full +to-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more +beautiful in a whole week, after she die--if you know of this and know +of the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard, +and yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expect +Arthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when I +took him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me +because in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say +good-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea +this woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have +killed her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that +have killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet +he never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will +sometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint +his dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he +will think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all, +an Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since +I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he +must pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow, +must have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to +him; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind is +made up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and see +that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this +churchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the +Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too, +and also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we +shall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and +there dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.” + +So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the +churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly. + + +_Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed to +John Seward, M. D._ + +(Not delivered.) + +“_27 September._ + +“Friend John,-- + +“I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in +that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not +leave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager. +Therefore I shall fix some things she like not--garlic and a +crucifix--and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead, +and will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; they +may not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is +desperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may +be. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise, +and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss +Lucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that +she is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter. +He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all +along he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy’s life, and +we lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the +strength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strength +to Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and +I know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shall +find me; but none other shall--until it be too late. But it may be that +he will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his +hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the +Un-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch. + +“Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this, +the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this +great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake +through it, so that the world may rest from him. + +“If it be so, farewell. + +“VAN HELSING.” + + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_28 September._--It is wonderful what a good night’s sleep will do for +one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing’s monstrous +ideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on +common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his +mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be _some_ +rational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that +the Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that +if he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to +some fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed +it would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van +Helsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some +light on the mystery. + + * * * * * + +_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. 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.” + +“Me too,” said Quincey Morris laconically. + +“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. 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. + +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.” + +“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?” + +“To enter the tomb!” Arthur stood up. + +“Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me, +I see that you are in earnest.” He sat down again, but I could see that +he sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was +silence until he asked again:-- + +“And when in the tomb?” + +“To open the coffin.” + +“This is too much!” he said, angrily rising again. “I am willing to be +patient in all things that are reasonable; but in this--this desecration +of the grave--of one who----” He fairly choked with indignation. The +Professor looked pityingly at him. + +“If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,” he said, “God knows I +would. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and +for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!” + +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. + +“I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no +further than to say that she might be Un-Dead.” + +“Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what +is it?” + +“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. “Not for +the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr. +Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you should +torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to +cast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad to speak such things, or +am I mad to listen to them? Don’t dare to think more of such a +desecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a +duty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do +it!” + +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! All I ask you +now is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if when +later I make the same request you do not be more eager for its +fulfilment even than I am, then--then I shall do my duty, whatever it +may seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship’s wishes I shall +hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where +you will.” His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of +pity:-- + +“But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of +acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring +my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if +the time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look from +you will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man can +to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so +much of labour and so much of sorrow? 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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY--_continued_ + + +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. When we had come close to the tomb I looked +well at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with so +sorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took it +that the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant +to his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural +hesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by +entering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door. +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. + +The coffin was empty! + +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?” + +“I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nor +touched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward and +I came here--with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which +was then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, and +saw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here in +day-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?” + +“Yes.” + +“That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing, +and we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I came +here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here +all the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probable +that it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic, +which the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last +night there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my +garlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But +bear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me +outside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be. +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. Each +in his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I +could see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the +mystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to +throw aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing’s conclusions. Quincey +Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and +accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has to +stake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of +tobacco and began to chew. 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?” + +“It is.” + +“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. In respectful silence we took the places +assigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of any +one approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myself +been apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror; and yet I, +who had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink +within me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white; never did cypress, or +yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom; never did tree +or grass wave or rustle so ominously; never did bough creak so +mysteriously; and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a +woeful presage through the night. + +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. 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. + +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. Lucy’s eyes in form +and colour; but Lucy’s eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of +the pure, gentle orbs we knew. 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. + +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. 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. + +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. Quincey and I +simultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. 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. + +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.” Coming close to Arthur, +he said:-- + +“My friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial; but after, when you look +back, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitter +waters, my child. By this time to-morrow you will, please God, have +passed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mourn +overmuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.” + +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. + + * * * * * + +_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. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and +strolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when the +gravediggers had completed their task and the sexton under the belief +that every one had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all to +ourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him a +long leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of +fair weight. + +When we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out up +the road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the +Professor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing it +behind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and also +two wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their own +ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work +by. 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.” + +She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth, +the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth--which it made one shudder to +see--the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like a +devilish mockery of Lucy’s sweet purity. 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. + +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. 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. 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!” Van Helsing laid a hand on his +shoulder, and said:-- + +“Brave lad! A moment’s courage, and it is done. This stake must be +driven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal--be not deceived in +that--but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more +than your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as though +you tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Only +think that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray for +you all the time.” + +“Go on,” said Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me what I am to do.” + +“Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over the +heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for +the dead--I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shall +follow--strike in God’s name, that so all may be well with the dead that +we love and that the Un-Dead pass away.” + +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. + +The hammer fell from Arthur’s hand. He reeled and would have fallen had +we not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from his forehead, +and his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain +on him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than human +considerations he could never have gone through with it. For a few +minutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the +coffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one +to the other of us. 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. + +Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and said to +him:-- + +“And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?” + +The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man’s hand +in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:-- + +“Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again, +and me peace.” He put his hands on the Professor’s shoulder, and laying +his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood +unmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:-- + +“And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as +she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning +devil now--not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is +the devil’s Un-Dead. 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. When the Professor locked +the door he gave the key to Arthur. + +Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it +seemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was +gladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves +on one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy. + +Before we moved away Van Helsing said:-- + +“Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowing +to ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the author +of all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can +follow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in +it, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all +of us--is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do +we not promise to go on to the bitter end?” + +Each in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said the +Professor as we moved off:-- + +“Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of +the clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you +know not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show and our plans +unfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have much to consult +about, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amsterdam, but shall +return to-morrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first I +shall have much to say, so that you may know what is to do and to dread. +Then our promise shall be made to each other anew; for there is a +terrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare we +must not draw back.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY--_continued_ + + +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.” + +When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me of +a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewritten +copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker’s diary at Whitby. “Take these,” he +said, “and study them well. When I have returned you will be master of +all the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. Keep +them safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will need all your +faith, even you who have had such an experience as that of to-day. What +is here told,” he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet of +papers as he spoke, “may be the beginning of the end to you and me and +many another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the +earth. Read all, I pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add in +any way to the story here told do so, for it is all-important. You have +kept diary of all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes! Then we +shall go through all these together when we meet.” He then made ready +for his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street. 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. + +In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a +lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a shudder +when we entered. + +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! + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_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. + +“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.” + +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?” 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.” + +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. Dinner will by then be ready. In the +meantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better +able to understand certain things.” 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.... + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_29 September._--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan +Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without +thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce +dinner, so I said: “She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour,” and +I went on with my work. 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.” + +“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.” She looked at me so appealingly, and at +the same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing, +that I gave in at once to her wishes. “You shall,” I said, “do as you +like in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible +things yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road to +poor Lucy’s death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the +dark. Nay, the end--the very end--may give you a gleam of peace. Come, +there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us; +we have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn +the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask--if there be anything +which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were +present.” + + +_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. + +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. As it was, I didn’t know what to believe, and so got out of my +difficulty by attending to something else. 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. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about +his work of going his round of the patients; when he had finished he +came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely +whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of +good men--even if there _are_ monsters in it. Before I left him I +remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor’s +perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station at +Exeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the +files of “The Westminster Gazette” and “The Pall Mall Gazette,” and took +them to my room. I remember how much “The Dailygraph” and “The Whitby +Gazette,” of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the +terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look +through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new +light. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet. + + +_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. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, +and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They +are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in +chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got +the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the +carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife’s +typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it +is.... + + 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. I hardly see this yet, + but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing + that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have + found the dates otherwise.... + + 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. 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. He might begin to think, + and then--! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so + I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after him, and to + have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need. + + +_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. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and +brought me to his father’s house, where they had decided that I must +stay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality: +give a guest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They all +knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had +ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes. +It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had +seen on the Count’s table before I knew of his diabolical plans. +Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and +with precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which +might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried +out. To use an Americanism, he had “taken no chances,” and the absolute +accuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the +logical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it: +“Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes.” +Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both of +these I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could +give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs +officers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of the +strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in local +tradition; but no one could add to the simple description “Fifty cases +of common earth.” I then saw the station-master, who kindly put me in +communication with the men who had actually received the boxes. Their +tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except that +the boxes were “main and mortal heavy,” and that shifting them was dry +work. One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn’t any +gentleman “such-like as yourself, squire,” to show some sort of +appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a rider +that the thirst then generated was such that even the time which had +elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care +before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of +reproach. + + * * * * * + +_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. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here +limited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was +compelled to deal with the result in an _ex post facto_ manner. + +From thence I went on to Carter Paterson’s central office, where I met +with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in their +day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King’s Cross +office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teaming +were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending +also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the +delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing +exactly; the carriers’ men were able to supplement the paucity of the +written words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connected +almost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent +thirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity, +through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a +later period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked:-- + +“That ’ere ’ouse, guv’nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but it +ain’t been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick in +the place that you might have slep’ on it without ’urtin’ of yer bones; +an’ the place was that neglected that yer might ’ave smelled ole +Jerusalem in it. But the ole chapel--that took the cike, that did! Me +and my mate, we thort we wouldn’t never git out quick enough. Lor’, I +wouldn’t take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark.” + +Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew what +I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms. + +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. + + +_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. + + * * * * * + +_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. It was to me a painful meeting, for it +brought back all poor dear Lucy’s hopes of only a few months ago. Of +course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van +Helsing, too, has been quite “blowing my trumpet,” as Mr. Morris +expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all +about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to +say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so they +had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, and +came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post +them in affairs right up to date. 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. When Lord Godalming got +his and turned it over--it does make a pretty good pile--he said:-- + +“Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?” + +I nodded, and he went on:-- + +“I don’t quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good and +kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all +I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have +had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble +to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy--” +Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear +the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid +a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the +room. I suppose there is something in woman’s nature that makes a man +free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or +emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when +Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and +gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him 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?” + +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. + +We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above +smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big +sorrowing man’s head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby +that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he +were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was. + +After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an +apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for +days and nights past--weary days and sleepless nights--he had been +unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of +sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with +whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was +surrounded, he could speak freely. “I know now how I suffered,” he said, +as he dried his eyes, “but I do not know even yet--and none other can +ever know--how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall +know better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful +now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be +like a brother, will you not, for all our lives--for dear Lucy’s sake?” + +“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I said as we clasped hands. “Ay, and for your +own sake,” he added, “for if a man’s esteem and gratitude are ever worth +the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bring +to you a time when you need a man’s help, believe me, you will not call +in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the +sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that you +will let me know.” He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that +I felt it would comfort him, so I said:-- + +“I promise.” + +As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window. +He turned as he heard my footsteps. “How is Art?” he said. Then noticing +my red eyes, he went on: “Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor +old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is in +trouble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him.” + +He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the +manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realise +how much I knew; so I said to him:-- + +“I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me +be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You +will know, later on, why I speak.” He saw that I was in earnest, and +stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed +but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I +bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a +momentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:-- + +“Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long +as ever you live!” Then he went into the study to his friend. + +“Little girl!”--the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he +proved himself a friend! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +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!” She looked so appealing and so pretty that I +could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so +I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a +lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: “Why?” + +“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. For a moment I thought that he might +have some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been just +before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I +could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She +came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command +the respect of any lunatic--for easiness is one of the qualities mad +people most respect. 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.” Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:-- + +“Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever +saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.” + +“Then what are you doing here?” + +“My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.” + +“Then don’t stay.” + +“But why not?” I thought that this style of conversation might not be +pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:-- + +“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_.” I +positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet +lunatic--the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met +with--talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished +gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touched +some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any +way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or +power. + +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?” 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. Looking at my watch, I +saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs. +Harker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after saying +pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: “Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often, +under auspices pleasanter to yourself,” to which, to my astonishment, he +replied:-- + +“Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. +May He bless and keep you!” + +When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind +me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took +ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for +many a long day. + +Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a +boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying:-- + +“Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come +here to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have +much to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And +Arthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!” + +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. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her +in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer--both in +waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides, +she is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things to +think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she +must consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, and +we go alone.” I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we +had found in his absence: that the house which Dracula had bought was +the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed +to come on him. “Oh that we had known it before!” he said, “for then we +might have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, ‘the milk +that is spilt cries not out afterwards,’ as you say. We shall not think +of that, but go on our way to the end.” Then he fell into a silence that +lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for +dinner he said to Mrs. Harker:-- + +“I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have +put up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.” + +“Not up to this moment, Professor,” she said impulsively, “but up to +this morning.” + +“But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the +little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who +has told is the worse for it.” + +Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she +said:-- + +“Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It +is my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down at +present everything, however trivial; but there is little in this except +what is personal. Must it go in?” The Professor read it over gravely, +and handed it back, saying:-- + +“It need not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It can +but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more +honour you--as well as more esteem and love.” She took it back with +another blush and a bright smile. + +And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete +and in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner, +and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of us +have already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall all +be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this +terrible and mysterious enemy. + + +_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. 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. + +“There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that they +exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the +teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane +peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that +through long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could not +have believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. ‘See! see! +I prove; I prove.’ Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know--nay, +had I even guess at him--one so precious life had been spared to many of +us who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that other +poor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The _nosferatu_ do not die +like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being +stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is +amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of +cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have +still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the +divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are +for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in +callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear +at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he +can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the +thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and +the bat--the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become +small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to +begin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where; and having +found it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible +task that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave +shudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and then +where end we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. 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?” + +Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so +much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I +saw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch--so +strong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak for +itself; it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music. + +When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I +in his; there was no need for speaking between us. + +“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. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even +occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing +went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work +had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, +as any other transaction of life:-- + +“Well, you know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are not +without strength. We have on our side power of combination--a power +denied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; we are free to +act and think; and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally. +In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we are +free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and an end to +achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much. + +“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. + +“All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not +at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death--nay +of more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in the +first place because we have to be--no other means is at our control--and +secondly, because, after all, these things--tradition and +superstition--are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for +others--though not, alas! for us--on them? A year ago which of us would +have received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific, +sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief +that we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the +vampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the +moment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere +that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome; he flourish in Germany +all over, in France, in India, even in the Chernosese; and in China, so +far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples fear him at +this day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the +devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far, then, we +have all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of the +beliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy +experience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the +time; he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the +living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow +younger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though +they refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. But he +cannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even friend +Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never! +He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again +Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand--witness again +Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him +from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather +from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as +bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John +saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at +the window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create--that noble +ship’s captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance +he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He +come on moonlight rays as elemental dust--as again Jonathan saw those +sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small--we ourselves saw +Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the +tomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or +into anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with +fire--solder you call it. He can see in the dark--no small power this, +in a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me +through. He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is even +more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell. +He cannot go where he lists; he who is not of nature has yet to obey +some of nature’s laws--why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at the +first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come; +though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does +that of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain times +can he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is +bound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. +These things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof by +inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he +have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place +unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at +Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come. It is +said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood +of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no +power, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as this +symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to +them he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and +silent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of, +lest in our seeking we may need them. The branch of wild rose on his +coffin keep him that he move not from it; a sacred bullet fired into the +coffin kill him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake through +him, we know already of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest. +We have seen it with our eyes. + +“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.’ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his +grave, and are even now arrayed against us. 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.” + +Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, +and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. 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. 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.” Without +saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his +statement:-- + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_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.” + +“Take me with you, friend John,” said the Professor. “His case in your +diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on _our_ +case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is +disturbed.” + +“May I come also?” asked Lord Godalming. + +“Me too?” said Quincey Morris. “May I come?” said Harker. I nodded, and +we all went down the passage together. + +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. “I appeal to your friends,” he said, “they will, +perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have +not introduced me.” I was so much astonished, that the oddness of +introducing a madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment; and, +besides, there was a certain dignity in the man’s manner, so much of +the habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction: “Lord +Godalming; Professor Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas; Mr. +Renfield.” 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. 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. 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. +And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as +well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to +be considered as under exceptional circumstances.” He made this last +appeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own +charm. + +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. +So I contented myself with making a general statement that he appeared +to be improving very rapidly; that I would have a longer chat with him +in the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction of +meeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he said +quickly:-- + +“But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to +go at once--here--now--this very hour--this very moment, if I may. Time +presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of +the essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put +before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so +momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment.” He looked at me keenly, and +seeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinised +them closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, he went on:-- + +“Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?” + +“You have,” I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally. +There was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly:-- + +“Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask for +this concession--boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore +in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. I +am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I +assure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and +unselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. Could you look, +sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments which +animate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest of +your friends.” Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing +conviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method was +but yet another form or phase of his madness, and so determined to let +him go on a little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like +all lunatics, give himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at +him with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting +with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone +which did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it +afterwards--for it was as of one addressing an equal:-- + +“Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free +to-night? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me--a stranger, +without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind--Dr. +Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the +privilege you seek.” He shook his head sadly, and with a look of +poignant regret on his face. The Professor went on:-- + +“Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in the +highest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete +reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since +you are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. If +you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can +we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help +us; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish.” 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.” I thought it was now +time to end the scene, which was becoming too comically grave, so I went +towards the door, simply saying:-- + +“Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good-night.” + +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. As he saw that the very excess of his +emotion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our old +relations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, +and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes; so I became a little more +fixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that his +efforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same +constantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some request of +which at the time he had thought much, such, for instance, as when he +wanted a cat; and I was prepared to see the collapse into the same +sullen acquiescence on this occasion. My expectation was not realised, +for, when he found that his appeal would not be successful, he got into +quite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his knees, and held up +his hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a +torrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and his +whole face and form expressive of the deepest emotion:-- + +“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!” + +I thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would get, and so +would bring on a fit; so I took him by the hand and raised him up. + +“Come,” I said sternly, “no more of this; we have had quite enough +already. Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly.” + +He suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then, +without a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the +bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasion, just as I had +expected. + +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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +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. 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.” Lord Godalming and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added:-- + +“Friend John, you know more of lunatics than I do, and I’m glad of it, +for I fear that if it had been to me to decide I would before that last +hysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and learn, and in +our present task we must take no chance, as my friend Quincey would say. +All is best as they are.” 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. He +certainly did seem earnest, though. I only hope we have done what is +best. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we have in hand, +help to unnerve a man.” The Professor stepped over, and laying his hand +on his shoulder, said in his grave, kindly way:-- + +“Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad +and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to +hope for, except the pity of the good God?” 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.” Having passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking care +to keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the moonlight shone +out. 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. 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. “Now,” he said, “friend John, where are the +skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break house +by the window, as before at Miss Lucy’s.” + +Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical dexterity as a +surgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got one to suit; after +a little play back and forward the bolt yielded, and, with a rusty +clang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the rusty hinges creaked, and +it slowly opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me in +Dr. Seward’s diary of the opening of Miss Westenra’s tomb; I fancy that +the same idea seemed to strike the others, for with one accord they +shrank back. The Professor was the first to move forward, and stepped +into the open door. + +“_In manus tuas, Domine!_” he said, crossing himself as he passed over +the threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we should have +lit our lamps we should possibly attract attention from the road. The +Professor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be able to open it +from within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we all lit our +lamps and proceeded on our search. + +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. On a table in the +hall was a great bunch of keys, with a time-yellowed label on each. They +had been used several times, for on the table were several similar rents +in the blanket of dust, similar to that exposed when the Professor +lifted them. He turned to me and said:-- + +“You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know +it at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?” I had an +idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been able to +get admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turnings +found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron bands. +“This is the spot,” said the Professor as he turned his lamp on a small +map of the house, copied from the file of my original correspondence +regarding the purchase. 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. + +Under ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought our +enterprise to an end; but this was no ordinary case, and the high and +terrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength which rose +above merely physical considerations. After the involuntary shrinking +consequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about our +work as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses. + +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! Once I got a fright, +for, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look out of the vaulted +door into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an instant my +heart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the shadow, I seemed to +see the high lights of the Count’s evil face, the ridge of the nose, the +red eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for, +as Lord Godalming said, “I thought I saw a face, but it was only the +shadows,” and resumed his inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction, +and stepped into the passage. There was no sign of any one; and as there +were no corners, no doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solid +walls of the passage, there could be no hiding-place even for _him_. I +took it that fear had helped imagination, and said nothing. + +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. + +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. +Unconsciously we had all moved towards the door, and as we moved I +noticed that the dust had been much disturbed: the boxes which had been +taken out had been brought this way. But even in the minute that had +elapsed the number of the rats had vastly increased. They seemed to +swarm over the place all at once, till the lamplight, shining on their +moving dark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place look +like a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at the +threshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then, simultaneously lifting +their noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The rats were +multiplying in thousands, and we moved out. + +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. We all seemed to find our spirits rise. +Whether it was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening of +the chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by finding ourselves +in the open I know not; but most certainly the shadow of dread seemed to +slip from us like a robe, and the occasion of our coming lost something +of its grim significance, though we did not slacken a whit in our +resolution. We closed the outer door and barred and locked it, and +bringing the dogs with us, began our search of the house. We found +nothing throughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and all +untouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit. +Never once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when +we returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had been +rabbit-hunting in a summer wood. + +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. One lesson, too, we have +learned, if it be allowable to argue _a particulari_: that the brute +beasts which are to the Count’s command are yet themselves not amenable +to his spiritual power; for look, these rats that would come to his +call, just as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going and +to that poor mother’s cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell +from the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other matters +before us, other dangers, other fears; and that monster--he has not used +his power over the brute world for the only or the last time to-night. +So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us opportunity +to cry ‘check’ in some ways in this chess game, which we play for the +stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at hand, +and we have reason to be content with our first night’s work. It may be +ordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril; +but we must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink.” + +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. + +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. Therefore I am glad that it is +settled. There may be things which would frighten her to hear; and yet +to conceal them from her might be worse than to tell her if once she +suspected that there was any concealment. Henceforth our work is to be a +sealed book to her, till at least such time as we can tell her that all +is finished, and the earth free from a monster of the nether world. I +daresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after such +confidence as ours; but I must be resolute, and to-morrow I shall keep +dark over to-night’s doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that +has happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her. + + * * * * * + +_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. She +complained a little of being tired, and I let her rest till later in the +day. We now know of twenty-one boxes having been removed, and if it be +that several were taken in any of these removals we may be able to trace +them all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify our labour, and the +sooner the matter is attended to the better. I shall look up Thomas +Snelling to-day. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_1 October._--It was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professor +walking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than usual, and it +is quite evident that last night’s work has helped to take some of the +brooding weight off his mind. After going over the adventure of the +night he suddenly said:-- + +“Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit him +this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it may +be. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk philosophy, +and reason so sound.” I had some work to do which pressed, so I told him +that if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to +keep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him the necessary +instructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him against +getting any false impression from my patient. “But,” he answered, “I +want him to talk of himself and of his delusion as to consuming live +things. He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yesterday, that +he had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, friend John?” + +“Excuse me,” I said, “but the answer is here.” I laid my hand on the +type-written matter. “When our sane and learned lunatic made that very +statement of how he _used_ to consume life, his mouth was actually +nauseous with the flies and spiders which he had eaten just before Mrs. +Harker entered the room.” Van Helsing smiled in turn. “Good!” he said. +“Your memory is true, friend John. I should have remembered. And yet it +is this very obliquity of thought and memory which makes mental disease +such a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of the +folly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most wise. +Who knows?” I went on with my work, and before long was through that in +hand. 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!” Not a word more would he say, but sat in his implacable +sullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in the room at +all. Thus departed for this time my chance of much learning from this so +clever lunatic; so I shall go, if I may, and cheer myself with a few +happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it does +rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to be +worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help, it +is better so.” + +“I agree with you with all my heart,” I answered earnestly, for I did +not want him to weaken in this matter. “Mrs. Harker is better out of it. +Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who have +been in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman, +and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time +infallibly have wrecked her.” + +So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker; Quincey +and Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth-boxes. I +shall finish my round of work and we shall meet to-night. + + +_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. This +morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though +Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went +out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word of +what had happened in the visit to the Count’s house. And yet he must +have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it +must have distressed him even more than it did me. They all agreed that +it was best that I should not be drawn further into this awful work, and +I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! And now I am +crying like a silly fool, when I _know_ it comes from my husband’s great +love and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men. + +That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; and +lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept +anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has +feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my +heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and +low-spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible +excitement. + +Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they told +me to. I didn’t feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring anxiety. I +kept thinking over everything that has been ever since Jonathan came to +see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fate +pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one does +seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very thing which +is most to be deplored. If I hadn’t gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear +Lucy would be with us now. She hadn’t taken to visiting the churchyard +till I came, and if she hadn’t come there in the day-time with me she +wouldn’t have walked there in her sleep; and if she hadn’t gone there at +night and asleep, that monster couldn’t have destroyed her as he did. +Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what +has come over me to-day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew +that I had been crying twice in one morning--I, who never cried on my +own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear--the dear +fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I do +feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one of the lessons +that we poor women have to learn.... + +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. +All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by the moonlight +seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. 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. I think that the digression of my thoughts must +have done me good, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargy +creeping over me. I lay a while, but could not quite sleep, so I got out +and looked out of the window again. 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. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the +attendants were dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into +bed, and pulled the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in my ears. +I was not then a bit sleepy, at least so I thought; but I must have +fallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not remember anything until the +morning, when Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a +little time to realise where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was +bending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical of +the way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams. + +I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. I +was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act; my feet, and my +hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at the +usual pace. 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. 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. Things +began to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column was now +whirling in the room, and through it all came the scriptural words “a +pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night.” Was it indeed some such +spiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? 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. I must be +careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one’s reason if there were +too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribe +something for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarm +them. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into their +fears for me. To-night I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I do +not, I shall to-morrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral; that +cannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night’s sleep. Last +night tired me more than if I had not slept at all. + + * * * * * + +_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. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing. +In the afternoon Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he was +very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God bless +me. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I think of him. This +is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would be +miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out till +dinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brighten +them up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot how +tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke +together, as they said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other +of what had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jonathan’s +manner that he had something important to communicate. I was not so +sleepy as I should have been; so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to +give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night +before. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to +me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild.... I +have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope +I have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear +comes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the +power of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good-night. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL + + +_1 October, evening._--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal +Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. The +very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him had +proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected debauch. I +learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor soul, that he +was only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two mates was the +responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. Joseph +Smollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a +saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable +type of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. 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. I went back +to Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had +been taken from Carfax. + +He replied:-- + +“Well, guv’nor, you’ve treated me wery ’an’some”--I had given him half a +sovereign--“an’ I’ll tell yer all I know. I heard a man by the name of +Bloxam say four nights ago in the ’Are an’ ’Ounds, in Pincher’s Alley, +as ’ow he an’ his mate ’ad ’ad a rare dusty job in a old ’ouse at +Purfect. There ain’t a-many such jobs as this ’ere, an’ I’m thinkin’ +that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut.” I asked if he could tell me +where to find him. I told him that if he could get me the address it +would be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest +of his tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the search +then and there. At the door he stopped, and said:-- + +“Look ’ere, guv’nor, there ain’t no sense in me a-keepin’ you ’ere. I +may find Sam soon, or I mayn’t; but anyhow he ain’t like to be in a way +to tell ye much to-night. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze. +If you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on +it, I’ll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. But +ye’d better be up arter ’im soon in the mornin’, or maybe ye won’t ketch +’im; for Sam gets off main early, never mind the booze the night afore.” + +This was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny to +buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When she +came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet had +again faithfully promised to post the address when found, I took my way +to home. We’re on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and want sleep. +Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; her eyes look as +though she had been crying. Poor dear, I’ve no doubt it frets her to be +kept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the +others. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed and +worried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctors +were quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadful +business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of silence +must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under any +circumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard task, after all, for she +herself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the +Count or his doings ever since we told her of our decision. + + * * * * * + +_2 October, evening._--A long and trying and exciting day. By the first +post I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper enclosed, on +which was written with a carpenter’s pencil in a sprawling hand:-- + +“Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth. Arsk for +the depite.” + +I got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked heavy +and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake her, +but that, when I should return from this new search, I would arrange for +her going back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home, +with her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us and +in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where I +was off to, promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I should +have found out anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some +difficulty, Potter’s Court. Mr. Smollet’s spelling misled me, as I asked +for Poter’s Court instead of Potter’s Court. However, when I had found +the court, I had no difficulty in discovering Corcoran’s lodging-house. +When I asked the man who came to the door for the “depite,” he shook his +head, and said: “I dunno ’im. There ain’t no such a person ’ere; I never +’eard of ’im in all my bloomin’ days. Don’t believe there ain’t nobody +of that kind livin’ ere or anywheres.” I took out Smollet’s letter, and +as I read it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the name +of the court might guide me. “What are you?” I asked. + +“I’m the depity,” he answered. I saw at once that I was on the right +track; phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half-crown tip put the +deputy’s knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who +had slept off the remains of his beer on the previous night at +Corcoran’s, had left for his work at Poplar at five o’clock that +morning. He could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but +he had a vague idea that it was some kind of a “new-fangled ware’us”; +and with this slender clue I had to start for Poplar. It was twelve +o’clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a building, and this +I got at a coffee-shop, where some workmen were having their dinner. One +of these suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street a +new “cold storage” building; and as this suited the condition of a +“new-fangled ware’us,” I at once drove to it. An interview with a surly +gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were appeased with the +coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my +suggesting that I was willing to pay his day’s wages to his foreman for +the privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was +a smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had +promised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me +that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, +and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes--“main +heavy ones”--with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. I +asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to +which he replied:-- + +“Well, guv’nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors from a +big white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It was a +dusty old ’ouse, too, though nothin’ to the dustiness of the ’ouse we +tooked the bloomin’ boxes from.” + +“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! + +“Why, ’e took up ’is end o’ the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and +me a-puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ afore I could up-end mine anyhow--an’ I’m no +chicken, neither.” + +“How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?” I asked. + +“He was there too. He must ’a’ started off and got there afore me, for +when I rung of the bell he kem an’ opened the door ’isself an’ ’elped me +to carry the boxes into the ’all.” + +“The whole nine?” I asked. + +“Yus; there was five in the first load an’ four in the second. It was +main dry work, an’ I don’t so well remember ’ow I got ’ome.” I +interrupted him:-- + +“Were the boxes left in the hall?” + +“Yus; it was a big ’all, an’ there was nothin’ else in it.” I made one +more attempt to further matters:-- + +“You didn’t have any key?” + +“Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door ’isself +an’ shut it again when I druv off. I don’t remember the last time--but +that was the beer.” + +“And you can’t remember the number of the house?” + +“No, sir. But ye needn’t have no difficulty about that. It’s a ’igh ’un +with a stone front with a bow on it, an’ ’igh steps up to the door. I +know them steps, ’avin’ ’ad to carry the boxes up with three loafers +what come round to earn a copper. The old gent give them shillin’s, an’ +they seein’ they got so much, they wanted more; but ’e took one of them +by the shoulder and was like to throw ’im down the steps, till the lot +of them went away cussin’.” I thought that with this description I could +find the house, so, having paid my friend for his information, I started +off for Piccadilly. 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. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged my cab, and walked +westward; beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the house +described, and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairs +arranged by Dracula. The house looked as though it had been long +untenanted. The windows were encrusted with dust, and the shutters were +up. All the framework was black with time, and from the iron the paint +had mostly scaled away. It was evident that up to lately there had been +a large notice-board in front of the balcony; it had, however, been +roughly torn away, the uprights which had supported it still remaining. +Behind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose boards, +whose raw edges looked white. I would have given a good deal to have +been able to see the notice-board intact, as it would, perhaps, have +given some clue to the ownership of the house. I remembered my +experience of the investigation and purchase of Carfax, and I could not +but feel that if I could find the former owner there might be some means +discovered of gaining access to the house. + +There was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly side, and +nothing could be done; so I went round to the back to see if anything +could be gathered from this quarter. The mews were active, the +Piccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of the +grooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me anything +about the empty house. One of them said that he heard it had lately been +taken, but he couldn’t say from whom. He told me, however, that up to +very lately there had been a notice-board of “For Sale” up, and that +perhaps Mitchell, Sons, & Candy, the house agents, could tell me +something, as he thought he remembered seeing the name of that firm on +the board. I did not wish to seem too eager, or to let my informant know +or guess too much, so, thanking him in the usual manner, I strolled +away. It was now growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I +did not lose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, & +Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office in +Sackville Street. + +The gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but +uncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me that the +Piccadilly house--which throughout our interview he called a +“mansion”--was sold, he considered my business as concluded. 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. He said:-- + +“I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially would +I like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small matter of +renting some chambers for him when he was the Honourable Arthur +Holmwood. If you will let me have his lordship’s address I will consult +the House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate with his +lordship by to-night’s post. It will be a pleasure if we can so far +deviate from our rules as to give the required information to his +lordship.” + +I wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I thanked him, +gave the address at Dr. Seward’s and came away. It was now dark, and I +was tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the Aërated Bread Company +and came down to Purfleet by the next train. + +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. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of +keeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more reconciled; or +else the very subject seems to have become repugnant to her, for when +any accidental allusion is made she actually shudders. I am glad we +made our resolution in time, as with such a feeling as this, our growing +knowledge would be torture to her. + +I could not tell the others of the day’s discovery till we were alone; +so after dinner--followed by a little music to save appearances even +amongst ourselves--I took Mina to her room and left her to go to bed. +The dear girl was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me +as though she would detain me; but there was much to be talked of and I +came away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made no +difference between us. + +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.” 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.” Lord Godalming’s brows contracted, and he stood up and walked +about the room. By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from one to +another of us:-- + +“Quincey’s head is level. This burglary business is getting serious; we +got off once all right; but we have now a rare job on hand--unless we +can find the Count’s key basket.” + +As nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be at +least advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from Mitchell’s, +we decided not to take any active step before breakfast time. For a good +while we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in its various lights and +bearings; I took the opportunity of bringing this diary right up to the +moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed.... + +Just a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular. Her +forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she thinks even +in her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look so haggard as she +did this morning. To-morrow will, I hope, mend all this; she will be +herself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy! + + +_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. This morning, when I went to see him after his +repulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding destiny. +He was, in fact, commanding destiny--subjectively. He did not really +care for any of the things of mere earth; he was in the clouds and +looked down on all the weaknesses and wants of us poor mortals. I +thought I would improve the occasion and learn something, so I asked +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!” + +This puzzled me a little, so I drew him on:-- + +“Then you command life; you are a god, I suppose?” He smiled with an +ineffably benign superiority. + +“Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the attributes of the +Deity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual doings. If I +may state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns things +purely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupied +spiritually!” This was a poser to me. I could not at the moment recall +Enoch’s appositeness; so I had to ask a simple question, though I felt +that by so doing I was lowering myself in the eyes of the lunatic:-- + +“And why with Enoch?” + +“Because he walked with God.” I could not see the analogy, but did not +like to admit it; so I harked back to what he had denied:-- + +“So you don’t care about life and you don’t want souls. Why not?” I put +my question quickly and somewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him. +The effort succeeded; for an instant he unconsciously relapsed into his +old servile manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me as +he replied:-- + +“I don’t want any souls, indeed, indeed! I don’t. I couldn’t use them if +I had them; they would be no manner of use to me. I couldn’t eat them +or----” He suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over his +face, like a wind-sweep on the surface of the water. “And doctor, as to +life, what is it after all? When you’ve got all you require, and you +know that you will never want, that is all. I have friends--good +friends--like you, Dr. Seward”; this was said with a leer of +inexpressible cunning. “I know that I shall never lack the means of +life!” + +I think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw some +antagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of such as +he--a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the present it +was useless to speak to him. He was sulky, and so I came away. + +Later in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily I would not have come +without special reason, but just at present I am so interested in him +that I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to have anything +to help to pass the time. Harker is out, following up clues; and so are +Lord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my study poring over the +record prepared by the Harkers; he seems to think that by accurate +knowledge of all details he will light upon some clue. He does not wish +to be disturbed in the work, without cause. I would have taken him with +me to see the patient, only I thought that after his last repulse he +might not care to go again. There was also another reason: Renfield +might not speak so freely before a third person as when he and I were +alone. + +I found him sitting out in the middle of the floor on his stool, a pose +which is generally indicative of some mental energy on his part. When I +came in, he said at once, as though the question had been waiting on his +lips:-- + +“What about souls?” It was evident then that my surmise had been +correct. Unconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with the +lunatic. I determined to have the matter out. “What about them +yourself?” I asked. He did not reply for a moment but looked all round +him, and up and down, as though he expected to find some inspiration for +an answer. + +“I don’t want any souls!” he said in a feeble, apologetic way. The +matter seemed preying on his mind, and so I determined to use it--to “be +cruel only to be kind.” So I said:-- + +“You like life, and you want life?” + +“Oh yes! but that is all right; you needn’t worry about that!” + +“But,” I asked, “how are we to get the life without getting the soul +also?” This seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up:-- + +“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. It +was evident that he was undergoing some process of mental disturbance, +and, knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly foreign +to himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well as I could and +go with him. The first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him, +speaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed ears:-- + +“Would you like some sugar to get your flies round again?” He seemed to +wake up all at once, and shook his head. With a laugh he replied:-- + +“Not much! flies are poor things, after all!” After a pause he added, +“But I don’t want their souls buzzing round me, all the same.” + +“Or spiders?” I went on. + +“Blow spiders! What’s the use of spiders? There isn’t anything in them +to eat or”--he stopped suddenly, as though reminded of a forbidden +topic. + +“So, so!” I thought to myself, “this is the second time he has suddenly +stopped at the word ‘drink’; what does it mean?” Renfield seemed himself +aware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distract +my attention from it:-- + +“I don’t take any stock at all in such matters. ‘Rats and mice and such +small deer,’ as Shakespeare has it, ‘chicken-feed of the larder’ they +might be called. I’m past all that sort of nonsense. You might as well +ask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chop-sticks, as to try to +interest me about the lesser carnivora, when I know of what is before +me.” + +“I see,” I said. “You want big things that you can make your teeth meet +in? How would you like to breakfast on elephant?” + +“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!” He was getting too wide +awake, so I thought I would press him hard. “I wonder,” I said +reflectively, “what an elephant’s soul is like!” + +The effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his +high-horse and became a child again. + +“I don’t want an elephant’s soul, or any soul at all!” he said. For a +few moments he sat despondently. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, with +his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement. “To +hell with you and your souls!” he shouted. “Why do you plague me about +souls? Haven’t I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already, +without thinking of souls!” He looked so hostile that I thought he was +in for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle. The instant, +however, that I did so he became calm, and said apologetically:-- + +“Forgive me, Doctor; I forgot myself. You do not need any help. I am so +worried in my mind that I am apt to be irritable. If you only knew the +problem I have to face, and that I am working out, you would pity, and +tolerate, and pardon me. Pray do not put me in a strait-waistcoat. I +want to think and I cannot think freely when my body is confined. I am +sure you will understand!” He had evidently self-control; so when the +attendants came I told them not to mind, and they withdrew. Renfield +watched them go; when the door was closed he said, with considerable +dignity and sweetness:-- + +“Dr. Seward, you have been very considerate towards me. Believe me that +I am very, very grateful to you!” I thought it well to leave him in this +mood, and so I came away. 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! + + * * * * * + +_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. + + +_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. + +“We are, my Lord, + +“Your Lordship’s humble servants, + +“MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY.” + + +_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. After dinner, when we had all gathered round the fire +in the study--Mrs. Harker having gone to bed--we discussed the attempts +and discoveries of the day. Harker was the only one who had any result, +and we are in great hopes that his clue may be an important one. + +Before going to bed I went round to the patient’s room and looked in +through the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly, and his heart +rose and fell with regular respiration. + +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. + +To-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey are +looking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to have +horses always in readiness, for when we get the information which we +seek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilise all the imported +earth between sunrise and sunset; we shall thus catch the Count at his +weakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to the +British Museum looking up some authorities on ancient medicine. The old +physicians took account of things which their followers do not accept, +and the Professor is searching for witch and demon cures which may be +useful to us later. + +I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in +strait-waistcoats. + + * * * * * + +_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 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.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +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.” How such a thing could have +happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quite +bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:-- + +“I can’t understand the two things. He could mark his face like that by +beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at the +Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he +might have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward +kink. But for the life of me I can’t imagine how the two things +occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn’t beat his head; and if his +face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of +it.” 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. When +he saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and +then turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes, for he +said very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant:-- + +“Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much +attention. I shall stay with you myself; but I shall first dress myself. +If you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you.” + +The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see that +he had suffered some terrible injury. 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.” So I said:-- + +“I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can at +present. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate. +Let me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere.” + +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.” As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I +went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and +Quincey in pajamas and slippers: the former spoke:-- + +“I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. +So I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things +are moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us +these times. I’ve been thinking that to-morrow night will not see things +as they have been. We’ll have to look back--and forward a little more +than we have done. May we come in?” I nodded, and held the door open +till they had entered; then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the +attitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the +floor, he said softly:-- + +“My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!” I told him +briefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness after +the operation--for a short time, at all events. He went at once and sat +down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all watched +in patience. + +“We shall wait,” said Van Helsing, “just long enough to fix the best +spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly remove +the blood clot; for it is evident that the hæmorrhage is increasing.” + +The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had a +horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing’s face I gathered +that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded +the words that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think; +but the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men +who have heard the death-watch. The poor man’s breathing came in +uncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes +and speak; but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he +would relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick +beds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me. I could almost +hear the beating of my own heart; and the blood surging through my +temples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally became +agonising. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from +their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal +torture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead +some dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect +it. + +At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was +sinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor +and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he +spoke:-- + +“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. He moved +convulsively, and as he did so, said:-- + +“I’ll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. I +have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot +move. What’s wrong with my face? it feels all swollen, and it smarts +dreadfully.” He tried to turn his head; but even with the effort his +eyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van +Helsing said in a quiet grave tone:-- + +“Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.” As he heard the voice his face +brightened, through its mutilation, and he said:-- + +“That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me some +water, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed”--he +stopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey--“The +brandy--it is in my study--quick!” He flew and returned with a glass, +the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched +lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poor +injured brain had been working in the interval, for, when he was quite +conscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonised confusion which I +shall never forget, and said:-- + +“I must not deceive myself; it was no dream, but all a grim reality.” +Then his eyes roved round the room; as they caught sight of the two +figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on:-- + +“If I were not sure already, I would know from them.” For an instant his +eyes closed--not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were +bringing all his faculties to bear; when he opened them he said, +hurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed:-- + +“Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes; +and then I must go back to death--or worse! Wet my lips with brandy +again. I have something that I must say before I die; or before my poor +crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left +me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn’t speak then, for I +felt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then, except in that way, as +I am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you left +me; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain +seemed to become cool again, and I realised where I was. I heard the +dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!” As he spoke, Van +Helsing’s eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and +gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself; he nodded slightly +and said: “Go on,” in a low voice. Renfield proceeded:-- + +“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.” Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously:-- + +“The _Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges_--what you call the +‘Death’s-head Moth’?” The patient went on without stopping. + +“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.” + +His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, and +he continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working in +the interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call him +back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: “Let him go on. Do +not interrupt him; he cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all +if once he lost the thread of his thought.” He proceeded:-- + +“All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not +even a blow-fly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him. +When he slid in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even +knock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked +out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he +owned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn’t even smell the same +as he went by me. I couldn’t hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. +Harker had come into the room.” + +The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind +him so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better. +They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered; his face, +however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without +noticing:-- + +“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.” I could feel that +the rest quivered, as I did, but we remained otherwise still. “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.” His voice was becoming fainter and his +breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively. + +“We know the worst now,” he said. “He is here, and we know his purpose. +It may not be too late. Let us be armed--the same as we were the other +night, but lose no time; there is not an instant to spare.” There was no +need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words--we shared them in +common. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that we +had when we entered the Count’s house. The Professor had his ready, and +as we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said:-- + +“They never leave me; and they shall not till this unhappy business is +over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with. +Alas! alas! that that dear Madam Mina should suffer!” He stopped; his +voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in +my own heart. + +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!” + +Van Helsing said solemnly, “You are always right; but this is life and +death. All chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not they +are all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if +the door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and you +too, my friends. Now!” + +He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw +ourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fell +headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I saw +across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw +appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, +and my heart seemed to stand still. + +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. 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. 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. This, as we +looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting +open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I moved +forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with +it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it +seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. 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. Van Helsing whispered to me:-- + +“Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can +do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers +herself; I must wake him!” He dipped the end of a towel in cold water +and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while +holding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was +heart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the +window. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see Quincey +Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great +yew-tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at the +instant I heard Harker’s quick exclamation as he woke to partial +consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well +be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and +then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he +started up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to +him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly, +however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, held +her hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook. + +“In God’s name what does this mean?” Harker cried out. “Dr. Seward, Dr. +Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear, +what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come to +this!” and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildly +together. “Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!” With a quick +movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes,--all the +man in him awake at the need for instant exertion. “What has happened? +Tell me all about it!” he cried without pausing. “Dr. Van Helsing, you +love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone too +far yet. Guard her while I look for _him_!” His wife, through her terror +and horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him: instantly +forgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out:-- + +“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough +to-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay +with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!” Her +expression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she +pulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely. + +Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up his +little golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:-- + +“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!” He put out +his arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay there +sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinked +damply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as steel. After a +while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said to +me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervous +power to the utmost:-- + +“And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broad +fact; tell me all that has been.” I told him exactly what had happened, +and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched +and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had +held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to +the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to +see, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over +the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled +hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door. +They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me +questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage of +their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband +and wife from each other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescence +to him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming +answered:-- + +“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!” His face lit for a moment, but fell again as he +went on: “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.” Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of +us she said solemnly:-- + +“God’s will be done!” I could not but feel that Art was keeping back +something; but, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing. +Van Helsing turned to Morris and asked:-- + +“And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?” + +“A little,” he answered. “It may be much eventually, but at present I +can’t say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count would +go when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw a bat rise from +Renfield’s window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in some +shape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought some other lair. He +will not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the east, and the +dawn is close. We must work to-morrow!” + +He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhaps +a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I could +hear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing said, placing his +hand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker’s head:-- + +“And now, Madam Mina--poor, dear, dear Madam Mina--tell us exactly what +happened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it is +need that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be done +quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must +end all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live and +learn.” + +The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nerves +as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower and +lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and held +out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after stooping and +kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that +of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly. +After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she +began:-- + +“I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for a +long time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriads +of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind--all of them +connected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and trouble.” +Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said +lovingly: “Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me +through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me +to tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I +need your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work +with my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to +sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no +more. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when +next I remember. 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. 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. 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!’ 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!” Her husband groaned +again. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if +he were the injured one, and went on:-- + +“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!” The remembrance seemed for a while to +overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for her +husband’s sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself and +went on:-- + +“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!’ 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. + +As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken, +and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet; +but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look +which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first +red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out +against the whitening hair. + +We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappy +pair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action. + +Of this I am sure: the sun rises to-day on no more miserable house in +all the great round of its daily course. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL + + +_3 October._--As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary. It +is now six o’clock, and we are to meet in the study in half an hour and +take something to eat; for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward are agreed +that if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best will be, God +knows, required to-day. I must keep writing at every chance, for I dare +not stop to think. All, big and little, must go down; perhaps at the end +the little things may teach us most. The teaching, big or little, could +not have landed Mina or me anywhere worse than we are to-day. However, +we must trust and hope. Poor Mina told me just now, with the tears +running down her dear cheeks, that it is in trouble and trial that our +faith is tested--that we must keep on trusting; and that God will aid us +up to the end. The end! oh my God! what end?... To work! To work! + +When Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had come back from seeing poor +Renfield, we went gravely into what was to be done. First, Dr. Seward +told us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the room below +they had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. His face was +all bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the neck were broken. + +Dr. Seward asked the attendant who was on duty in the passage if he had +heard anything. He said that he had been sitting down--he confessed to +half dozing--when he heard loud voices in the room, and then Renfield +had called out loudly several times, “God! God! God!” after that there +was a sound of falling, and when he entered the room he found him lying +on the floor, face down, just as the doctors had seen him. Van Helsing +asked if he had heard “voices” or “a voice,” and he said he could not +say; that at first it had seemed to him as if there were two, but as +there was no one in the room it could have been only one. He could swear +to it, if required, that the word “God” was spoken by the patient. Dr. +Seward said to us, when we were alone, that he did not wish to go into +the matter; the question of an inquest had to be considered, and it +would never do to put forward the truth, as no one would believe it. As +it was, he thought that on the attendant’s evidence he could give a +certificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In case the +coroner should demand it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarily +to the same result. + +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!” +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!” + +“You would not kill yourself?” he asked, hoarsely. + +“I would; if there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such a +pain, and so desperate an effort!” She looked at him meaningly as she +spoke. He was sitting down; but now he rose and came close to her and +put his hand on her head as he said solemnly: + +“My child, there is such an one if it were for your good. For myself I +could hold it in my account with God to find such an euthanasia for you, +even at this moment if it were best. Nay, were it safe! But my +child----” For a moment he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in his +throat; he gulped it down and went on:-- + +“There are here some who would stand between you and death. You must not +die. You must not die by any hand; but least of all by your own. Until +the other, who has fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must not +die; for if he is still with the quick Un-Dead, your death would make +you even as he is. No, you must live! You must struggle and strive to +live, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must fight Death +himself, though he come to you in pain or in joy; by the day, or the +night; in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge you that you +do not die--nay, nor think of death--till this great evil be past.” The +poor dear grew white as death, and shock and shivered, as I have seen a +quicksand shake and shiver at the incoming of the tide. We were all +silent; we could do nothing. At length she grew more calm and turning to +him said, sweetly, but oh! so sorrowfully, as she held out her hand:-- + +“I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will let me live, I shall +strive to do so; till, if it may be in His good time, this horror may +have passed away from me.” 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. + +As usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, and was +prepared with an exact ordering of our work. + +“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. We are now so much further advanced in our knowledge as +to their disposition that, when we have examined the house in +Piccadilly, we may track the very last of them. To-day, then, is ours; +and in it rests our hope. The sun that rose on our sorrow this morning +guards us in its course. Until it sets to-night, that monster must +retain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations +of his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor disappear +through cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go through a doorway, he +must open the door like a mortal. And so we have this day to hunt out +all his lairs and sterilise them. So we shall, if we have not yet catch +him and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where the catching +and the destroying shall be, in time, sure.” Here I started up for I +could not contain myself at the thought that the minutes and seconds so +preciously laden with Mina’s life and happiness were flying from us, +since whilst we talked action was impossible. But Van Helsing held up +his hand warningly. “Nay, friend Jonathan,” he said, “in this, the +quickest way home is the longest way, so your proverb say. We shall all +act and act with desperate quick, when the time has come. But think, in +all probable the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly. +The Count may have many houses which he has bought. Of them he will have +deeds of purchase, keys and other things. He will have paper that he +write on; he will have his book of cheques. There are many belongings +that he must have somewhere; why not in this place so central, so quiet, +where he come and go by the front or the back at all hour, when in the +very vast of the traffic there is none to notice. We shall go there and +search that house; and when we learn what it holds, then we do what our +friend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt ‘stop the earths’ and so we +run down our old fox--so? is it not?” + +“Then let us come at once,” I cried, “we are wasting the precious, +precious time!” The Professor did not move, but simply said:-- + +“And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly?” + +“Any way!” I cried. “We shall break in if need be.” + +“And your police; where will they be, and what will they say?” + +I was staggered; but I knew that if he wished to delay he had a good +reason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could:-- + +“Don’t wait more than need be; you know, I am sure, what torture I am +in.” + +“Ah, my child, that I do; and indeed there is no wish of me to add to +your anguish. But just think, what can we do, until all the world be at +movement. Then will come our time. I have thought and thought, and it +seems to me that the simplest way is the best of all. Now we wish to get +into the house, but we have no key; is it not so?” I nodded. + +“Now suppose that you were, in truth, the owner of that house, and could +not still get in; and think there was to you no conscience of the +housebreaker, what would you do?” + +“I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to pick the +lock for me.” + +“And your police, they would interfere, would they not?” + +“Oh, no! not if they knew the man was properly employed.” + +“Then,” he looked at me as keenly as he spoke, “all that is in doubt is +the conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as to +whether or no that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Your +police must indeed be zealous men and clever--oh, so clever!--in reading +the heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter. No, no, my +friend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty house in this +your London, or of any city in the world; and if you do it as such +things are rightly done, and at the time such things are rightly done, +no one will interfere. I have read of a gentleman who owned a so fine +house in London, and when he went for months of summer to Switzerland +and lock up his house, some burglar came and broke window at back and +got in. Then he went and made open the shutters in front and walk out +and in through the door, before the very eyes of the police. Then he +have an auction in that house, and advertise it, and put up big notice; +and when the day come he sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods of +that other man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he sell him +that house, making an agreement that he pull it down and take all away +within a certain time. And your police and other authority help him all +they can. And when that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerland +he find only an empty hole where his house had been. This was all done +_en règle_; and in our work we shall be _en règle_ too. We shall not go +so early that the policemen who have then little to think of, shall deem +it strange; but we shall go after ten o’clock, when there are many +about, and such things would be done were we indeed owners of the +house.” + +I could not but see how right he was and the terrible despair of Mina’s +face became relaxed a thought; there was hope in such good counsel. Van +Helsing went on:-- + +“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.” + +“Friend Quincey is right!” said the Professor. “His head is what you +call in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult thing that we go to +do, and we do not want no peoples to watch us if so it may.” + +Mina took a growing interest in everything and I was rejoiced to see +that the exigency of affairs was helping her to forget for a time the +terrible experience of the night. She was very, very pale--almost +ghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her teeth in +somewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should give +her needless pain; but it made my blood run cold in my veins to think of +what had occurred with poor Lucy when the Count had sucked her blood. As +yet there was no sign of the teeth growing sharper; but the time as yet +was short, and there was time for fear. + +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. + +As to the disposal of forces, it was suggested by the Professor that, +after our visit to Carfax, we should all enter the house in Piccadilly; +that the two doctors and I should remain there, whilst Lord Godalming +and Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End and destroyed them. +It was possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the Count +might appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we might be +able to cope with him then and there. At any rate, we might be able to +follow him in force. To this plan I strenuously objected, and so far as +my going was concerned, for I said that I intended to stay and protect +Mina, I thought that my mind was made up on the subject; but Mina would +not listen to my objection. She said that there might be some law matter +in which I could be useful; that amongst the Count’s papers might be +some clue which I could understand out of my experience in Transylvania; +and that, as it was, all the strength we could muster was required to +cope with the Count’s extraordinary power. I had to give in, for Mina’s +resolution was fixed; she said that it was the last hope for _her_ that +we should all work together. “As for me,” she said, “I have no fear. +Things have been as bad as they can be; and whatever may happen must +have in it some element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, if +He wishes it, guard me as well alone as with any one present.” 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?” + +Did I forget! shall I ever--can I ever! Can any of us ever forget that +terrible scene! Mina struggled hard to keep her brave countenance; but +the pain overmastered her and she put her hands before her face, and +shuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had not intended to recall her +frightful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part in +the affair in his intellectual effort. When it struck him what he said, +he was horrified at his thoughtlessness and tried to comfort her. “Oh, +Madam Mina,” he said, “dear, dear Madam Mina, alas! that I of all who so +reverence you should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old +lips of mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so; but you will +forget it, will you not?” He bent low beside her as he spoke; she took +his hand, and looking at him through her tears, said hoarsely:-- + +“No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember; and with it I +have so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I take it all +together. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is ready, and we +must all eat that we may be strong.” + +Breakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be cheerful and +encourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and most cheerful of +us. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said:-- + +“Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are we +all armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our enemy’s +lair; armed against ghostly as well as carnal attack?” We all assured +him. “Then it is well. Now, Madam Mina, you are in any case _quite_ safe +here until the sunset; and before then we shall return--if---- We shall +return! 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.” They +all paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of helpless +grief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a few minutes our +sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around us turned away +their eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van Helsing turned and said +gravely; so gravely that I could not help feeling that he was in some +way inspired, and was stating things outside himself:-- + +“It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God himself see fit, +as He most surely shall, on the Judgment Day, to redress all wrongs of +the earth and of His children that He has placed thereon. And oh, Madam +Mina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you be there to see, when that +red scar, the sign of God’s knowledge of what has been, shall pass away, +and leave your forehead as pure as the heart we know. For so surely as +we live, that scar shall pass away when God sees right to lift the +burden that is hard upon us. Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son did +in obedience to His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of +His good pleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that other +through stripes and shame; through tears and blood; through doubts and +fears, and all that makes the difference between God and man.” + +There was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation. +Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the old +man’s hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without a word we all +knelt down together, and, all holding hands, swore to be true to each +other. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the +head of her whom, each in his own way, we loved; and we prayed for help +and guidance in the terrible task which lay before us. + +It was then time to start. So I said farewell to Mina, a parting which +neither of us shall forget to our dying day; and we set out. + +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. + +We entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same as on +the first occasion. It was hard to believe that amongst so prosaic +surroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any ground for such +fear as already we knew. Had not our minds been made up, and had there +not been terrible memories to spur us on, we could hardly have proceeded +with our task. We found no papers, or any sign of use in the house; and +in the old chapel the great boxes looked just as we had seen them last. +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. + +One by one we treated in the same way each of the great boxes, and left +them as we had found them to all appearance; but in each was a portion +of the Host. + +When we closed the door behind us, the Professor said solemnly:-- + +“So much is already done. If it may be that with all the others we can +be so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine on Madam +Mina’s forehead all white as ivory and with no stain!” + +As we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to catch our +train we could see the front of the asylum. I looked eagerly, and in the +window of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her, and nodded to +tell that our work there was successfully accomplished. She nodded in +reply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she was waving her +hand in farewell. It was with a heavy heart that we sought the station +and just caught the train, which was steaming in as we reached the +platform. + +I have written this in the train. + + * * * * * + +_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. But you are a +solicitor and the Incorporated Law Society might tell you that you +should have known better.” I demurred as to my not sharing any danger +even of odium, but he went on: “Besides, it will attract less attention +if there are not too many of us. 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.” + +“The advice is good!” said Van Helsing, so we said no more. Godalming +and Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another. At the corner +of Arlington Street our contingent got out and strolled into the Green +Park. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so much of our hope was +centred, looming up grim and silent in its deserted condition amongst +its more lively and spruce-looking neighbours. 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. + +“The place smells so vilely,” said the latter as we came in. It did +indeed smell vilely--like the old chapel at Carfax--and with our +previous experience it was plain to us that the Count had been using the +place pretty freely. 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. First we opened the shutters of the window which looked out +across a narrow stone-flagged yard at the blank face of a stable, +pointed to look like the front of a miniature house. There were no +windows in it, so we were not afraid of being over-looked. We did not +lose any time in examining the chests. With the tools which we had +brought with us we opened them, one by one, and treated them as we had +treated those others in the old chapel. It was evident to us that the +Count was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to search for +any of his effects. + +After a cursory glance at the rest of the rooms, from basement to attic, +we came to the conclusion that the dining-room contained any effects +which might belong to the Count; and so we proceeded to minutely examine +them. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on the great dining-room +table. There were title deeds of the Piccadilly house in a great bundle; +deeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile End and Bermondsey; +note-paper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were covered up in thin +wrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There were also a clothes +brush, a brush and comb, and a jug and basin--the latter containing +dirty water which was reddened as if with blood. Last of all was a +little heap of keys of all sorts and sizes, probably those belonging to +the other houses. When we had examined this last find, Lord Godalming +and Quincey Morris taking accurate notes of the various addresses of the +houses in the East and the South, took with them the keys in a great +bunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The rest of us +are, with what patience we can, waiting their return--or the coming of +the Count. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY + + +_3 October._--The time seemed terribly 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. This may yet be his salvation, for, if +all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; he will then, +in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life. Poor fellow, I +thought my own trouble was bad enough, but his----! The Professor knows +this well enough, and is doing his best to keep his mind active. What he +has been saying was, under the circumstances, of absorbing interest. So +well as I can remember, here it is:-- + +“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. He dared even to +attend the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his time +that he did not essay. 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.” + +Harker groaned and said, “And this is all arrayed against my darling! +But how is he experimenting? The knowledge may help us to defeat him!” + +“He has all along, since his coming, been trying his power, slowly but +surely; that big child-brain of his is working. Well for us, it is, as +yet, a child-brain; for had he dared, at the first, to attempt certain +things he would long ago have been beyond our power. However, he means +to succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford to wait +and to go slow. _Festina lente_ may well be his motto.” + +“I fail to understand,” said Harker wearily. “Oh, do be more plain to +me! Perhaps grief and trouble are dulling my brain.” + +The Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder as he spoke:-- + +“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. And so he +progress, and he scatter these graves of him; and none but he know where +they are hidden. He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So +that he only use them in the night, or at such time as he can change his +form, they do him equal well; and none may know these are his +hiding-place! But, my child, do not despair; this knowledge come to him +just too late! Already all of his lairs but one be sterilise as for him; +and before the sunset this shall be so. Then he have no place where he +can move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might be sure. Is +there not more at stake for us than for him? Then why we not be even +more careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and already, if all be +well, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is our +day, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See! there are +five of us when those absent ones return.” + +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.” + +There was a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker’s voice:-- + +“Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!” Van Helsing turned to him +quickly and said:-- + +“God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice +as yet; for what we wish for at the moment may be our undoings.” + +“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this +brute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!” + +“Oh, hush, hush, my child!” said Van Helsing. “God does not purchase +souls in this wise; and the Devil, though he may purchase, does not keep +faith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain and your +devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain would be +doubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us, we are +all devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end. The time is +coming for action; to-day this Vampire is limit to the powers of man, +and till sunset he may not change. It will take him time to arrive +here--see, it is twenty minutes past one--and there are yet some times +before he can hither come, be he never so quick. What we must hope for +is that my Lord Arthur and Quincey arrive first.” + +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!” + +“Destroyed?” asked the Professor. + +“For him!” 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. + +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!” With a contemptuous sneer, he passed +quickly through the door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as he +fastened it behind him. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of us +to speak was the Professor, as, realising the difficulty of following +him through the stable, we moved toward the hall. + +“We have learnt something--much! Notwithstanding his brave words, he +fears us; he fear time, he fear want! For if not, why he hurry so? His +very tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take that money? You +follow quick. You are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so. For +me, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that he +return.” 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. + +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. + +It was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We had to +recognise that our game was up; with heavy hearts we agreed with the +Professor when he said:-- + +“Let us go back to Madam Mina--poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can do +just now is done; and we can there, at least, protect her. But we need +not despair. There is but one more earth-box, and we must try to find +it; when that is done all may yet be well.” I could see that he spoke as +bravely as he could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow was quite broken +down; now and again he gave a low groan which he could not suppress--he +was thinking of his wife. + +With sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs. Harker +waiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to her +bravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her own became as +pale as death: for a second or two her eyes were closed as if she were +in secret prayer; and then she said cheerfully:-- + +“I can never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!” As she spoke, +she took her husband’s grey head in her hands and kissed it--“Lay your +poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God will protect +us if He so will it in His good intent.” The poor fellow groaned. There +was no place for words in his sublime misery. + +We had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered us +all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to hungry +people--for none of us had eaten anything since breakfast--or the sense +of companionship may have helped us; but anyhow we were all less +miserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope. True to +our promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything which had passed; and +although she grew snowy white at times when danger had seemed to +threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to her was +manifested, she listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to the +part where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung to +her husband’s arm, and held it tight as though her clinging could +protect him from any harm that might come. She said nothing, however, +till the narration was all done, and matters had been brought right up +to the present time. Then without letting go her husband’s hand she +stood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of the +scene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the radiant beauty +of her youth and animation, with the red scar on her forehead, of which +she was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of our +teeth--remembering whence and how it came; her loving kindness against +our grim hate; her tender faith against all our fears and doubting; and +we, knowing that so far as symbols went, she with all her goodness and +purity and faith, was outcast from God. + +“Jonathan,” she said, and the word sounded like music on her lips it was +so full of love and tenderness, “Jonathan dear, and you all my true, +true friends, I want you to bear something in mind through all this +dreadful time. I know that you must fight--that you must destroy even as +you destroyed the false Lucy so that the true Lucy might live hereafter; +but it is not a work of hate. That poor soul who has wrought all this +misery is the saddest case of all. Just think what will be his joy when +he, too, is destroyed in his worser part that his better part may have +spiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to him, too, though it may +not hold your hands from his destruction.” + +As she spoke I could see her husband’s face darken and draw together, as +though the passion in him were shrivelling his being to its core. +Instinctively the clasp on his wife’s hand grew closer, till his +knuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain which I knew she +must have suffered, but looked at him with eyes that were more appealing +than ever. As she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearing +his hand from hers as he spoke:-- + +“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that +earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could send +his soul for ever and ever to burning hell I would do it!” + +“Oh, hush! oh, hush! in the name of the good God. Don’t say such things, +Jonathan, my husband; or you will crush me with fear and horror. Just +think, my dear--I have been thinking all this long, long day of it--that +... perhaps ... some day ... I, too, may need such pity; and that some +other like you--and with equal cause for anger--may deny it to me! Oh, +my husband! my husband, indeed I would have spared you such a thought +had there been another way; but I pray that God may not have treasured +your wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving and +sorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidence +of what he has suffered, who all his life has done no wrong, and on whom +so many sorrows have come.” + +We men were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we wept +openly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had prevailed. +Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and putting his arms +round her, hid his face in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing beckoned +to us and we stole out of the room, leaving the two loving hearts alone +with their God. + +Before they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any coming +of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest in peace. +She tried to school herself to the belief, and, manifestly for her +husband’s sake, tried to seem content. It was a brave struggle; and was, +I think and believe, not without its reward. Van Helsing had placed at +hand a bell which either of them was to sound in case of any emergency. +When they had retired, Quincey, Godalming, and I arranged that we should +sit up, dividing the night between us, and watch over the safety of the +poor stricken lady. The first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest of us +shall be off to bed as soon as we can. Godalming has already turned in, +for his is the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall go +to bed. + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_3-4 October, close to midnight._--I thought yesterday would never end. +There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind belief +that to wake would be to find things changed, and that any change must +now be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next step +was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew was that one +earth-box remained, and that the Count alone knew where it was. If he +chooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years; and in the +meantime!--the thought is too horrible, I dare not think of it even now. +This I know: that if ever there was a woman who was all perfection, that +one is my poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand times more for her +sweet pity of last night, a pity that made my own hate of the monster +seem despicable. Surely God will not permit the world to be the poorer +by the loss of such a creature. This is hope to me. We are all drifting +reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor. Thank God! Mina is +sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what her dreams might be +like, with such terrible memories to ground them in. She has not been so +calm, within my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came +over her face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of March. +I thought at the time that it was the softness of the red sunset on her +face, but somehow now I think it has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepy +myself, though I am weary--weary to death. However, I must try to sleep; +for there is to-morrow to think of, and there is no rest for me +until.... + + * * * * * + +_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. + + * * * * * + +_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.” I +went to the door. Dr. Seward was resting on the mattress, and, seeing +me, he sprang to his feet. + +“Is anything wrong?” he asked, in alarm. + +“No,” I replied; “but Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once.” + +“I will go,” he said, and hurried into the Professor’s room. + +In two or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in his +dressing-gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr. Seward at +the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina smile--a +positive smile ousted the anxiety of his face; he rubbed his hands as he +said:-- + +“Oh, my dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See! friend Jonathan, +we have got our dear Madam Mina, as of old, back to us to-day!” Then +turning to her, he said, cheerfully: “And what am I do for you? For at +this hour you do not want me for nothings.” + +“I want you to hypnotise me!” she said. “Do it before the dawn, for I +feel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for the time is +short!” Without a word he motioned her to sit up in bed. + +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. 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. Raising his hand to +impose silence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the others in. +They came on tip-toe, closing the door behind them, and stood at the +foot of the bed, looking on. Mina appeared not to see them. 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?” The answer came in a neutral way:-- + +“I do not know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.” For several +minutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and the Professor stood +staring at her fixedly; the rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The room +was growing lighter; without taking his eyes from Mina’s face, Dr. Van +Helsing motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the day seemed +just upon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed to diffuse +itself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke again:-- + +“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:-- + +“Oh, yes!” + +“What else do you hear?” + +“The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is the +creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the capstan +falls into the rachet.” + +“What are you doing?” + +“I am still--oh, so still. It is like death!” The voice faded away into +a deep breath as of one sleeping, and the open eyes closed again. + +By this time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full light of +day. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina’s shoulders, and laid her +head down softly on her pillow. She lay like a sleeping child for a few +moments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to see +us all around her. “Have I been talking in my sleep?” was all she said. +She seemed, however, to know the situation without telling, though she +was eager to know what she had told. The Professor repeated the +conversation, and she said:-- + +“Then there is not a moment to lose: it may not be yet too late!” Mr. +Morris and Lord Godalming started for the door but the Professor’s calm +voice called them back:-- + +“Stay, my friends. That ship, wherever it was, was weighing anchor +whilst she spoke. There are many ships weighing anchor at the moment in +your so great Port of London. Which of them is it that you seek? God be +thanked that we have once again a clue, though whither it may lead us we +know not. We have been blind somewhat; blind after the manner of men, +since when we can look back we see what we might have seen looking +forward if we had been able to see what we might have seen! Alas, but +that sentence is a puddle; is it not? We can know now what was in the +Count’s mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan’s so fierce +knife put him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hear +me, ESCAPE! He saw that with but one earth-box left, and a pack of men +following like dogs after a fox, this London was no place for him. He +have take his last earth-box on board a ship, and he leave the land. He +think to escape, but no! we follow him. Tally Ho! as friend Arthur would +say when he put on his red frock! Our old fox is wily; oh! so wily, and +we must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think his mind in a +little while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are waters +between us which he do not want to pass, and which he could not if he +would--unless the ship were to touch the land, and then only at full or +slack tide. See, and the sun is just rose, and all day to sunset is to +us. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast which we all need, +and which we can eat comfortably since he be not in the same land with +us.” 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +DR. SEWARD’S PHONOGRAPH DIARY, SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING + + +This to Jonathan Harker. + +You are to stay with your dear Madam Mina. We shall go to make our +search--if I can call it so, for it is not search but knowing, and we +seek confirmation only. But do you stay and take care of her to-day. +This is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing can find him +here. Let me tell you that so you will know what we four know already, +for I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away; he have gone back +to his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a great hand of +fire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare for this in some way, and +that last earth-box was ready to ship somewheres. For this he took the +money; for this he hurry at the last, lest we catch him before the sun +go down. It was his last hope, save that he might hide in the tomb that +he think poor Miss Lucy, being as he thought like him, keep open to him. +But there was not of time. When that fail he make straight for his last +resource--his last earth-work I might say did I wish _double entente_. +He is clever, oh, so clever! he know that his game here was finish; and +so he decide he go back home. He find ship going by the route he came, +and he go in it. We go off now to find what ship, and whither bound; +when we have discover that, we come back and tell you all. Then we will +comfort you and poor dear Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hope +when you think it over: that all is not lost. This very creature that we +pursue, he take hundreds of years to get so far as London; and yet in +one day, when we know of the disposal of him we drive him out. He is +finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. +But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong +together. Take heart afresh, dear husband of Madam Mina. This battle is +but begun, and in the end we shall win--so sure as that God sits on high +to watch over His children. Therefore be of much comfort till we return. + +VAN HELSING. + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_4 October._--When I read to Mina, Van Helsing’s message in the +phonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. Already the +certainty that the Count is out of the country has given her comfort; +and comfort is strength to her. For my own part, now that his horrible +danger is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible to +believe in it. Even my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem +like a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the bright +sunlight---- + +Alas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell on +the red scar on my poor darling’s white forehead. Whilst that lasts, +there can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it will +keep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have been +over all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality +seems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is +something of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting. +Mina says that perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may +be! I shall try to think as she does. We have never spoken to each other +yet of the future. It is better to wait till we see the Professor and +the others after their investigations. + +The day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a day could run +for me again. It is now three o’clock. + + +_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. He was in sailing ship, since +Madam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so important as to go in +your list of the shipping in the _Times_, and so we go, by suggestion of +Lord Godalming, to your Lloyd’s, where are note of all ships that sail, +however so small. There we find that only one Black-Sea-bound ship go +out with the tide. She is the _Czarina Catherine_, and she sail from +Doolittle’s Wharf for Varna, and thence on to other parts and up the +Danube. ‘Soh!’ said I, ‘this is the ship whereon is the Count.’ So off +we go to Doolittle’s Wharf, and there we find a man in an office of wood +so small that the man look bigger than the office. From him we inquire +of the goings of the _Czarina Catherine_. He swear much, and he red face +and loud of voice, but he good fellow all the same; and when Quincey +give him something from his pocket which crackle as he roll it up, and +put it in a so small bag which he have hid deep in his clothing, he +still better fellow and humble servant to us. He come with us, and ask +many men who are rough and hot; these be better fellows too when they +have been no more thirsty. They say much of blood and bloom, and of +others which I comprehend not, though I guess what they mean; but +nevertheless they tell us all things which we want to know. + +“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. Some took him to the office and +then to the ship, where he will not go aboard but halt at shore end of +gang-plank, and ask that the captain come to him. The captain come, when +told that he will be pay well; and though he swear much at the first he +agree to term. Then the thin man go and some one tell him where horse +and cart can be hired. He go there and soon he come again, himself +driving cart on which a great box; this he himself lift down, though it +take several to put it on truck for the ship. He give much talk to +captain as to how and where his box is to be place; but the captain like +it not and swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if he like he +can come and see where it shall be. But he say ‘no’; that he come not +yet, for that he have much to do. 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. Then the thin +man smile and say that of course he must go when he think fit; but he +will be surprise if he go quite so soon. The captain swear again, +polyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank him, and say that he +will so far intrude on his kindness as to come aboard before the +sailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues tell +him that he doesn’t want no Frenchmen--with bloom upon them and also +with blood--in his ship--with blood on her also. And so, after asking +where there might be close at hand a ship where he might purchase ship +forms, he departed. + +“No one knew where he went ‘or bloomin’ well cared,’ as they said, for +they had something else to think of--well with blood again; for it soon +became apparent to all that the _Czarina Catherine_ would not sail as +was expected. A thin mist began to creep up from the river, and it grew, +and grew; till soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and all around her. +The captain swore polyglot--very polyglot--polyglot with bloom and +blood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and rose; and he began to +fear that he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood, +when just at full tide, the thin man came up the gang-plank again and +asked to see where his box had been stowed. Then the captain replied +that he wished that he and his box--old and with much bloom and +blood--were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, and went down +with the mate and saw where it was place, and came up and stood awhile +on deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for none notice him. +Indeed they thought not of him; for soon the fog begin to melt away, and +all was clear again. My friends of the thirst and the language that was +of bloom and blood laughed, as they told how the captain’s swears +exceeded even his usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of +picturesque, when on questioning other mariners who were on movement up +and down on the river that hour, he found that few of them had seen any +of fog at all, except where it lay round the wharf. However, the ship +went out on the ebb tide; and was doubtless by morning far down the +river mouth. She was by then, when they told us, well out to sea. + +“And so, my dear Madam Mina, it is that we have to rest for a time, for +our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his command, on his way to the +Danube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she never so quick; and when +we start we go on land more quick, and we meet him there. Our best hope +is to come on him when in the box between sunrise and sunset; for then +he can make no struggle, and we may deal with him as we should. There +are days for us, in which we can make ready our plan. We know all about +where he go; for we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us +invoices and all papers that can be. 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.” + +When Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him if he were certain +that the Count had remained on board the ship. He replied: “We have the +best proof of that: your own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance this +morning.” I asked him again if it were really necessary that they should +pursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and I know that +he would surely go if the others went. He answered in growing passion, +at first quietly. As he went on, however, he grew more angry and more +forceful, till in the end we could not but see wherein was at least some +of that personal dominance which made him so long a master amongst +men:-- + +“Yes, it is necessary--necessary--necessary! For your sake in the first, +and then for the sake of humanity. This monster has done much harm +already, in the narrow scope where he find himself, and in the short +time when as yet he was only as a body groping his so small measure in +darkness and not knowing. All this have I told these others; you, my +dear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my friend John, or +in that of your husband. I have told them how the measure of leaving his +own barren land--barren of peoples--and coming to a new land where life +of man teems till they are like the multitude of standing corn, was the +work of centuries. Were another of the Un-Dead, like him, to try to do +what he has done, perhaps not all the centuries of the world that have +been, or that will be, could aid him. With this one, all the forces of +nature that are occult and deep and strong must have worked together in +some wondrous way. The very place, where he have been alive, Un-Dead for +all these centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic and chemical +world. There are deep caverns and fissures that reach none know whither. +There have been volcanoes, some of whose openings still send out waters +of strange properties, and gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless, +there is something magnetic or electric in some of these combinations of +occult forces which work for physical life in strange way; and in +himself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and warlike +time he was celebrate that he have more iron nerve, more subtle brain, +more braver heart, than any man. In him some vital principle have in +strange way found their utmost; and as his body keep strong and grow and +thrive, so his brain grow too. All this without that diabolic aid which +is surely to him; for it have to yield to the powers that come from, +and are, symbolic of good. And now this is what he is to us. He have +infect you--oh, forgive me, my dear, that I must say such; but it is for +good of you that I speak. He infect you in such wise, that even if he do +no more, you have only to live--to live in your own old, sweet way; and +so in time, death, which is of man’s common lot and with God’s sanction, +shall make you like to him. This must not be! We have sworn together +that it must not. Thus are we ministers of God’s own wish: that the +world, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to monsters, +whose very existence would defame Him. He have allowed us to redeem one +soul already, and we go out as the old knights of the Cross to redeem +more. Like them we shall travel towards the sunrise; and like them, if +we fall, we fall in good cause.” He paused and I said:-- + +“But will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he has been driven +from England, will he not avoid it, as a tiger does the village from +which he has been hunted?” + +“Aha!” he said, “your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I shall +adopt him. Your man-eater, as they of India call the tiger who has once +tasted blood of the human, care no more for the other prey, but prowl +unceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from our village is a +tiger, too, a man-eater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay, in himself he +is not one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life, he go +over the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground; he be +beaten back, but did he stay? No! He come again, and again, and again. +Look at his persistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was to +him he have long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What +does he do? He find out the place of all the world most of promise for +him. Then he deliberately set himself down to prepare for the task. He +find in patience just how is his strength, and what are his powers. He +study new tongues. He learn new social life; new environment of old +ways, the politic, the law, the finance, the science, the habit of a new +land and a new people who have come to be since he was. His glimpse that +he have had, whet his appetite only and enkeen his desire. Nay, it help +him to grow as to his brain; for it all prove to him how right he was at +the first in his surmises. He have done this alone; all alone! from a +ruin tomb in a forgotten land. What more may he not do when the greater +world of thought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know +him; who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole +peoples. Oh, if such an one was to come from God, and not the Devil, +what a force for good might he not be in this old world of ours. But we +are pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and our +efforts all in secret; for in this enlightened age, when men believe not +even what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest +strength. It would be at once his sheath and his armour, and his weapons +to destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril even our own souls +for the safety of one we love--for the good of mankind, and for the +honour and glory of God.” + +After a general discussion it was determined that for to-night nothing +be definitely settled; that we should all sleep on the facts, and try to +think out the proper conclusions. To-morrow, at breakfast, we are to +meet again, and, after making our conclusions known to one another, we +shall decide on some definite cause of action. + + * * * * * + +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. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_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. More +than once as we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder whether +the whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was only when I +caught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker’s forehead that I was +brought back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving the +matter, it is almost impossible to realise that the cause of all our +trouble is still existent. Even Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her +trouble for whole spells; it is only now and again, when something +recalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her terrible scar. 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.” 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! 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! + +Van Helsing is coming to my study a little before the others. I shall +try to open the subject with him. + + * * * * * + +_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. She did not speak, even when she +wrote that which she wished to be known later. Now my fear is this. If +it be that she can, by our hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see and +hear, is it not more true that he who have hypnotise her first, and who +have drink of her very blood and make her drink of his, should, if he +will, compel her mind to disclose to him that which she know?” I nodded +acquiescence; he went on:-- + +“Then, what we must do is to prevent this; we must keep her ignorant of +our intent, and so she cannot tell what she know not. This is a painful +task! Oh, so painful that it heart-break me to think of; but it must be. +When to-day we meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will not +to speak she must not more be of our council, but be simply guarded by +us.” He wiped his forehead, which had broken out in profuse perspiration +at the thought of the pain which he might have to inflict upon the poor +soul already so tortured. I knew that it would be some sort of comfort +to him if I told him that I also had come to the same conclusion; for at +any rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told him, and the +effect was as I expected. + +It is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van Helsing has +gone away to prepare for the meeting, and his painful part of it. I +really believe his purpose is to be able to pray alone. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--At the very outset of our meeting a great personal relief was +experienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs. Harker had sent a +message by her husband to say that she would not join us at present, as +she thought it better that we should be free to discuss our movements +without her presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I looked at each +other for an instant, and somehow we both seemed relieved. For my own +part, I thought that if Mrs. Harker realised the danger herself, it was +much pain as well as much danger averted. Under the circumstances we +agreed, by a questioning look and answer, with finger on lip, to +preserve silence in our suspicions, until we should have been able to +confer alone again. We went at once into our Plan of Campaign. 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.” 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!” + +“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. + + +_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. The way the others received it, too, puzzled me; the +last time we talked of the subject we agreed that there was to be no +more concealment of anything amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly +and sweetly like a little child. Her lips are curved and her face beams +with happiness. Thank God, there are such moments still for her. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina’s happy sleep, and +came as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever be. As the +evening drew on, and the earth took its shadows from the sun sinking +lower, the silence of the room grew more and more solemn to me. 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.” + +“Mina,” I said, “a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I may have +no right to make it.” + +“But, dear one,” she said, with such spiritual intensity that her eyes +were like pole stars, “it is I who wish it; and it is not for myself. +You can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not right; if he disagrees you may +do as you will. Nay, more, if you all agree, later, you are absolved +from the promise.” + +“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. + + * * * * * + +_Later, midnight._--Mina has been bright and cheerful all the evening. +So much so that all the rest seemed to take courage, as if infected +somewhat with her gaiety; as a result even I myself felt as if the pall +of gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted. We all retired +early. Mina is now sleeping like a little child; it is a wonderful thing +that her faculty of sleep remains to her in the midst of her terrible +trouble. Thank God for it, for then at least she can forget her care. +Perhaps her example may affect me as her gaiety did to-night. I shall +try it. Oh! for a dreamless sleep. + + * * * * * + +_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.” + +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.” God saw the look that +she turned on me as she spoke, and if there be indeed a Recording Angel +that look is noted to her everlasting honour. I could only clasp her +hand. I could not speak; my emotion was too great for even the relief of +tears. 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.” Dr. Van Helsing said +very gravely:-- + +“Madam Mina, you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come; and +together we shall do that which we go forth to achieve.” When he had +spoken, Mina’s long spell of silence made me look at her. She had fallen +back on her pillow asleep; she did not even wake when I had pulled up +the blind and let in the sunlight which flooded the room. Van Helsing +motioned to me to come with him quietly. We went to his room, and within +a minute Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris were with us also. +He told them what Mina had said, and went on:-- + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Good boy,” said Dr. Van Helsing. “Brave boy. Quincey is all man. God +bless him for it. My child, believe me none of us shall lag behind or +pause from any fear. I do but say what we may do--what we must do. But, +indeed, indeed we cannot say what we shall do. There are so many things +which may happen, and their ways and their ends are so various that +until the moment we may not say. We shall all be armed, in all ways; and +when the time for the end has come, our effort shall not be lack. Now +let us to-day put all our affairs in order. Let all things which touch +on others dear to us, and who on us depend, be complete; for none of us +can tell what, or when, or how, the end may be. As for me, my own +affairs are regulate; and as I have nothing else to do, I shall go make +arrangements for the travel. I shall have all tickets and so forth for +our journey.” + +There was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I shall now settle +up all my affairs of earth, and be ready for whatever may come.... + + * * * * * + +_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. + +She is calling to me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +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. + +To-night, when we met, she was somewhat constrained, and bore all the +signs of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to her making a +violent effort at the earliest instant she could do so. A very few +minutes, however, gave her complete control of herself; then, motioning +her husband to sit beside her on the sofa where she was half reclining, +she made the rest of us bring chairs up close. 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!” She looked +appealingly to us all in turn, beginning and ending with her husband. + +“What is that way?” asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. “What is that +way, which we must not--may not--take?” + +“That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another, before +the greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know, that were I +once dead you could and would set free my immortal spirit, even as you +did my poor Lucy’s. Were death, or the fear of death, the only thing +that stood in the way I would not shrink to die here, now, amidst the +friends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe that to die +in such a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to be +done, is God’s will. Therefore, I, on my part, give up here the +certainty of eternal rest, and go out into the dark where may be the +blackest things that the world or the nether world holds!” We were all +silent, for we knew instinctively that this was only a prelude. The +faces of the others were set and Harker’s grew ashen grey; perhaps he +guessed better than any of us what was coming. 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.” + +“What is that time?” The voice was Quincey’s, but it was low and +strained. + +“When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is better that +I die than I may live. When I am thus dead in the flesh, then you will, +without a moment’s delay, drive a stake through me and cut off my head; +or do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!” + +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. Then her husband turned to her +wan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of +his hair, and asked:-- + +“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?” + +“You too, my dearest,” she said, with infinite yearning of pity in her +voice and eyes. “You must not shrink. You are nearest and dearest and +all the world to me; our souls are knit into one, for all life and all +time. Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killed +their wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the +hands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more because +those that they loved implored them to slay them. It is men’s duty +towards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial! And oh, my +dear, if it is to be that I must meet death at any hand, let it be at +the hand of him that loves me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not +forgotten your mercy in poor Lucy’s case to him who loved”--she stopped +with a flying blush, and changed her phrase--“to him who had best right +to give her peace. If that time shall come again, I look to you to make +it a happy memory of my husband’s life that it was his loving hand which +set me free from the awful thrall upon me.” + +“Again I swear!” came the Professor’s resonant voice. Mrs. Harker +smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief she leaned back and +said:-- + +“And now one word of warning, a warning which you must never forget: +this time, if it ever come, may come quickly and unexpectedly, and in +such case you must lose no time in using your opportunity. At such a +time I myself might be--nay! if the time ever comes, _shall be_--leagued +with your enemy against you.” + +“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.” She was interrupted by a deep +groan from her husband; taking his hand in hers, she held it over her +heart, and continued: “You must read it over me some day. Whatever may +be the issue of all this fearful state of things, it will be a sweet +thought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I hope read it, for +then it will be in your voice in my memory for ever--come what may!” + +“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. + +“How can I--how could any one--tell of that strange scene, its +solemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and, withal, its +sweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of bitter +truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the heart +had he seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneeling +round that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion of +her husband’s voice, as in tones so broken with emotion that often he +had to pause, he read the simple and beautiful service from the Burial +of the Dead. 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. + + +_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. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had +arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel--“the +Odessus.” The journey may have had incidents; I was, however, too eager +to get on, to care for them. Until the _Czarina Catherine_ comes into +port there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world. +Thank God! 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. At first, some effort was needed, and he +had to make many passes; but now, she seems to yield at once, as if by +habit, and scarcely any action is needed. 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. 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. + +We had dinner and went to bed early. To-morrow we are to see the +Vice-Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the ship +as soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will be to get +on the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even if he takes the +form of a bat, cannot cross the running water of his own volition, and +so cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to man’s form without +suspicion--which he evidently wishes to avoid--he must remain in the +box. If, then, we can come on board after sunrise, he is at our mercy; +for we can open the box and make sure of him, as we did of poor Lucy, +before he wakes. 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! + + * * * * * + +_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. + + * * * * * + +_17 October._--Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to welcome +the Count on his return from his tour. 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. 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. 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. 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. + + * * * * * + +_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. + +_Telegram, October 24th._ + +_Rufus Smith, Lloyd’s, London, to Lord Godalming, care of H. B. M. +Vice-Consul, Varna._ + +“_Czarina Catherine_ reported this morning from Dardanelles.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_25 October._--How I miss my phonograph! To write diary with a pen is +irksome to me; but Van Helsing says I must. 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. 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. 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. + +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. 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! + +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! + + * * * * * + +_26 October._--Another day and no tidings of the _Czarina Catherine_. +She ought to be here by now. That she is still journeying _somewhere_ is +apparent, for Mrs. Harker’s hypnotic report at sunrise was still the +same. It is possible that the vessel may be lying by, at times, for fog; +some of the steamers which came in last evening reported patches of fog +both to north and south of the port. We must continue our watching, as +the ship may now be signalled any moment. + + * * * * * + +_27 October, Noon._--Most strange; no news yet of the ship we wait for. +Mrs. Harker reported last night and this morning as usual: “lapping +waves and rushing water,” though she added that “the waves were very +faint.” The telegrams from London have been the same: “no further +report.” Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just now that he +fears the Count is escaping us. He added significantly:-- + +“I did not like that lethargy of Madam Mina’s. Souls and memories can do +strange things during trance.” I was about to ask him more, but Harker +just then came in, and he held up a warning hand. We must try to-night +at sunset to make her speak more fully when in her hypnotic state. + + * * * * * + + _28 October._--Telegram. _Rufus Smith, London, to Lord Godalming, + care H. B. M. Vice Consul, Varna._ + + “_Czarina Catherine_ reported entering Galatz at one o’clock + to-day.” + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_28 October._--When the telegram came announcing the arrival in Galatz I +do not think it was such a shock to any of us as might have been +expected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when, the bolt would +come; but I think we all expected that something strange would happen. +The delay of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied that things +would not be just as we had expected; we only waited to learn where the +change would occur. None the less, however, was it a surprise. I suppose +that nature works on such a hopeful basis that we believe against +ourselves that things will be as they ought to be, not as we should know +that they will be. Transcendentalism is a beacon to the angels, even if +it be a will-o’-the-wisp to man. It was an odd experience and we all +took it differently. Van Helsing raised his hand over his head for a +moment, as though in remonstrance with the Almighty; but he said not a +word, and in a few seconds stood up with his face sternly set. Lord +Godalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself half +stunned and looked in wonder at one after another. Quincey Morris +tightened his belt with that quick movement which I knew so well; in our +old wandering days it meant “action.” Mrs. Harker grew ghastly white, so +that the scar on her forehead seemed to burn, but she folded her hands +meekly and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled--actually smiled--the +dark, bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his +action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of +the great Kukri knife and rested there. “When does the next train start +for Galatz?” said Van Helsing to us generally. + +“At 6:30 to-morrow morning!” We all started, for the answer came from +Mrs. Harker. + +“How on earth do you know?” said Art. + +“You forget--or perhaps you do not know, though Jonathan does and so +does Dr. Van Helsing--that I am the train fiend. At home in Exeter I +always used to make up the time-tables, so as to be helpful to my +husband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a study of +the time-tables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to Castle +Dracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate through Bucharest, so I +learned the times very carefully. Unhappily there are not many to learn, +as the only train to-morrow leaves as I say.” + +“Wonderful woman!” murmured the Professor. + +“Can’t we get a special?” asked Lord Godalming. Van Helsing shook his +head: “I fear not. This land is very different from yours or mine; even +if we did have a special, it would probably not arrive as soon as our +regular train. Moreover, we have something to prepare. We must think. +Now let us organize. You, friend Arthur, go to the train and get the +tickets and arrange that all be ready for us to go in the morning. Do +you, friend Jonathan, go to the agent of the ship and get from him +letters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to make search the ship +just as it was here. Morris Quincey, you see the Vice-Consul, and get +his aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our way +smooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. John will stay +with Madam Mina and me, and we shall consult. For so if time be long you +may be delayed; and it will not matter when the sun set, since I am here +with Madam to make report.” + +“And I,” said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her old self than she +had been for many a long day, “shall try to be of use in all ways, and +shall think and write for you as I used to do. Something is shifting +from me in some strange way, and I feel freer than I have been of late!” +The three younger men looked happier at the moment as they seemed to +realise the significance of her words; but Van Helsing and I, turning to +each other, met each a grave and troubled glance. We said nothing at the +time, however. + +When the three men had gone out to their tasks Van Helsing asked Mrs. +Harker to look up the copy of the diaries and find him the part of +Harker’s journal at the Castle. She went away to get it; when the door +was shut upon her he said to me:-- + +“We mean the same! speak out!” + +“There is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, for it may +deceive us.” + +“Quite so. Do you know why I asked her to get the manuscript?” + +“No!” said I, “unless it was to get an opportunity of seeing me alone.” + +“You are in part right, friend John, but only in part. I want to tell +you something. And oh, my friend, I am taking a great--a terrible--risk; +but I believe it is right. In the moment when Madam Mina said those +words that arrest both our understanding, an inspiration came to me. In +the trance of three days ago the Count sent her his spirit to read her +mind; or more like he took her to see him in his earth-box in the ship +with water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. He learn +then that we are here; for she have more to tell in her open life with +eyes to see and ears to hear than he, shut, as he is, in his coffin-box. +Now he make his most effort to escape us. At present he want her not. + +“He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at his call; +but he cut her off--take her, as he can do, out of his own power, that +so she come not to him. Ah! there I have hope that our man-brains that +have been of man so long and that have not lost the grace of God, will +come higher than his child-brain that lie in his tomb for centuries, +that grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish and +therefore small. Here comes Madam Mina; not a word to her of her trance! +She know it not; and it would overwhelm her and make despair just when +we want all her hope, all her courage; when most we want all her great +brain which is trained like man’s brain, but is of sweet woman and have +a special power which the Count give her, and which he may not take away +altogether--though he think not so. Hush! let me speak, and you shall +learn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear, as I never +feared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence! here she comes!” + +I thought that the Professor was going to break down and have hysterics, +just as he had when Lucy died, but with a great effort he controlled +himself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker tripped into +the room, bright and happy-looking and, in the doing of work, seemingly +forgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of sheets +of typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them gravely, his face +brightening up as he read. Then holding the pages between his finger and +thumb he said:-- + +“Friend John, to you with so much of experience already--and you, too, +dear Madam Mina, that are young--here is a lesson: do not fear ever to +think. A half-thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear to +let him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to +where that half-thought come from and I find that he be no half-thought +at all; that be a whole thought, though so young that he is not yet +strong to use his little wings. Nay, like the “Ugly Duck” of my friend +Hans Andersen, he be no duck-thought at all, but a big swan-thought that +sail nobly on big wings, when the time come for him to try them. See I +read here what Jonathan have written:-- + +“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.” + +“What does this tell us? Not much? no! The Count’s child-thought see +nothing; therefore he speak so free. Your man-thought see nothing; my +man-thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there comes another word +from some one who speak without thought because she, too, know not what +it mean--what it _might_ mean. Just as there are elements which rest, +yet when in nature’s course they move on their way and they touch--then +pouf! and there comes a flash of light, heaven wide, that blind and kill +and destroy some; but that show up all earth below for leagues and +leagues. Is it not so? Well, I shall explain. To begin, have you ever +study the philosophy of crime? ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’ You, John, yes; for it is +a study of insanity. You, no, Madam Mina; for crime touch you not--not +but once. Still, your mind works true, and argues not _a particulari ad +universale_. There is this peculiarity in criminals. It is so constant, +in all countries and at all times, that even police, who know not much +from philosophy, come to know it empirically, that _it is_. That is to +be empiric. The criminal always work at one crime--that is the true +criminal who seems predestinate to crime, and who will of none other. +This criminal has not full man-brain. He is clever and cunning and +resourceful; but he be not of man-stature as to brain. He be of +child-brain in much. Now this criminal of ours is predestinate to crime +also; he, too, have child-brain, and it is of the child to do what he +have done. The little bird, the little fish, the little animal learn not +by principle, but empirically; and when he learn to do, then there is to +him the ground to start from to do more. ‘_Dos pou sto_,’ said +Archimedes. ‘Give me a fulcrum, and I shall move the world!’ To do once, +is the fulcrum whereby child-brain become man-brain; and until he have +the purpose to do more, he continue to do the same again every time, +just as he have done before! Oh, my dear, I see that your eyes are +opened, and that to you the lightning flash show all the leagues,” for +Mrs. Harker began to clap her hands and her eyes sparkled. He went on:-- + +“Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry men of science what you see with +those so bright eyes.” He took her hand and held it whilst she spoke. +His finger and thumb closed on her pulse, as I thought instinctively and +unconsciously, as she spoke:-- + +“The Count is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso would +so classify him, and _quâ_ criminal he is of imperfectly formed mind. +Thus, in a difficulty he has to seek resource in habit. His past is a +clue, and the one page of it that we know--and that from his own +lips--tells that once before, when in what Mr. Morris would call a +‘tight place,’ he went back to his own country from the land he had +tried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared himself +for a new effort. He came again better equipped for his work; and won. +So he came to London to invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all +hope of success was lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back over +the sea to his home; just as formerly he had fled back over the Danube +from Turkey Land.” + +“Good, good! oh, you so clever lady!” said Van Helsing, +enthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later he +said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick-room +consultation:-- + +“Seventy-two only; and in all this excitement. I have hope.” Turning to +her again, he said with keen expectation:-- + +“But go on. Go on! there is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid; +John and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right. +Speak, without fear!” + +“I will try to; but you will forgive me if I seem egotistical.” + +“Nay! fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we think.” + +“Then, as he is criminal he is selfish; and as his intellect is small +and his action is based on selfishness, he confines himself to one +purpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he fled back over the Danube, +leaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is intent on being +safe, careless of all. So his own selfishness frees my soul somewhat +from the terrible power which he acquired over me on that dreadful +night. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great mercy! My soul +is freer than it has been since that awful hour; and all that haunts me +is a fear lest in some trance or dream he may have used my knowledge for +his ends.” The Professor stood up:-- + +“He has so used your mind; and by it he has left us here in Varna, +whilst the ship that carried him rushed through enveloping fog up to +Galatz, where, doubtless, he had made preparation for escaping from us. +But his child-mind only saw so far; and it may be that, as ever is in +God’s Providence, the very thing that the evil-doer most reckoned on for +his selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm. The hunter is taken +in his own snare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that he think he +is free from every trace of us all, and that he has escaped us with so +many hours to him, then his selfish child-brain will whisper him to +sleep. He think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your mind, +there can be no knowledge of him to you; there is where he fail! That +terrible baptism of blood which he give you makes you free to go to him +in spirit, as you have as yet done in your times of freedom, when the +sun rise and set. At such times you go by my volition and not by his; +and this power to good of you and others, as you have won from your +suffering at his hands. This is now all the more precious that he know +it not, and to guard himself have even cut himself off from his +knowledge of our where. We, however, are not selfish, and we believe +that God is with us through all this blackness, and these many dark +hours. We shall follow him; and we shall not flinch; even if we peril +ourselves that we become like him. Friend John, this has been a great +hour; and it have done much to advance us on our way. You must be scribe +and write him all down, so that when the others return from their work +you can give it to them; then they shall know as we do.” + +And so I have written it whilst we wait their return, and Mrs. Harker +has written with her typewriter all since she brought the MS. to us. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +DR. SEWARD’S DIARY + + +_29 October._--This is written in the train from Varna to Galatz. Last +night we all assembled a little before the time of sunset. Each of us +had done his work as well as he could; so far as thought, and endeavour, +and opportunity go, we are prepared for the whole of our journey, and +for our work when we get to Galatz. When the usual time came round Mrs. +Harker prepared herself for her hypnotic effort; and after a longer and +more serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than has been usually +necessary, she sank into the trance. Usually she speaks on a hint; but +this time the Professor had to ask her questions, and to ask them pretty +resolutely, before we could learn anything; at last her answer came:-- + +“I can see nothing; we are still; there are no waves lapping, but only a +steady swirl of water softly running against the hawser. I can hear +men’s voices calling, near and far, and the roll and creak of oars in +the rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere; the echo of it seems far away. +There is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are dragged +along. What is this? There is a gleam of light; I can feel the air +blowing upon me.” + +Here she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from where she lay +on the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms upwards, as if lifting a +weight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with understanding. +Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently, whilst +Harker’s hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri. There +was a long pause. We all knew that the time when she could speak was +passing; but we felt that it was useless to say anything. Suddenly she +sat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said sweetly:-- + +“Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!” We +could only make her happy, and so acquiesced. She bustled off to get +tea; when she had gone Van Helsing said:-- + +“You see, my friends. _He_ is close to land: he has left his +earth-chest. But he has yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie +hidden somewhere; but if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship do +not touch it, he cannot achieve the land. In such case he can, if it be +in the night, change his form and can jump or fly on shore, as he did +at Whitby. But if the day come before he get on shore, then, unless he +be carried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then the customs men +may discover what the box contain. Thus, in fine, if he escape not on +shore to-night, or before dawn, there will be the whole day lost to him. +We may then arrive in time; for if he escape not at night we shall come +on him in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy; for he dare not be his +true self, awake and visible, lest he be discovered.” + +There was no more to be said, so we waited in patience until the dawn; +at which time we might learn more from Mrs. Harker. + +Early this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, for her +response in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even longer in coming +than before; and when it came the time remaining until full sunrise was +so short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his whole +soul into the effort; at last, in obedience to his will she made +reply:-- + +“All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some creaking as +of wood on wood.” She paused, and the red sun shot up. We must wait till +to-night. + +And so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an agony of +expectation. We are due to arrive between two and three in the morning; +but already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we cannot +possibly get in till well after sun-up. Thus we shall have two more +hypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker; either or both may possibly throw +more light on what is happening. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came at a time when +there was no distraction; for had it occurred whilst we were at a +station, we might not have secured the necessary calm and isolation. +Mrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less readily than +this morning. I am in fear that her power of reading the Count’s +sensations may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me that +her imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has been in the trance +hitherto she has confined herself to the simplest of facts. If this goes +on it may ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the Count’s power +over her would die away equally with her power of knowledge it would be +a happy thought; but I am afraid that it may not be so. When she did +speak, her words were enigmatical:-- + +“Something is going out; I can feel it pass me like a cold wind. I can +hear, far off, confused sounds--as of men talking in strange tongues, +fierce-falling water, and the howling of wolves.” She stopped and a +shudder ran through her, increasing in intensity for a few seconds, +till, at the end, she shook as though in a palsy. She said no more, even +in answer to the Professor’s imperative questioning. When she woke from +the trance, she was cold, and exhausted, and languid; but her mind was +all alert. She could not remember anything, but asked what she had said; +when she was told, she pondered over it deeply for a long time and in +silence. + + * * * * * + +_30 October, 7 a. m._--We are near Galatz now, and I may not have time +to write later. Sunrise this morning was anxiously looked for by us all. +Knowing of the increasing difficulty of procuring the hypnotic trance, +Van Helsing began his passes earlier than usual. They produced no +effect, however, until the regular time, when she yielded with a still +greater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. The Professor +lost no time in his questioning; her answer came with equal quickness:-- + +“All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, and the +creaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. There is another sound, a +queer one like----” She stopped and grew white, and whiter still. + +“Go on; go on! Speak, I command you!” said Van Helsing in an agonised +voice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, for the risen sun +was reddening even Mrs. Harker’s pale face. She opened her eyes, and we +all started as she said, sweetly and seemingly with the utmost +unconcern:-- + +“Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I can’t? I don’t remember +anything.” Then, seeing the look of amazement on our faces, she said, +turning from one to the other with a troubled look:-- + +“What have I said? What have I done? I know nothing, only that I was +lying here, half asleep, and heard you say ‘go on! speak, I command you!’ +It seemed so funny to hear you order me about, as if I were a bad +child!” + +“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, sadly, “it is proof, if proof be needed, of +how I love and honour you, when a word for your good, spoken more +earnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is to order her whom I +am proud to obey!” + +The whistles are sounding; we are nearing Galatz. We are on fire with +anxiety and eagerness. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_30 October._--Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had been +ordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be spared, since +he does not speak any foreign language. The forces were distributed +much as they had been at Varna, except that Lord Godalming went to the +Vice-Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of some +sort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jonathan and the two +doctors went to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrival +of the _Czarina Catherine_. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Lord Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and the +Vice-Consul sick; so the routine work has been attended to by a clerk. +He was very obliging, and offered to do anything in his power. + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_30 October._--At nine o’clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I called +on Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the London firm of +Hapgood. They had received a wire from London, in answer to Lord +Godalming’s telegraphed request, asking us to show them any civility in +their power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at once +on board the _Czarina Catherine_, which lay at anchor out in the river +harbour. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us of his +voyage. He said that in all his life he had never had so favourable a +run. + +“Man!” he said, “but it made us afeard, for we expeckit that we should +have to pay for it wi’ some rare piece o’ ill luck, so as to keep up the +average. It’s no canny to run frae London to the Black Sea wi’ a wind +ahint ye, as though the Deil himself were blawin’ on yer sail for his +ain purpose. An’ a’ the time we could no speer a thing. Gin we were nigh +a ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog fell on us and travelled wi’ us, +till when after it had lifted and we looked out, the deil a thing could +we see. We ran by Gibraltar wi’oot bein’ able to signal; an’ till we +came to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get our permit to pass, we +never were within hail o’ aught. At first I inclined to slack off sail +and beat about till the fog was lifted; but whiles, I thocht that if the +Deil was minded to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it +whether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would be no to our +miscredit wi’ the owners, or no hurt to our traffic; an’ the Old Mon who +had served his ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us for no +hinderin’ him.” This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition +and commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said:-- + +“Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought by some; and +he know when he meet his match!” The skipper was not displeased with the +compliment, and went on:-- + +“When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to grumble; some o’ them, +the Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a big box which had +been put on board by a queer lookin’ old man just before we had started +frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their twa +fingers when they saw him, to guard against the evil eye. Man! but the +supersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly rideeculous! I sent them aboot +their business pretty quick; but as just after a fog closed in on us I +felt a wee bit as they did anent something, though I wouldn’t say it was +agin the big box. Well, on we went, and as the fog didn’t let up for +five days I joost let the wind carry us; for if the Deil wanted to get +somewheres--well, he would fetch it up a’reet. An’ if he didn’t, well, +we’d keep a sharp lookout anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair way and +deep water all the time; and two days ago, when the mornin’ sun came +through the fog, we found ourselves just in the river opposite Galatz. +The Roumanians were wild, and wanted me right or wrong to take out the +box and fling it in the river. I had to argy wi’ them aboot it wi’ a +handspike; an’ when the last o’ them rose off the deck wi’ his head in +his hand, I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, the +property and the trust of my owners were better in my hands than in the +river Danube. They had, mind ye, taken the box on the deck ready to +fling in, and as it was marked Galatz _via_ Varna, I thocht I’d let it +lie till we discharged in the port an’ get rid o’t althegither. We +didn’t do much clearin’ that day, an’ had to remain the nicht at anchor; +but in the mornin’, braw an’ airly, an hour before sun-up, a man came +aboard wi’ an order, written to him from England, to receive a box +marked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready to +his hand. He had his papers a’ reet, an’ glad I was to be rid o’ the +dam’ thing, for I was beginnin’ masel’ to feel uneasy at it. If the Deil +did have any luggage aboord the ship, I’m thinkin’ it was nane ither +than that same!” + +“What was the name of the man who took it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing with +restrained eagerness. + +“I’ll be tellin’ ye quick!” he answered, and, stepping down to his +cabin, produced a receipt signed “Immanuel Hildesheim.” Burgen-strasse +16 was the address. We found out that this was all the Captain knew; so +with thanks we came away. + +We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the Adelphi +Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His arguments were +pointed with specie--we doing the punctuation--and with a little +bargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out to be simple but +important. He had received a letter from Mr. de Ville of London, telling +him to receive, if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a box +which would arrive at Galatz in the _Czarina Catherine_. This he was to +give in charge to a certain Petrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks +who traded down the river to the port. He had been paid for his work by +an English bank note, which had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube +International Bank. When Skinsky had come to him, he had taken him to +the ship and handed over the box, so as to save porterage. That was all +he knew. + +We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. One of his +neighbours, who did not seem to bear him any affection, said that he had +gone away two days before, no one knew whither. This was corroborated by +his landlord, who had received by messenger the key of the house +together with the rent due, in English money. This had been between ten +and eleven o’clock last night. We were at a standstill again. + +Whilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly gasped out that +the body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of the churchyard of +St. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as if by some wild +animal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to see the horror, the +women crying out “This is the work of a Slovak!” We hurried away lest we +should have been in some way drawn into the affair, and so detained. + +As we came home we could arrive at no definite conclusion. We were all +convinced that the box was on its way, by water, to somewhere; but where +that might be we would have to discover. With heavy hearts we came home +to the hotel to Mina. + +When we met together, the first thing was to consult as to taking Mina +again into our confidence. Things are getting desperate, and it is at +least a chance, though a hazardous one. As a preliminary step, I was +released from my promise to her. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_30 October, evening._--They were so tired and worn out and dispirited +that there was nothing to be done till they had some rest; so I asked +them all to lie down for half an hour whilst I should enter everything +up to the moment. I feel so grateful to the man who invented the +“Traveller’s” typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting this one for +me. I should have felt quite astray doing the work if I had to write +with a pen.... + +It is all done; poor dear, dear Jonathan, what he must have suffered, +what must he be suffering now. He lies on the sofa hardly seeming to +breathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His brows are knit; his +face is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he is thinking, and I can +see his face all wrinkled up with the concentration of his thoughts. Oh! +if I could only help at all.... I shall do what I can. + +I have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has got me all the papers that I +have not yet seen.... Whilst they are resting, I shall go over all +carefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I shall try to +follow the Professor’s example, and think without prejudice on the facts +before me.... + + * * * * * + +I do believe that under God’s providence I have made a discovery. I +shall get the maps and look over them.... + + * * * * * + +I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is ready, so +I shall get our party together and read it. They can judge it; it is +well to be accurate, and every minute is precious. + + +_Mina Harker’s Memorandum._ + +(Entered in her Journal.) + +_Ground of inquiry._--Count Dracula’s problem is to get back to his own +place. + +(_a_) He must be _brought back_ by some one. This is evident; for had he +power to move himself as he wished he could go either as man, or wolf, +or bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears discovery or +interference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be--confined +as he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box. + +(_b_) _How is he to be taken?_--Here a process of exclusions may help +us. By road, by rail, by water? + +1. _By Road._--There are endless difficulties, especially in leaving the +city. + +(_x_) There are people; and people are curious, and investigate. A hint, +a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the box, would destroy him. + +(_y_) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to pass. + +(_z_) His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear; and in order +to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he can, even +his victim--me! + +2. _By Rail._--There is no one in charge of the box. It would have to +take its chance of being delayed; and delay would be fatal, with enemies +on the track. True, he might escape at night; but what would he be, if +left in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to? This is not +what he intends; and he does not mean to risk it. + +3. _By Water._--Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with most +danger in another. On the water he is powerless except at night; even +then he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his wolves. But were +he wrecked, the living water would engulf him, helpless; and he would +indeed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land; but if it were +unfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his position would +still be desperate. + +We know from the record that he was on the water; so what we have to do +is to ascertain _what_ water. + +The first thing is to realise exactly what he has done as yet; we may, +then, get a light on what his later task is to be. + +_Firstly._--We must differentiate between what he did in London as part +of his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments and had +to arrange as best he could. + +_Secondly_ we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the facts we +know of, what he has done here. + +As to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sent +invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his means of +exit from England; his immediate and sole purpose then was to escape. +The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to Immanuel +Hildesheim to clear and take away the box _before sunrise_. There is +also the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at; but +there must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky came to +Hildesheim. + +That, so far, his plans were successful we know. The _Czarina Catherine_ +made a phenomenally quick journey--so much so that Captain Donelson’s +suspicions were aroused; but his superstition united with his canniness +played the Count’s game for him, and he ran with his favouring wind +through fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. That the +Count’s arrangements were well made, has been proved. Hildesheim cleared +the box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it--and here +we lose the trail. We only know that the box is somewhere on the water, +moving along. The customs and the octroi, if there be any, have been +avoided. + +Now we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival--_on +land_, at Galatz. + +The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Count could +appear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was chosen at all to +aid in the work? In my husband’s diary, Skinsky is mentioned as dealing +with the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port; and the man’s +remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the general +feeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation. + +My surmise is, this: that in London the Count decided to get back to his +castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was brought from +the castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered their cargo to Slovaks +who took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped for London. +Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could arrange this +service. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, he +came out from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him what to do as to +arranging the carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, and +he knew that all was in train, he blotted out his traces, as he thought, +by murdering his agent. + +I have examined the map and find that the river most suitable for the +Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth. I read in +the typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water swirling +level with my ears and the creaking of wood. The Count in his box, then, +was on a river in an open boat--propelled probably either by oars or +poles, for the banks are near and it is working against stream. There +would be no such sound if floating down stream. + +Of course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we may +possibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is the more +easily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the Bistritza +which runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes is manifestly as +close to Dracula’s castle as can be got by water. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal--continued._ + +When I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms and kissed me. The +others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said:-- + +“Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have been where +we were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this time we +may succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless; and if we can come on +him by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, but he +is powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box lest those who carry +him may suspect; for them to suspect would be to prompt them to throw +him in the stream where he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men, +to our Council of War; for, here and now, we must plan what each and all +shall do.” + +“I shall get a steam launch and follow him,” said Lord Godalming. + +“And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he land,” said Mr. +Morris. + +“Good!” said the Professor, “both good. But neither must go alone. There +must be force to overcome force if need be; the Slovak is strong and +rough, and he carries rude arms.” All the men smiled, for amongst them +they carried a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris:-- + +“I have brought some Winchesters; they are pretty handy in a crowd, and +there may be wolves. The Count, if you remember, took some other +precautions; he made some requisitions on others that Mrs. Harker could +not quite hear or understand. We must be ready at all points.” Dr. +Seward said:-- + +“I think I had better go with Quincey. We have been accustomed to hunt +together, and we two, well armed, will be a match for whatever may come +along. You must not be alone, Art. It may be necessary to fight the +Slovaks, and a chance thrust--for I don’t suppose these fellows carry +guns--would undo all our plans. There must be no chances, this time; we +shall not rest until the Count’s head and body have been separated, and +we are sure that he cannot re-incarnate.” He looked at Jonathan as he +spoke, and Jonathan looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was +torn about in his mind. Of course he wanted to be with me; but then the +boat service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the ... +the ... the ... Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?) He was +silent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke:-- + +“Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, because you +are young and brave and can fight, and all energies may be needed at the +last; and again that it is your right to destroy him--that--which has +wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Madam Mina; she +will be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run as +once; and I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as need be, or to +fight with lethal weapons. But I can be of other service; I can fight in +other way. And I can die, if need be, as well as younger men. Now let +me say that what I would is this: while you, my Lord Godalming and +friend Jonathan go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, and +whilst John and Quincey guard the bank where perchance he might be +landed, I will take Madam Mina right into the heart of the enemy’s +country. Whilst the old fox is tied in his box, floating on the running +stream whence he cannot escape to land--where he dares not raise the lid +of his coffin-box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him to +perish--we shall go in the track where Jonathan went,--from Bistritz +over the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam +Mina’s hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find our way--all +dark and unknown otherwise--after the first sunrise when we are near +that fateful place. There is much to be done, and other places to be +made sanctify, so that that nest of vipers be obliterated.” Here +Jonathan interrupted him hotly:-- + +“Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina, +in her sad case and tainted as she is with that devil’s illness, right +into the jaws of his death-trap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or +Hell!” He became almost speechless for a minute, and then went on:-- + +“Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish +infamy--with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and every +speck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo? +Have you felt the Vampire’s lips upon your throat?” Here he turned to +me, and as his eyes lit on my forehead he threw up his arms with a cry: +“Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us!” and he sank +down on the sofa in a collapse of misery. The Professor’s voice, as he +spoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed +us all:-- + +“Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that awful +place that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into that +place. There is work--wild work--to be done there, that her eyes may not +see. We men here, all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes what +is to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we are in +terrible straits. If the Count escape us this time--and he is strong and +subtle and cunning--he may choose to sleep him for a century, and then +in time our dear one”--he took my hand--“would come to him to keep him +company, and would be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You have +told us of their gloating lips; you heard their ribald laugh as they +clutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You shudder; and +well may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it is +necessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for the which I am giving, +possibly my life? If it were that any one went into that place to stay, +it is I who would have to go to keep them company.” + +“Do as you will,” said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all over, “we +are in the hands of God!” + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave men worked. +How can women help loving men when they are so earnest, and so true, and +so brave! And, too, it made me think of the wonderful power of money! +What can it not do when it is properly applied; and what might it do +when basely used. I felt so thankful that Lord Godalming is rich, and +that both he and Mr. Morris, who also has plenty of money, are willing +to spend it so freely. For if they did not, our little expedition could +not start, either so promptly or so well equipped, as it will within +another hour. It is not three hours since it was arranged what part each +of us was to do; and now Lord Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steam +launch, with steam up ready to start at a moment’s notice. Dr. Seward +and Mr. Morris have half a dozen good horses, well appointed. We have +all the maps and appliances of various kinds that can be had. Professor +Van Helsing and I are to leave by the 11:40 train to-night for Veresti, +where we are to get a carriage to drive to the Borgo Pass. We are +bringing a good deal of ready money, as we are to buy a carriage and +horses. We shall drive ourselves, for we have no one whom we can trust +in the matter. The Professor knows something of a great many languages, +so we shall get on all right. We have all got arms, even for me a +large-bore revolver; Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like +the rest. Alas! I cannot carry one arm that the rest do; the scar on my +forehead forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling me +that I am fully armed as there may be wolves; the weather is getting +colder every hour, and there are snow-flurries which come and go as +warnings. + + * * * * * + +_Later._--It took all my courage to say good-bye to my darling. We may +never meet again. Courage, Mina! the Professor is looking at you keenly; +his look is a warning. There must be no tears now--unless it may be that +God will let them fall in gladness. + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_October 30. Night._--I am writing this in the light from the furnace +door of the steam launch: Lord Godalming is firing up. He is an +experienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a launch of his +own on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding our +plans, we finally decided that Mina’s guess was correct, and that if any +waterway was chosen for the Count’s escape back to his Castle, the +Sereth and then the Bistritza at its junction, would be the one. We took +it, that somewhere about the 47th degree, north latitude, would be the +place chosen for the crossing the country between the river and the +Carpathians. We have no fear in running at good speed up the river at +night; there is plenty of water, and the banks are wide enough apart to +make steaming, even in the dark, easy enough. Lord Godalming tells me to +sleep for a while, as it is enough for the present for one to be on +watch. But I cannot sleep--how can I with the terrible danger hanging +over my darling, and her going out into that awful place.... My only +comfort is that we are in the hands of God. Only for that faith it would +be easier to die than to live, and so be quit of all the trouble. Mr. +Morris and Dr. Seward were off on their long ride before we started; +they are to keep up the right bank, far enough off to get on higher +lands where they can see a good stretch of river and avoid the following +of its curves. They have, for the first stages, two men to ride and lead +their spare horses--four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When +they dismiss the men, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves look +after the horses. It may be necessary for us to join forces; if so they +can mount our whole party. One of the saddles has a movable horn, and +can be easily adapted for Mina, if required. + +It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along through +the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise up and strike +us; with all the mysterious voices of the night around us, it all comes +home. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways; into +a whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godalming is shutting the +furnace door.... + + * * * * * + +_31 October._--Still hurrying along. The day has come, and Godalming is +sleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly cold; the furnace heat +is grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As yet we have passed only +a few open boats, but none of them had on board any box or package of +anything like the size of the one we seek. The men were scared every +time we turned our electric lamp on them, and fell on their knees and +prayed. + + * * * * * + +_1 November, evening._--No news all day; we have found nothing of the +kind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza; and if we are wrong +in our surmise our chance is gone. We have over-hauled every boat, big +and little. Early this morning, one crew took us for a Government boat, +and treated us accordingly. We saw in this a way of smoothing matters, +so at Fundu, where the Bistritza runs into the Sereth, we got a +Roumanian flag which we now fly conspicuously. With every boat which we +have over-hauled since then this trick has succeeded; we have had every +deference shown to us, and not once any objection to whatever we chose +to ask or do. Some of the Slovaks tell us that a big boat passed them, +going at more than usual speed as she had a double crew on board. This +was before they came to Fundu, so they could not tell us whether the +boat turned into the Bistritza or continued on up the Sereth. At Fundu +we could not hear of any such boat, so she must have passed there in the +night. I am feeling very sleepy; the cold is perhaps beginning to tell +upon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godalming insists that he +shall keep the first watch. God bless him for all his goodness to poor +dear Mina and me. + + * * * * * + +_2 November, morning._--It is broad daylight. That good fellow would not +wake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I slept peacefully and +was forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to me to have slept +so long, and let him watch all night; but he was quite right. I am a new +man this morning; and, as I sit here and watch him sleeping, I can do +all that is necessary both as to minding the engine, steering, and +keeping watch. I can feel that my strength and energy are coming back to +me. I wonder where Mina is now, and Van Helsing. They should have got to +Veresti about noon on Wednesday. It would take them some time to get the +carriage and horses; so if they had started and travelled hard, they +would be about now at the Borgo Pass. God guide and help them! I am +afraid to think what may happen. If we could only go faster! but we +cannot; the engines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wonder how +Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem to be endless +streams running down the mountains into this river, but as none of them +are very large--at present, at all events, though they are terrible +doubtless in winter and when the snow melts--the horsemen may not have +met much obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may see +them; for if by that time we have not overtaken the Count, it may be +necessary to take counsel together what to do next. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_2 November._--Three days on the road. No news, and no time to write it +if there had been, for every moment is precious. We have had only the +rest needful for the horses; but we are both bearing it wonderfully. +Those adventurous days of ours are turning up useful. We must push on; +we shall never feel happy till we get the launch in sight again. + + * * * * * + +_3 November._--We heard at Fundu that the launch had gone up the +Bistritza. I wish it wasn’t so cold. There are signs of snow coming; and +if it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must get a sledge and +go on, Russian fashion. + + * * * * * + +_4 November._--To-day we heard of the launch having been detained by an +accident when trying to force a way up the rapids. The Slovak boats get +up all right, by aid of a rope and steering with knowledge. Some went up +only a few hours before. Godalming is an amateur fitter himself, and +evidently it was he who put the launch in trim again. Finally, they got +up the rapids all right, with local help, and are off on the chase +afresh. I fear that the boat is not any better for the accident; the +peasantry tell us that after she got upon smooth water again, she kept +stopping every now and again so long as she was in sight. We must push +on harder than ever; our help may be wanted soon. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_31 October._--Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me that +this morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotise me at all, and that all I +could say was: “dark and quiet.” He is off now buying a carriage and +horses. He says that he will later on try to buy additional horses, so +that we may be able to change them on the way. We have something more +than 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most interesting; if +only we were under different conditions, how delightful it would be to +see it all. If Jonathan and I were driving through it alone what a +pleasure it would be. To stop and see people, and learn something of +their life, and to fill our minds and memories with all the colour and +picturesqueness of the whole wild, beautiful country and the quaint +people! But, alas!-- + + * * * * * + +_Later._--Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the carriage and +horses; we are to have some dinner, and to start in an hour. The +landlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions; it seems enough +for a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and whispers to +me that it may be a week before we can get any good food again. He has +been shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful lot of fur coats +and wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There will not be any chance of +our being cold. + + * * * * * + +We shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may happen to us. We are +truly in the hands of God. He alone knows what may be, and I pray Him, +with all the strength of my sad and humble soul, that He will watch over +my beloved husband; that whatever may happen, Jonathan may know that I +loved him and honoured him more than I can say, and that my latest and +truest thought will be always for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL + + +_1 November._--All day long we have travelled, and at a good speed. The +horses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for they go +willingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had so many +changes and find the same thing so constantly that we are encouraged to +think that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van Helsing is laconic; +he tells the farmers that he is hurrying to Bistritz, and pays them well +to make the exchange of horses. We get hot soup, or coffee, or tea; and +off we go. It is a lovely country; full of beauties of all imaginable +kinds, and the people are brave, and strong, and simple, and seem full +of nice qualities. They are _very, very_ superstitious. In the first +house where we stopped, when the woman who served us saw the scar on my +forehead, she crossed herself and put out two fingers towards me, to +keep off the evil eye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting an +extra amount of garlic into our food; and I can’t abide garlic. Ever +since then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have +escaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no +driver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal; but I daresay +that fear of the evil eye will follow hard behind us all the way. The +Professor seems tireless; all day he would not take any rest, though he +made me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time he hypnotised me, and he +says that I answered as usual “darkness, lapping water and creaking +wood”; so our enemy is still on the river. I am afraid to think of +Jonathan, but somehow I have now no fear for him, or for myself. I write +this whilst we wait in a farmhouse for the horses to be got ready. Dr. +Van Helsing is sleeping. Poor dear, he looks very tired and old and +grey, but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror’s; even in his sleep +he is instinct with resolution. When we have well started I must make +him rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us, +and we must not break down when most of all his strength will be +needed.... All is ready; we are off shortly. + + * * * * * + +_2 November, morning._--I was successful, and we took turns driving all +night; now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a strange +heaviness in the air--I say heaviness for want of a better word; I mean +that it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only our warm furs keep +us comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotised me; he says I answered +“darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,” so the river is changing as +they ascend. I do hope that my darling will not run any chance of +danger--more than need be; but we are in God’s hands. + + * * * * * + +_2 November, night._--All day long driving. The country gets wilder as +we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti seemed +so far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather round us +and tower in front. We both seem in good spirits; I think we make an +effort each to cheer the other; in the doing so we cheer ourselves. Dr. +Van Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the Borgo Pass. The +houses are very few here now, and the Professor says that the last horse +we got will have to go on with us, as we may not be able to change. He +got two in addition to the two we changed, so that now we have a rude +four-in-hand. The dear horses are patient and good, and they give us no +trouble. We are not worried with other travellers, and so even I can +drive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight; we do not want to arrive +before. So we take it easy, and have each a long rest in turn. Oh, what +will to-morrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor +darling suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and +that He will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both, +and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His +sight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may deign +to let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have not incurred +His wrath. + + +_Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing._ + +_4 November._--This to my old and true friend John Seward, M.D., of +Purfleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It is +morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept +alive--Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold; so cold that the grey +heavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for all +winter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to have +affected Madam Mina; she has been so heavy of head all day that she was +not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps! She who is usual +so alert, have done literally nothing all the day; she even have lost +her appetite. She make no entry into her little diary, she who write so +faithful at every pause. Something whisper to me that all is not well. +However, to-night she is more _vif_. Her long sleep all day have refresh +and restore her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever. At sunset +I try to hypnotise her, but alas! with no effect; the power has grown +less and less with each day, and to-night it fail me altogether. Well, +God’s will be done--whatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead! + +Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her stenography, I +must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day of us may not go +unrecorded. + +We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning. When I +saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We stopped our +carriage, and got down so that there might be no disturbance. I made a +couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield herself as usual, but +more slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic sleep. As +before, came the answer: “darkness and the swirling of water.” Then she +woke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass. +At this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal; some new +guiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say:-- + +“This is the way.” + +“How know you it?” I ask. + +“Of course I know it,” she answer, and with a pause, add: “Have not my +Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?” + +At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only one +such by-road. It is used but little, and very different from the coach +road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide and hard, and +more of use. + +So we came down this road; when we meet other ways--not always were we +sure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and light snow +have fallen--the horses know and they only. I give rein to them, and +they go on so patient. By-and-by we find all the things which Jonathan +have note in that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, long +hours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep; she try, and +she succeed. She sleep all the time; till at the last, I feel myself to +suspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may +not wake her though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm +her; for I know that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be +all-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel +guilt, as though I have done something; I find myself bolt up, with the +reins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. I +look down and find Madam Mina still sleep. It is now not far off sunset +time, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood, +so that we throw great long shadow on where the mountain rise so steep. +For we are going up, and up; and all is oh! so wild and rocky, as though +it were the end of the world. + +Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much trouble, and +then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep not, being as +though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at once I find her and +myself in dark; so I look round, and find that the sun have gone down. +Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite awake, +and look so well as I never saw her since that night at Carfax when we +first enter the Count’s house. I am amaze, and not at ease then; but she +is so bright and tender and thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I +light a fire, for we have brought supply of wood with us, and she +prepare food while I undo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, +to feed. Then when I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go +to help her; but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already--that +she was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have +grave doubts; but I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it. She +help me and I eat alone; and then we wrap in fur and lie beside the +fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget all +of watching; and when I sudden remember that I watch, I find her lying +quiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright eyes. Once, twice +more the same occur, and I get much sleep till before morning. When I +wake I try to hypnotise her; but alas! though she shut her eyes +obedient, she may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up; and then +sleep come to her too late, but so heavy that she will not wake. I have +to lift her up, and place her sleeping in the carriage when I have +harnessed the horses and made all ready. Madam still sleep, and she look +in her sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And I like it +not. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid!--I am afraid of all things--even +to think but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life and +death, or more than these, and we must not flinch. + + * * * * * + +_5 November, morning._--Let me be accurate in everything, for though you +and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think +that I, Van Helsing, am mad--that the many horrors and the so long +strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain. + +All yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the mountains, and +moving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are great, +frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to have held +sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep; and though I +did have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her--even for food. I +began to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, tainted as +she is with that Vampire baptism. “Well,” said I to myself, “if it be +that she sleep all the day, it shall also be that I do not sleep at +night.” As we travel on the rough road, for a road of an ancient and +imperfect kind there was, I held down my head and slept. Again I waked +with a sense of guilt and of time passed, and found Madam Mina still +sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was indeed changed; the frowning +mountains seemed further away, and we were near the top of a +steep-rising hill, on summit of which was such a castle as Jonathan tell +of in his diary. At once I exulted and feared; for now, for good or ill, +the end was near. + +I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotise her; but alas! +unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us--for +even after down-sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the snow, and +all was for a time in a great twilight--I took out the horses and fed +them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire; and near it I make +Madam Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amid +her rugs. I got ready food: but she would not eat, simply saying that +she had not hunger. I did not press her, knowing her unavailingness. But +I myself eat, for I must needs now be strong for all. Then, with the +fear on me of what might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round +where Madam Mina sat; and over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and +I broke it fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all the +time--so still as one dead; and she grew whiter and ever whiter till the +snow was not more pale; and no word she said. But when I drew near, she +clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head to +feet with a tremor that was pain to feel. I said to her presently, when +she had grown more quiet:-- + +“Will you not come over to the fire?” for I wished to make a test of +what she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she +stopped, and stood as one stricken. + +“Why not go on?” I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back, sat +down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one waked +from sleep, she said simply:-- + +“I cannot!” and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she +could not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be +danger to her body, yet her soul was safe! + +Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers till I +came to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands on them, they +whinnied low as in joy, and licked at my hands and were quiet for a +time. Many times through the night did I come to them, till it arrive to +the cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and every time my coming was +with quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I was +about stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying +sweeps and with it a chill mist. Even in the dark there was a light of +some kind, as there ever is over snow; and it seemed as though the +snow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with +trailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence only that the horses +whinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began to +fear--horrible fears; but then came to me the sense of safety in that +ring wherein I stood. I began, too, to think that my imaginings were of +the night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and +all the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan’s +horrid experience were befooling me; for the snow flakes and the mist +began to wheel and circle round, till I could get as though a shadowy +glimpse of those women that would have kissed him. And then the horses +cowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even +the madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break away. I +feared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird figures drew near and +circled round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and smiled at me; when +I would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held +me back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low +it was:-- + +“No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!” I turned to her, and +looking in her eyes, said:-- + +“But you? It is for you that I fear!” whereat she laughed--a laugh, low +and unreal, and said:-- + +“Fear for _me_! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them +than I am,” and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of +wind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead. +Then, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the +wheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever without +the Holy circle. Then they began to materialise till--if God have not +take away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes--there were before me +in actual flesh the same three women that Jonathan saw in the room, when +they would have kissed his throat. I knew the swaying round forms, the +bright hard eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy colour, the voluptuous +lips. They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina; and as their laugh came +through the silence of the night, they twined their arms and pointed to +her, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were +of the intolerable sweetness of the water-glasses:-- + +“Come, sister. Come to us. Come! Come!” In fear I turned to my poor +Madam Mina, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame; for oh! the +terror in her sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my +heart that was all of hope. God be thanked she was not, yet, of them. I +seized some of the firewood which was by me, and holding out some of the +Wafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, and +laughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them not; for +I knew that we were safe within our protections. They could not +approach, me, whilst so armed, nor Madam Mina whilst she remained within +the ring, which she could not leave no more than they could enter. The +horses had ceased to moan, and lay still on the ground; the snow fell on +them softly, and they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poor +beasts no more of terror. + +And so we remained till the red of the dawn to fall through the +snow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror; but +when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again. +At the first coming of the dawn the horrid figures melted in the +whirling mist and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved away +towards the castle, and were lost. + +Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina, intending +to hypnotise her; but she lay in a deep and sudden sleep, from which I +could not wake her. I tried to hypnotise through her sleep, but she made +no response, none at all; and the day broke. I fear yet to stir. I have +made my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. To-day I have +much to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up high; for there +may be places where I must go, where that sunlight, though snow and mist +obscure it, will be to me a safety. + +I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my terrible +work. Madam Mina still sleeps; and, God be thanked! she is calm in her +sleep.... + + +_Jonathan Harker’s Journal._ + +_4 November, evening._--The accident to the launch has been a terrible +thing for us. Only for it we should have overtaken the boat long ago; +and by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear to think of her, +off on the wolds near that horrid place. We have got horses, and we +follow on the track. I note this whilst Godalming is getting ready. We +have our arms. The Szgany must look out if they mean fight. Oh, if only +Morris and Seward were with us. We must only hope! If I write no more +Good-bye, Mina! God bless and keep you. + + +_Dr. Seward’s Diary._ + +_5 November._--With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us dashing +away from the river with their leiter-wagon. They surrounded it in a +cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is falling lightly +and there is a strange excitement in the air. It may be our own +feelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling of +wolves; the snow brings them down from the mountains, and there are +dangers to all of us, and from all sides. The horses are nearly ready, +and we are soon off. We ride to death of some one. God alone knows who, +or where, or what, or when, or how it may be.... + + +_Dr. Van Helsing’s Memorandum._ + +_5 November, afternoon._--I am at least sane. Thank God for that mercy +at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When I left +Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to the castle. +The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti was +useful; though the doors were all open I broke them off the rusty +hinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close them, so that +being entered I might not get out. Jonathan’s bitter experience served +me here. By memory of his diary I found my way to the old chapel, for I +knew that here my work lay. The air was oppressive; it seemed as if +there was some sulphurous fume, which at times made me dizzy. Either +there was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar off the howl of wolves. +Then I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, and I was in terrible plight. +The dilemma had me between his horns. + +Her, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from the +Vampire in that Holy circle; and yet even there would be the wolf! I +resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves we must +submit, if it were God’s will. At any rate it was only death and +freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself the +choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better to rest in than +the grave of the Vampire! So I make my choice to go on with my work. + +I knew that there were at least three graves to find--graves that are +inhabit; so I search, and search, and I find one of them. She lay in her +Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as +though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when +such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, +found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, +and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the +wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset +come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair +woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a +kiss--and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire +fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!... + +There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere presence +of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted with age and +heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that horrid odour such +as the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was moved--I, Van Helsing, +with all my purpose and with my motive for hate--I was moved to a +yearning for delay which seemed to paralyse my faculties and to clog my +very soul. It may have been that the need of natural sleep, and the +strange oppression of the air were beginning to overcome me. Certain it +was that I was lapsing into sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yields +to a sweet fascination, when there came through the snow-stilled air a +long, low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound +of a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I heard. + +Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenching +away tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one. I dared not +pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I should +begin to be enthrall; but I go on searching until, presently, I find in +a high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister +which, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of +the mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so +exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls +some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl +with new emotion. But God be thanked, that soul-wail of my dear Madam +Mina had not died out of my ears; and, before the spell could be wrought +further upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this time I had +searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell; and as +there had been only three of these Un-Dead phantoms around us in the +night, I took it that there were no more of active Un-Dead existent. +There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and +nobly proportioned. On it was but one word + + DRACULA. + +This then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to whom so many more +were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew. +Before I began to restore these women to their dead selves through my +awful work, I laid in Dracula’s tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished +him from it, Un-Dead, for ever. + +Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but one, it +had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more after I had +been through a deed of horror; for if it was terrible with the sweet +Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had survived +through centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of the +years; who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives.... + +Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work; had I not been nerved by +thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a pall of +fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble even yet, though +till all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I not seen +the repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it just +ere the final dissolution came, as realisation that the soul had been +won, I could not have gone further with my butchery. I could not have +endured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home; the plunging of +writhing form, and lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and +left my work undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them +now and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of death +for a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had my knife +severed the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and +crumble in to its native dust, as though the death that should have come +centuries agone had at last assert himself and say at once and loud “I +am here!” + +Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more can +the Count enter there Un-Dead. + +When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke from her +sleep, and, seeing, me, cried out in pain that I had endured too much. + +“Come!” she said, “come away from this awful place! Let us go to meet my +husband who is, I know, coming towards us.” She was looking thin and +pale and weak; but her eyes were pure and glowed with fervour. I was +glad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind was full of the +fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep. + +And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward to meet +our friends--and _him_--whom Madam Mina tell me that she _know_ are +coming to meet us. + + +_Mina Harker’s Journal._ + +_6 November._--It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and I +took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming. We did +not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for we had to take +heavy rugs and wraps with us; we dared not face the possibility of being +left without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to take some of our +provisions, too, for we were in a perfect desolation, and, so far as we +could see through the snowfall, there was not even the sign of +habitation. When we had gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavy +walking and sat down to rest. Then we looked back and saw where the +clear line of Dracula’s castle cut the sky; for we were so deep under +the hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of the +Carpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its grandeur, +perched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and with +seemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain +on any side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place. We +could hear the distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the +sound, even though coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, was +full of terror. I knew from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about +that he was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be less +exposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led downwards; we +could trace it through the drifted snow. + +In a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and joined +him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow in a rock, +with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. He took me by the +hand and drew me in: “See!” he said, “here you will be in shelter; and +if the wolves do come I can meet them one by one.” He brought in our +furs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out some provisions and +forced them upon me. But I could not eat; to even try to do so was +repulsive to me, and, much as I would have liked to please him, I could +not bring myself to the attempt. He looked very sad, but did not +reproach me. Taking his field-glasses from the case, he stood on the top +of the rock, and began to search the horizon. Suddenly he called out:-- + +“Look! Madam Mina, look! look!” I sprang up and stood beside him on the +rock; he handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was now falling +more heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning +to blow. However, there were times when there were pauses between the +snow flurries and I could see a long way round. From the height where we +were it was possible to see a great distance; and far off, beyond the +white waste of snow, I could see the river lying like a black ribbon in +kinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of us and not far +off--in fact, so near that I wondered we had not noticed before--came a +group of mounted men hurrying along. In the midst of them was a cart, a +long leiter-wagon which swept from side to side, like a dog’s tail +wagging, with each stern inequality of the road. Outlined against the +snow as they were, I could see from the men’s clothes that they were +peasants or gypsies of some kind. + +On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw it, for I +felt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing close, and +well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till then imprisoned +there, would take new freedom and could in any of many forms elude all +pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor; to my consternation, +however, he was not there. An instant later, I saw him below me. Round +the rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had found shelter in last +night. When he had completed it he stood beside me again, saying:-- + +“At least you shall be safe here from _him_!” He took the glasses from +me, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below us. +“See,” he said, “they come quickly; they are flogging the horses, and +galloping as hard as they can.” He paused and went on in a hollow +voice:-- + +“They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. God’s will be +done!” Down came another blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole +landscape was blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more his +glasses were fixed on the plain. Then came a sudden cry:-- + +“Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, coming up from the +south. It must be Quincey and John. Take the glass. Look before the snow +blots it all out!” I took it and looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward +and Mr. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was Jonathan. +At the same time I _knew_ that Jonathan was not far off; looking around +I saw on the north side of the coming party two other men, riding at +break-neck speed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took, +of course, to be Lord Godalming. They, too, were pursuing the party with +the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee like a schoolboy, +and, after looking intently till a snow fall made sight impossible, he +laid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at the +opening of our shelter. “They are all converging,” he said. “When the +time comes we shall have gypsies on all sides.” I got out my revolver +ready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of wolves came +louder and closer. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again. +It was strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us, +and beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down +towards the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could +see here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes and larger +numbers--the wolves were gathering for their prey. + +Every instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now in +fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept upon us in +circling eddies. At times we could not see an arm’s length before us; +but at others, as the hollow-sounding wind swept by us, it seemed to +clear the air-space around us so that we could see afar off. We had of +late been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that we knew +with fair accuracy when it would be; and we knew that before long the +sun would set. It was hard to believe that by our watches it was less +than an hour that we waited in that rocky shelter before the various +bodies began to converge close upon us. The wind came now with fiercer +and more bitter sweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seemingly +had driven the snow clouds from us, for, with only occasional bursts, +the snow fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each +party, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued did +not seem to realise, or at least to care, that they were pursued; they +seemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun dropped lower +and lower on the mountain tops. + +Closer and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down behind +our rock, and held our weapons ready; I could see that he was determined +that they should not pass. One and all were quite unaware of our +presence. + +All at once two voices shouted out to: “Halt!” One was my Jonathan’s, +raised in a high key of passion; the other Mr. Morris’ strong resolute +tone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have known the language, but +there was no mistaking the tone, in whatever tongue the words were +spoken. Instinctively they reined in, and at the instant Lord Godalming +and Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on the +other. The leader of the gypsies, a splendid-looking fellow who sat his +horse like a centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his +companions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which sprang +forward; but the four men raised their Winchester rifles, and in an +unmistakable way commanded them to stop. At the same moment Dr. Van +Helsing and I rose behind the rock and pointed our weapons at them. +Seeing that they were surrounded the men tightened their reins and drew +up. The leader turned to them and gave a word at which every man of the +gypsy party drew what weapon he carried, knife or pistol, and held +himself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an instant. + +The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out in +front, and pointing first to the sun--now close down on the hill +tops--and then to the castle, said something which I did not understand. +For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves from their horses +and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing +Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardour of battle must have been +upon me as well as the rest of them; I felt no fear, but only a wild, +surging desire to do something. Seeing the quick movement of our +parties, the leader of the gypsies gave a command; his men instantly +formed round the cart in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each one +shouldering and pushing the other in his eagerness to carry out the +order. + +In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the ring +of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart; it was +evident that they were bent on finishing their task before the sun +should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder them. Neither the +levelled weapons nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, nor +the howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their +attention. Jonathan’s impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of his +purpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him; instinctively they +cowered, aside and let him pass. In an instant he had jumped upon the +cart, and, with a strength which seemed incredible, raised the great +box, and flung it over the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr. +Morris had had to use force to pass through his side of the ring of +Szgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching Jonathan I had, +with the tail of my eye, seen him pressing desperately forward, and had +seen the knives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and +they cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first +I thought that he too had come through in safety; but as he sprang +beside Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see that +with his left hand he was clutching at his side, and that the blood was +spurting through his fingers. He did not delay notwithstanding this, for +as Jonathan, with desperate energy, attacked one end of the chest, +attempting to prize off the lid with his great Kukri knife, he attacked +the other frantically with his bowie. Under the efforts of both men the +lid began to yield; the nails drew with a quick screeching sound, and +the top of the box was thrown back. + +By this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the Winchesters, +and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had given in and made +no resistance. The sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and the +shadows of the whole group fell long upon the snow. I saw the Count +lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from +the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen +image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I +knew too well. + +As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them +turned to triumph. + +But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan’s great knife. +I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same +moment Mr. Morris’s bowie knife plunged into the heart. + +It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the +drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from +our sight. + +I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final +dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never +could have imagined might have rested there. + +The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every stone +of its broken battlements was articulated against the light of the +setting sun. + +The gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the extraordinary +disappearance of the dead man, turned, without a word, and rode away as +if for their lives. Those who were unmounted jumped upon the +leiter-wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to desert them. The wolves, +which had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leaving +us alone. + +Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow, holding his +hand pressed to his side; the blood still gushed through his fingers. I +flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep me back; so did the +two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man laid back his +head on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a feeble effort, my hand +in that of his own which was unstained. He must have seen the anguish of +my heart in my face, for he smiled at me and said:-- + +“I am only too happy to have been of any service! Oh, God!” he cried +suddenly, struggling up to a sitting posture and pointing to me, “It was +worth for this to die! Look! look!” + +The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleams +fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With one impulse +the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest “Amen” broke from all +as their eyes followed the pointing of his finger. The dying man +spoke:-- + +“Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain! See! the snow is not +more stainless than her forehead! The curse has passed away!” + +And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a +gallant gentleman. + + + + + NOTE + + +Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of +some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. It +is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy’s birthday is the same +day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the +secret belief that some of our brave friend’s spirit has passed into +him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but +we call him Quincey. + +In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went +over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and +terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things +which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were +living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The +castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation. + +When we got home we were talking of the old time--which we could all +look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily +married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever since +our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the +mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one +authentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later +note-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing’s memorandum. +We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as +proofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with +our boy on his knee:-- + +“We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day +know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her +sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so +loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.” + +JONATHAN HARKER. + + THE END + + * * * * * + + _There’s More to Follow!_ + + More stories of the sort you like; more, probably, by the author of + this one; more than 500 titles all told by writers of world-wide + reputation, in the Authors’ Alphabetical List which you will find + on the _reverse side_ of the wrapper of this book. Look it over + before you lay it aside. There are books here you are sure to + want--some, possibly, that you have _always_ wanted. + + It is a _selected_ list; every book in it has achieved a certain + measure of _success_. + + The Grosset & Dunlap list is not only the greatest Index of Good + Fiction available, it represents in addition a generally accepted + Standard of Value. It will pay you to + + _Look on the Other Side of the Wrapper!_ + + _In case the wrapper is lost write to the publishers for a complete + catalog_ + + * * * * * + +DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list + + +THE SECRET OF THE BARBICAN + +THE ANNEXATION SOCIETY + +THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB + +GREEN INK + +THE KING versus WARGRAVE + +THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE + +THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS + +THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL + +THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER + +RAVENSDENE COURT + +THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION + +THE SAFETY PIN + +THE SECRET WAY + +THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN + +_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus + +Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley + +Release date: October 1, 1993 [eBook #84] + Most recently updated: November 5, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: Judith Boss, Christy Phillips, Lynn Hanninen and David Meltzer. HTML version by Al Haines. + Further corrections by Menno de Leeuw. + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS *** + +Frankenstein; + +or, the Modern Prometheus + +by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley + + + CONTENTS + + Letter 1 + Letter 2 + Letter 3 + Letter 4 + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Chapter 19 + Chapter 20 + Chapter 21 + Chapter 22 + Chapter 23 + Chapter 24 + + + + +Letter 1 + +_To Mrs. Saville, England._ + + +St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—. + + +You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the +commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil +forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure +my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success +of my undertaking. + +I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of +Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which +braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this +feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards +which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. +Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent +and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of +frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the +region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever +visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a +perpetual splendour. There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put +some trust in preceding navigators—there snow and frost are banished; +and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in +wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable +globe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the +phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered +solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I +may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may +regulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this +voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever. I +shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world +never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by +the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to +conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this +laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little +boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his +native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you +cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all +mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole +to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are +requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at +all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine. + +These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my +letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me +to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as +a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual +eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I +have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have +been made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean +through the seas which surround the pole. You may remember that a +history of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the +whole of our good Uncle Thomas’ library. My education was neglected, +yet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study +day and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which +I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father’s dying injunction +had forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life. + +These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets +whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also +became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; +I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the +names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well +acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment. +But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my +thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent. + +Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I +can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this +great enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I +accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea; +I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often +worked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my +nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those +branches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive +the greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an +under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I +must own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second +dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest +earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services. + +And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose? +My life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to +every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging +voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is +firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am +about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which +will demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits +of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing. + +This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly +quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in +my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach. The +cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs—a dress which I have +already adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the +deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise +prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. I have no +ambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and +Archangel. + +I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my +intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the +insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessary +among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to +sail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how +can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, +will pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, +or never. + +Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you, +and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your +love and kindness. + +Your affectionate brother, + +R. Walton + + + + +Letter 2 + +_To Mrs. Saville, England._ + +Archangel, 28th March, 17—. + + +How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow! +Yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a +vessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have +already engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly +possessed of dauntless courage. + +But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the +absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have no +friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there +will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no +one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts +to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of +feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me, whose +eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I +bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet +courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose +tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a +friend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution +and too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me +that I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild +on a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas’ books of voyages. +At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own +country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its +most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the +necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native +country. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many +schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my +daydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters +call it) _keeping;_ and I greatly need a friend who would have sense +enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to +endeavour to regulate my mind. + +Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the +wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet +some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these +rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage +and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase +more characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an +Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices, +unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of +humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel; +finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist +in my enterprise. + +The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the +ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This +circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made +me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years +spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the +groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to +the usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be +necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness +of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt +myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard +of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the +happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved +a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerable +sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw +his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in +tears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her, +confessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor, +and that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend +reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, +instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his +money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he +bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his +prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young +woman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old +man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who, +when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned +until he heard that his former mistress was married according to her +inclinations. “What a noble fellow!” you will exclaim. He is +so; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind +of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct +the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which +otherwise he would command. + +Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can +conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am +wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage +is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The +winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it +is considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail +sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me +sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the +safety of others is committed to my care. + +I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my +undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of +the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which +I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to “the +land of mist and snow,” but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not +be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and +woeful as the “Ancient Mariner.” You will smile at my allusion, but I +will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my +passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that +production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something +at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically +industrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and +labour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief +in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out +of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited +regions I am about to explore. + +But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after +having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of +Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to +look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to +me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when +I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. +Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again. + +Your affectionate brother, + Robert Walton + + + + +Letter 3 + +_To Mrs. Saville, England._ + +July 7th, 17—. + + +My dear Sister, + +I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced +on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on +its homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not +see my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good +spirits: my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the +floating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers +of the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We +have already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of +summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales, +which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire +to attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not +expected. + +No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a +letter. One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are +accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and +I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage. + +Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as well as +yours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, +persevering, and prudent. + +But success _shall_ crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I +have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars +themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not +still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the +determined heart and resolved will of man? + +My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must +finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister! + +R.W. + + + + +Letter 4 + + +_To Mrs. Saville, England._ + +August 5th, 17—. + +So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear +recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before +these papers can come into your possession. + +Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed +in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which +she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we +were compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to, +hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather. + +About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out +in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to +have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to +grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly +attracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own +situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by +dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a +being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, +sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress +of the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the +distant inequalities of the ice. + +This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed, +many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that +it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by +ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the +greatest attention. + +About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before +night the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the +morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which +float about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to +rest for a few hours. + +In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and +found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently +talking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we +had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large +fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human +being within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel. +He was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of +some undiscovered island, but a European. When I appeared on deck the +master said, “Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish +on the open sea.” + +On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a +foreign accent. “Before I come on board your vessel,” said he, +“will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?” + +You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed +to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have +supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not +have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I +replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the +northern pole. + +Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board. +Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for +his safety, your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were +nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and +suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted +to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh +air he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck and +restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to +swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we +wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the +kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup, +which restored him wonderfully. + +Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often +feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he +had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and +attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more +interesting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of +wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone +performs an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most +trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with +a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he +is generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his +teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him. + +When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off +the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not +allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body +and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose. +Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice +in so strange a vehicle. + +His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and +he replied, “To seek one who fled from me.” + +“And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we +saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.” + +This aroused the stranger’s attention, and he asked a multitude of +questions concerning the route which the dæmon, as he called him, had +pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, “I have, +doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good +people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.” + +“Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to +trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.” + +“And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have +benevolently restored me to life.” + +Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the +ice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not answer +with any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near +midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety +before that time; but of this I could not judge. + +From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the +stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for +the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in +the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere. +I have promised that someone should watch for him and give him instant +notice if any new object should appear in sight. + +Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the +present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very +silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin. +Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all +interested in him, although they have had very little communication +with him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his +constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must +have been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck +so attractive and amiable. + +I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend +on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been +broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother +of my heart. + +I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, +should I have any fresh incidents to record. + + + + +August 13th, 17—. + + +My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my +admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so +noble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant +grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and +when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art, +yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence. + +He is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck, +apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although +unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he +interests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently +conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without +disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my +eventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken +to secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the +language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul +and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would +sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my +enterprise. One man’s life or death were but a small price to pay for +the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should +acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a +dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first I +perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before +his eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle +fast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I +paused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: “Unhappy man! Do you +share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me; +let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!” + +Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the +paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened +powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were +necessary to restore his composure. + +Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise +himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of +despair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked +me the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it +awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a +friend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than +had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could +boast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing. + +“I agree with you,” replied the stranger; “we are +unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than +ourselves—such a friend ought to be—do not lend his aid to +perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most +noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting +friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for +despair. But I—I have lost everything and cannot begin life +anew.” + +As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled +grief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent and presently +retired to his cabin. + +Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he +does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight +afforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of +elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he +may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he +has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a +halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures. + +Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine +wanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored and +refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore +somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to +appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I +have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that +elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I +believe it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing +power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled +for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a +voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music. + + + + +August 19th, 17—. + + +Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may easily perceive, Captain +Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had +determined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with +me, but you have won me to alter my determination. You seek for +knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the +gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine +has been. I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be +useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same +course, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me +what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one +that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you +in case of failure. Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually +deemed marvellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might +fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things +will appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would +provoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers +of nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series +internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.” + +You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered +communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by +a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear +the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong +desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power. I expressed +these feelings in my answer. + +“I thank you,” he replied, “for your sympathy, but it is +useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I +shall repose in peace. I understand your feeling,” continued he, +perceiving that I wished to interrupt him; “but you are mistaken, my +friend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my +destiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is +determined.” + +He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I +should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have +resolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to +record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has related during +the day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This +manuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who +know him, and who hear it from his own lips—with what interest and +sympathy shall I read it in some future day! Even now, as I commence my +task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me +with all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in +animation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul +within. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which +embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it—thus! + + + + +Chapter 1 + + +I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most +distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years +counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public +situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who +knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public +business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the +affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his +marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a +husband and the father of a family. + +As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot +refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a +merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous +mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a +proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty +and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been +distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, +therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his +daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in +wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and +was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. +He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct +so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in +endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin +the world again through his credit and assistance. + +Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten +months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, +he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the +Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort +had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but +it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in +the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a +merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; +his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for +reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end +of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion. + +His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw +with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that +there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort +possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support +her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and +by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to +support life. + +Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time +was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence +decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving +her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt +by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the +chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who +committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he +conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a +relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife. + +There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but +this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted +affection. There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind +which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love +strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the +late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set +a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and +worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the +doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her +virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing +her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace +to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes +and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is +sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her +with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and +benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto +constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During +the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had +gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after +their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change +of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, +as a restorative for her weakened frame. + +From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born +at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained +for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each +other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very +mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and +my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my +first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something +better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on +them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in +their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled +their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed +towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit +of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during +every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, +and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but +one train of enjoyment to me. + +For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a +daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five +years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they +passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent +disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my +mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a +passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been +relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the +afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale +attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number +of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst +shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, +accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, +hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to +five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far +above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were +dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her +hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her +clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was +clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of +her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold +her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, +and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features. + +The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and +admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was +not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a +German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with +these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been +long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their +charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory +of Italy—one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted +himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its +weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria +was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and +a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude +abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles. + +When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of +our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed +to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter +than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his +permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their +charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed +a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty +and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They +consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza +became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than +sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and +my pleasures. + +Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential +attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my +pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to +my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my +Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she +presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish +seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth +as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on +her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other +familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body +forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than +sister, since till death she was to be mine only. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in +our ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of +disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and +the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us +nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated +disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense +application and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. +She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets; +and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss +home —the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons, +tempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of +our Alpine summers—she found ample scope for admiration and delight. +While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the +magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their +causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine. +Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, +gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the +earliest sensations I can remember. + +On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave +up entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native +country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive, +the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a +league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the +lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my +temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was +indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united +myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry +Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular +talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for +its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He +composed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and +knightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into +masquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of +Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous +train who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands +of the infidels. + +No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My +parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. +We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to +their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights +which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families I distinctly +discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted +the development of filial love. + +My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some +law in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits +but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things +indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages, +nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states +possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth +that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of +things or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man +that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, +or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world. + +Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral +relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, +and the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was +to become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the +gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul +of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. +Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of +her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was +the living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become +sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that +she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And +Clerval—could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? Yet +he might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his +generosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for +adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of +beneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring +ambition. + +I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, +before misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of +extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, +in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which +led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would +account to myself for the birth of that passion which afterwards ruled my +destiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost +forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent +which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys. + +Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, +therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my +predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went +on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the +weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I +chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it +with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful +facts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new +light seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my +discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my +book and said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste +your time upon this; it is sad trash.” + +If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me +that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern +system of science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers +than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while +those of the former were real and practical, under such circumstances I +should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my +imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my +former studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never +have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance +my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was +acquainted with its contents, and I continued to read with the greatest +avidity. + +When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this +author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and +studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me +treasures known to few besides myself. I have described myself as always +having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of +nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern +philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. +Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking +up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his +successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted +appeared even to my boy’s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same +pursuit. + +The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted +with their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little +more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal +lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect, +anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes +in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I +had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep +human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and +ignorantly I had repined. + +But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew +more. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their +disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth +century; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of +Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with regard to my favourite +studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a +child’s blindness, added to a student’s thirst for knowledge. +Under the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest +diligence into the search of the philosopher’s stone and the elixir +of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an +inferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if I could +banish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but +a violent death! + +Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a +promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which +I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I +attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake than to a +want of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was +occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand +contradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of +multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish +reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas. + +When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near +Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It +advanced from behind the mountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once +with frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained, +while the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight. +As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an +old and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so +soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing +remained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found +the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the +shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld +anything so utterly destroyed. + +Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of +electricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural +philosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on +the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of +electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me. +All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa, +Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by +some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my +accustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever +be known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew +despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps +most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former +occupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed +and abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a +would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of +real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the +mathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as +being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration. + +Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments +are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me +as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the +immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life—the last effort +made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even +then hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me. Her victory was +announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which +followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting +studies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with +their prosecution, happiness with their disregard. + +It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. +Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and +terrible destruction. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I +should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had +hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it +necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made +acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My +departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day +resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life +occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery. + +Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was +in the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to +persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first +yielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her +favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She +attended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity +of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this +imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother +sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the +looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her +deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert +her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. “My +children,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were +placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the +consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to +my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy +and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are +not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to +death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.” + +She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death. +I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent +by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the +soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so +long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day +and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed +for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been +extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear +can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of +the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the +evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has +not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I +describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at +length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and +the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a +sacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead, but we had still +duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the +rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the +spoiler has not seized. + +My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, +was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of +some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, +akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of +life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was +unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above +all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled. + +She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. +She looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and +zeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call +her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, +when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. +She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget. + +The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last +evening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit +him to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His +father was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the +aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune +of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when +he spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a +restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details +of commerce. + +We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor +persuade ourselves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we +retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the +other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended to the +carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father +again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to +renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last +feminine attentions on her playmate and friend. + +I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in +the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by +amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual +pleasure—I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I +must form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto +been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible +repugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and +Clerval; these were “old familiar faces,” but I believed myself +totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as +I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I +ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home, +thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had +longed to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. +Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to +repent. + +I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my +journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the +high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was +conducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased. + +The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to +some of the principal professors. Chance—or rather the evil +influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me +from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father’s +door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He +was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He +asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches +of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and +partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal +authors I had studied. The professor stared. “Have you,” he +said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?” + +I replied in the affirmative. “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with +warmth, “every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly +and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems +and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, +where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you +have so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they +are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific +age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear +sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.” + +So saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books +treating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and +dismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following +week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural +philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow +professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he +omitted. + +I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long +considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I +returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any +shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a +repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in +favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a +strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come +to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been +content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural +science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my +extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the +steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the +discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. +Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. +It was very different when the masters of the science sought +immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now +the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit +itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in +science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of +boundless grandeur for realities of little worth. + +Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my +residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming +acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new +abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information +which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I +could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver +sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M. +Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town. + +Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing +room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very +unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an +aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his +temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person +was short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. +He began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and +the various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing +with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took +a cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of +its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he +concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I +shall never forget: + +“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, +“promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters +promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that +the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem +only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or +crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses +of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the +heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of +the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; +they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even +mock the invisible world with its own shadows.” + +Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of +the fate—enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul +were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were +touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was +sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, +one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of +Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps +already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and +unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation. + +I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of +insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I +had no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, +sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. +There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to +devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a +natural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. His +manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public, +for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in +his own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I +gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had +given to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the little +narration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius +Agrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had +exhibited. He said that “These were men to whose indefatigable zeal +modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their +knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names +and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a +great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The +labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever +fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I +listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption +or affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my +prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured +terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his +instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have +made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended +labours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to +procure. + +“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a +disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of +your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the +greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that +I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not +neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry +chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your +wish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty +experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural +philosophy, including mathematics.” + +He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his +various machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and +promising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in +the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of +books which I had requested, and I took my leave. + +Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the +most comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation. +I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination, +which modern inquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the +lectures and cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the +university, and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense +and real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive +physiognomy and manners, but not on that account the less valuable. In +M. Waldman I found a true friend. His gentleness was never tinged by +dogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air of frankness and +good nature that banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousand ways +he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse +inquiries clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at +first fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and +soon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the +light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory. + +As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress +was rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and +my proficiency that of the masters. Professor Krempe often asked me, +with a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman +expressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress. Two years +passed in this manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was +engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I +hoped to make. None but those who have experienced them can conceive +of the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as +others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in +a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder. +A mind of moderate capacity which closely pursues one study must +infallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study; and I, who +continually sought the attainment of one object of pursuit and was +solely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidly that at the end of two +years I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical +instruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at the +university. When I had arrived at this point and had become as well +acquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as +depended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my +residence there being no longer conducive to my improvements, I thought +of returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident +happened that protracted my stay. + +One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was +the structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with +life. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed? +It was a bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a +mystery; yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming +acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our +inquiries. I revolved these circumstances in my mind and determined +thenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of +natural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I had been +animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this +study would have been irksome and almost intolerable. To examine the +causes of life, we must first have recourse to death. I became +acquainted with the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient; I +must also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body. +In my education my father had taken the greatest precautions that my +mind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors. I do not ever +remember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared +the apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and +a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of +life, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become +food for the worm. Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of +this decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and +charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most +insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings. I saw how the +fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of +death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm +inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and +analysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change +from life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this +darkness a sudden light broke in upon me—a light so brilliant and +wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity +of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so +many men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same +science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a +secret. + +Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not +more certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is +true. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the +discovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of +incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of +generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing +animation upon lifeless matter. + +The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery +soon gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in +painful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the +most gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so +great and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been +progressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result. +What had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation +of the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it +all opened upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of a +nature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them +towards the object of my search than to exhibit that object already +accomplished. I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead +and found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering and seemingly +ineffectual light. + +I see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes +express, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with +which I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end +of my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that +subject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was, +to your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if not by my +precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of +knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town +to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature +will allow. + +When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated +a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it. +Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to +prepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of +fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable +difficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the +creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization; but my +imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to +doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful +as man. The materials at present within my command hardly appeared +adequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I should +ultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my +operations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be +imperfect, yet when I considered the improvement which every day takes +place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present +attempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor +could I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any +argument of its impracticability. It was with these feelings that I +began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts +formed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first +intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say, +about eight feet in height, and proportionably large. After having +formed this determination and having spent some months in successfully +collecting and arranging my materials, I began. + +No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like +a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death +appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and +pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless +me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would +owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his +child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these +reflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless +matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) +renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption. + +These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking +with unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my +person had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very +brink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the +next day or the next hour might realise. One secret which I alone +possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon +gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless +eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places. Who shall conceive +the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps +of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless +clay? My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but +then a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed +to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was +indeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed +acuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had +returned to my old habits. I collected bones from charnel-houses and +disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human +frame. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, +and separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase, +I kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from +their sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The +dissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials; +and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation, +whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I +brought my work near to a conclusion. + +The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in +one pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields +bestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant +vintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the +same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also +to forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had +not seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them, and I +well remembered the words of my father: “I know that while you are +pleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and we shall +hear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I regard any +interruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties +are equally neglected.” + +I knew well therefore what would be my father’s feelings, but I could +not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which +had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it +were, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection +until the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature, +should be completed. + +I then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect +to vice or faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was +justified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from +blame. A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and +peaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to +disturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge +is an exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself +has a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for +those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that +study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human +mind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit +whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic +affections, Greece had not been enslaved, Cæsar would have spared his +country, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the +empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed. + +But I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my +tale, and your looks remind me to proceed. + +My father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of my +silence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than before. +Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not +watch the blossom or the expanding leaves—sights which before always +yielded me supreme delight—so deeply was I engrossed in my +occupation. The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near +to a close, and now every day showed me more plainly how well I had +succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared +rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other +unwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite employment. +Every night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most +painful degree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow +creatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at +the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone +sustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and +amusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself +both of these when my creation should be complete. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment +of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I +collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a +spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was +already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the +panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the +half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature +open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs. + +How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate +the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to +form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as +beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered +the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous +black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these +luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, +that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which +they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips. + +The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings +of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole +purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had +deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour +that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty +of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my +heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I +rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my +bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude +succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the +bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. +But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest +dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in +the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, +but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with +the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I +held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her +form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. +I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my +teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and +yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window +shutters, I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had +created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they +may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some +inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have +spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to +detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the +courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained +during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest +agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if +it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I +had so miserably given life. + +Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy +again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I +had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those +muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing +such as even Dante could not have conceived. + +I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and +hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly +sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with +this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had +been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a +hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete! + +Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my +sleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple +and clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates +of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into +the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the +wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my +view. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but +felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured +from a black and comfortless sky. + +I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by +bodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I +traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or +what I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I +hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me: + + Like one who, on a lonely road, + Doth walk in fear and dread, + And, having once turned round, walks on, + And turns no more his head; + Because he knows a frightful fiend + Doth close behind him tread. + + [Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner.”] + + + +Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various +diligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why; +but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming +towards me from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed +that it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and +on the door being opened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me, +instantly sprung out. “My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed he, +“how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at +the very moment of my alighting!” + +Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back +to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear +to my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror +and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months, +calm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial +manner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for +some time about our mutual friends and his own good fortune in being +permitted to come to Ingolstadt. “You may easily believe,” said +he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all +necessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping; +and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant +answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch +schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: ‘I have ten thousand florins +a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his +affection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has +permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of +knowledge.” + +“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left +my father, brothers, and Elizabeth.” + +“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from +you so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their +account myself. But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, stopping +short and gazing full in my face, “I did not before remark how very ill +you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for +several nights.” + +“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one +occupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see; +but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an +end and that I am at length free.” + +I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to +allude to, the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked with a +quick pace, and we soon arrived at my college. I then reflected, and +the thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my +apartment might still be there, alive and walking about. I dreaded to +behold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him. +Entreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the +stairs, I darted up towards my own room. My hand was already on the +lock of the door before I recollected myself. I then paused, and a +cold shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly open, as +children are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in +waiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared. I stepped +fearfully in: the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed +from its hideous guest. I could hardly believe that so great a good +fortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy +had indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval. + +We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast; +but I was unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed +me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse +beat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same +place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud. +Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival, +but when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes +for which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless +laughter frightened and astonished him. + +“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, +is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the +cause of all this?” + +“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I +thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “_he_ can +tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; +I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit. + +Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he +anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I +was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not +recover my senses for a long, long time. + +This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for +several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I +afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness +for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make +Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my +disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive +nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he +did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest +action that he could towards them. + +But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and +unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life. +The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever +before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my +words surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings +of my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I +continually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder +indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event. + +By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and +grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became +capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I +perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young +buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was +a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my +convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in +my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as +cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion. + +“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good +you are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you +promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever +repay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I +have been the occasion, but you will forgive me.” + +“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get +well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I +may speak to you on one subject, may I not?” + +I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on +whom I dared not even think? + +“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of +colour, “I will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father +and cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your +own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at +your long silence.” + +“Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first +thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and +who are so deserving of my love?” + +“If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad +to see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from +your cousin, I believe.” + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my +own Elizabeth: + +“My dearest Cousin, + +“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear +kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are +forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, +is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought +that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have +restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have +prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so +long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to +perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on +your sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never +guess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of +your poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed +you are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this +intelligence soon in your own handwriting. + +“Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and +friends who love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he +asks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a +care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would +be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen and full +of activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter +into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his +elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of +a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your +powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his +time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the +lake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point +and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected. + +“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken +place since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they +never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are +regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up +my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing +none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one +change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on +what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not; +I will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz, +her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the +third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but +through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and +after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed +this, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother +to allow her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our +country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which +prevail in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less +distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the +lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are +more refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same +thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus received in +our family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our +fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a +sacrifice of the dignity of a human being. + +“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I +recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one +glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that +Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so +frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, +by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that +which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; +Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not +mean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but +you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress. +Although her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate, +yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt. She +thought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her +phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her. + +“When my dearest aunt died every one was too much occupied in their own +grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness +with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other +trials were reserved for her. + +“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the +exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The +conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the +deaths of her favourites was a judgement from heaven to chastise her +partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor +confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months +after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her +repentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house; she +was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness +and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable +for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother’s house of a nature +to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her +repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, +but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her +brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz +into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is +now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, +at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has just returned to us; +and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, +and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her +expression continually remind me of my dear aunt. + +“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling +William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with +sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he +smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with +health. He has already had one or two little _wives,_ but Louisa Biron +is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age. + +“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little +gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield +has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching +marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly +sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your +favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes +since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already +recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a +lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much +older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with +everybody. + +“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety +returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one +word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his +kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely +grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat +you, write! + +“Elizabeth Lavenza. + + +“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.” + + + +“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her +letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety +they must feel.” I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but +my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another +fortnight I was able to leave my chamber. + +One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the +several professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a +kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had +sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the +beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even +to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored +to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony +of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my +apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he +perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had +previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of +no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture +when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I +had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the +subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to +modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science +itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. What +could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he +had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which +were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I +writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt. +Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the +sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his +total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn. I +thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly +that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from +me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence +that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in +him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which +I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply. + +M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of +almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even +more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n +the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has +outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A +youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly +as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if +he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, +ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, +“M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. +Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was +myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time.” + +M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned +the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me. + +Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his +literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He +came to the university with the design of making himself complete +master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for +the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no +inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording +scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit +languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on +the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I +wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt +great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not +only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I +did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for +I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary +amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well +repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy +elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of +any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to +consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns +of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How +different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome! + +Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was +fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several +accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, +and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this +delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved +friends. My return had only been delayed so long, from an +unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become +acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent +cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came +its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness. + +The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily +which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a +pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a +personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded +with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval +had always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature +that I had taken among the scenes of my native country. + +We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits +had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the +salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and +the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the +intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but +Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught +me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. +Excellent friend! how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to +elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish +pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and +affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature +who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. +When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most +delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with +ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring +bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud. I +was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed +upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an +invincible burden. + +Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he +exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled +his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly +astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in +imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful +fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew +me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity. + +We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were +dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were +high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +On my return, I found the following letter from my father:— + +“My dear Victor, + +“You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of +your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few +lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you. But +that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it. What would be +your surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to +behold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness? And how, Victor, can +I relate our misfortune? Absence cannot have rendered you callous to +our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent +son? I wish to prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is +impossible; even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words +which are to convey to you the horrible tidings. + +“William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed +my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered! + +“I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the +circumstances of the transaction. + +“Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to +walk in Plainpalais. The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged +our walk farther than usual. It was already dusk before we thought of +returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone +on before, were not to be found. We accordingly rested on a seat until +they should return. Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen +his brother; he said, that he had been playing with him, that William +had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and +afterwards waited for a long time, but that he did not return. + +“This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him +until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have +returned to the house. He was not there. We returned again, with +torches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had +lost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night; +Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish. About five in the morning I +discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and +active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the +print of the murder’s finger was on his neck. + +“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my +countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to +see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her but she persisted, +and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the +victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God! I have murdered my +darling child!’ + +“She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again +lived, it was only to weep and sigh. She told me, that that same +evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable +miniature that she possessed of your mother. This picture is gone, and +was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We +have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him +are unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William! + +“Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps +continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death; +her words pierce my heart. We are all unhappy; but will not that be an +additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter? +Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! I now say, Thank God she did not live +to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling! + +“Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, +but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of +festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my +friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not +with hatred for your enemies. + +“Your affectionate and afflicted father, + +“Alphonse Frankenstein. + + + +“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.” + + + +Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was +surprised to observe the despair that succeeded the joy I at first +expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the +table, and covered my face with my hands. + +“My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me +weep with bitterness, “are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, +what has happened?” + +I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the +room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of +Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune. + +“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he; +“your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?” + +“To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.” + +During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; +he could only express his heartfelt sympathy. “Poor William!” said he, +“dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had +seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his +untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer’s grasp! How +much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence! Poor little +fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but +he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. +A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer +be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable +survivors.” + +Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words +impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in +solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a +cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend. + +My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed +to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I +drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain +the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through +scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years. +How altered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and +desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances +might have by degrees worked other alterations, which, although they were +done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I +dared no advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble, +although I was unable to define them. + +I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I +contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the +snowy mountains, “the palaces of nature,” were not changed. By +degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey +towards Geneva. + +The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I +approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black +sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a +child. “Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your +wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and +placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?” + +I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on +these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative +happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved +country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again +beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely +lake! + +Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also +closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still +more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I +foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human +beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single +circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not +conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure. + +It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates +of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at +Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky +was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot +where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the +town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. +During this short voyage I saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont +Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach +rapidly, and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its +progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain +coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased. + +I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm +increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash +over my head. It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of +Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the +lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant +every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself +from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in +Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The +most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the +lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of +Copêt. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another +darkened and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the +east of the lake. + +While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with +a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my +hands, and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! this is thy +funeral, this thy dirge!” As I said these words, I perceived in the +gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood +fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning +illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its +gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous than belongs +to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy +dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I +shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did that +idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my teeth +chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figure +passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could +have destroyed the fair child. _He_ was the murderer! I could not +doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the +fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for +another flash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly +perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the +south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared. + +I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still +continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I +revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: +the whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of +the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure. Two years had +now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and +was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a +depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not +murdered my brother? + +No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the +night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not +feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in +scenes of evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast +among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes +of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light +of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced +to destroy all that was dear to me. + +Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were +open, and I hastened to my father’s house. My first thought was to +discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be +made. But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A +being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at +midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I +remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at +the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of +delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that +if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have +looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature +of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited +as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would +be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the +overhanging sides of Mont Salêve? These reflections determined me, and +I resolved to remain silent. + +It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house. I +told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library +to attend their usual hour of rising. + +Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, and I +stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my +departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained +to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the +mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father’s +desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling +by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale; +but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the +sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my +tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus engaged, Ernest +entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome me: +“Welcome, my dearest Victor,” said he. “Ah! I wish you +had come three months ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and +delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can +alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems +sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor +Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor +William! he was our darling and our pride!” + +Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother’s eyes; a sense of mortal +agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the +wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and +a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more +minutely concerning my father, and here I named my cousin. + +“She most of all,” said Ernest, “requires consolation; she accused +herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her +very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered—” + +“The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt +to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the +winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he +was free last night!” + +“I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, in accents of +wonder, “but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No +one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be +convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit +that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family, +could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?” + +“Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is +wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?” + +“No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have +almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so +confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, +leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried today, and you will +then hear all.” + +He then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William +had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her +bed for several days. During this interval, one of the servants, +happening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the +murder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which +had been judged to be the temptation of the murderer. The servant +instantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to +any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition, +Justine was apprehended. On being charged with the fact, the poor girl +confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of +manner. + +This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied +earnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, +good Justine, is innocent.” + +At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply impressed +on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and, +after we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced +some other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed, +“Good God, papa! Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of +poor William.” + +“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father, “for indeed I had +rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much +depravity and ungratitude in one I valued so highly.” + +“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.” + +“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be +tried today, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.” + +This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my own mind that +Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I +had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be +brought forward strong enough to convict her. My tale was not one to +announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as +madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except I, the +creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the +existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance +which I had let loose upon the world? + +We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last +beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of +her childish years. There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but +it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. +She welcomed me with the greatest affection. “Your arrival, my dear +cousin,” said she, “fills me with hope. You perhaps will find some +means to justify my poor guiltless Justine. Alas! who is safe, if she +be convicted of crime? I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do +upon my own. Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only +lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely +love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate. If she is condemned, I +never shall know joy more. But she will not, I am sure she will not; +and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little +William.” + +“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and that shall +be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance +of her acquittal.” + +“How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt, +and that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible: and to +see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me +hopeless and despairing.” She wept. + +“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she +is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the +activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of +partiality.” + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial was to +commence. My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend +as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court. During the whole of +this wretched mockery of justice I suffered living torture. It was to +be decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would +cause the death of two of my fellow beings: one a smiling babe full of +innocence and joy, the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every +aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror. +Justine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised +to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an +ignominious grave, and I the cause! A thousand times rather would I +have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but I +was absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have +been considered as the ravings of a madman and would not have +exculpated her who suffered through me. + +The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning, and +her countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her +feelings, exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in +innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by +thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have +excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the +imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She +was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as +her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she +worked up her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the +court she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were +seated. A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly +recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest +her utter guiltlessness. + +The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the +charge, several witnesses were called. Several strange facts combined +against her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof +of her innocence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night on +which the murder had been committed and towards morning had been +perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the +murdered child had been afterwards found. The woman asked her what she +did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused +and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house about eight +o’clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she +replied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly +if anything had been heard concerning him. When shown the body, she +fell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days. The +picture was then produced which the servant had found in her pocket; +and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same +which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round +his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court. + +Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had proceeded, her +countenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly +expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was +desired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible +although variable voice. + +“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. But I +do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence +on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced +against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my +judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears +doubtful or suspicious.” + +She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed +the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the +house of an aunt at Chêne, a village situated at about a league from +Geneva. On her return, at about nine o’clock, she met a man who asked +her if she had seen anything of the child who was lost. She was +alarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him, +when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain +several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being +unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Most +of the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that +she slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. +It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour +to find my brother. If she had gone near the spot where his body lay, +it was without her knowledge. That she had been bewildered when +questioned by the market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed +a sleepless night and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain. +Concerning the picture she could give no account. + +“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and +fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of +explaining it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left +to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been +placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have no +enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to destroy me +wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no opportunity +afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have stolen the +jewel, to part with it again so soon? + +“I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for +hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my +character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed +guilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my +innocence.” + +Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and +they spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they +supposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come +forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent +dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused, +when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address +the court. + +“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who +was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived +with his parents ever since and even long before his birth. It may +therefore be judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion, but +when I see a fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her +pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I +know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived +in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly +two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and +benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my aunt, in +her last illness, with the greatest affection and care and afterwards +attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner that excited +the admiration of all who knew her, after which she again lived in my +uncle’s house, where she was beloved by all the family. She was +warmly attached to the child who is now dead and acted towards him like a +most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that, +notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I believe and rely +on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action; as to +the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it, +I should have willingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value +her.” + +A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful +appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in +favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with +renewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She +herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own +agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. I believed +in her innocence; I knew it. Could the dæmon who had (I did not for a +minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have +betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the +horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and +the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim, +I rushed out of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did +not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of +remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold. + +I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to +the court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal +question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my +visit. The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine +was condemned. + +I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before +experienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon +them adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the +heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I +addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt. +“That evidence,” he observed, “was hardly required in so glaring a +case, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of our judges like to +condemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so +decisive.” + +This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had +my eyes deceived me? And was I really as mad as the whole world would +believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I +hastened to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result. + +“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all +judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty +should escape. But she has confessed.” + +This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon +Justine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she. “How shall I +ever again believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as +my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray? +Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has +committed a murder.” + +Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see my +cousin. My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to her own +judgment and feelings to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth, +“I will go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany +me; I cannot go alone.” The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet +I could not refuse. + +We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine sitting on some +straw at the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on +her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with +her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My +cousin wept also. + +“Oh, Justine!” said she. “Why did you rob me of my last consolation? +I relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I +was not so miserable as I am now.” + +“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also +join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her +voice was suffocated with sobs. + +“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth; “why do you kneel, +if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies, I believed you +guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had +yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be +assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a +moment, but your own confession.” + +“I did confess, but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might +obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than +all my other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was +condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, +until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I +was. He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if +I continued obdurate. Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked +on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? +In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly +miserable.” + +She paused, weeping, and then continued, “I thought with horror, my +sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed +aunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable +of a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated. +Dear William! dearest blessed child! I soon shall see you again in +heaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I +am to suffer ignominy and death.” + +“Oh, Justine! Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. +Why did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I +will proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony +hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die! +You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! +No! No! I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.” + +Justine shook her head mournfully. “I do not fear to die,” she said; +“that pang is past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to +endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember +me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the +fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to +the will of heaven!” + +During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room, +where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! +Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass +the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such +deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth and ground them together, +uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When +she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you are very +kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?” + +I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more +convinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you +had confessed, he did not credit it.” + +“I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest +gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is +the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than +half my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace now that my +innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.” + +Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed +gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the +never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or +consolation. Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was +the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair +moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and +despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within +me which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours with +Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear +herself away. “I wish,” cried she, “that I were to die with you; I +cannot live in this world of misery.” + +Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty +repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice +of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, +my beloved and only friend; may heaven, in its bounty, bless and +preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever +suffer! Live, and be happy, and make others so.” + +And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence +failed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the +criminality of the saintly sufferer. My passionate and indignant +appeals were lost upon them. And when I received their cold answers +and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed +avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim myself a madman, +but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim. She +perished on the scaffold as a murderess! + +From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and +voiceless grief of my Elizabeth. This also was my doing! And my +father’s woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was +the work of my thrice-accursed hands! Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these +are not your last tears! Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and +the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard! +Frankenstein, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he +who would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no +thought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear +countenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life +in serving you—he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond +his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction +pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments! + +Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair, +I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and +Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts. + + + + +Chapter 9 + + +Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have +been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of +inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope +and fear. Justine died, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed +freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my +heart which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered +like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond +description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet +behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue. +I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment +when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow +beings. Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity of conscience +which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and +from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and +the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures +such as no language can describe. + +This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had perhaps never +entirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned +the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; +solitude was my only consolation—deep, dark, deathlike solitude. + +My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition +and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his +serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and +awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me. +“Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that I do not suffer +also? No one could love a child more than I loved your +brother”—tears came into his eyes as he spoke—“but +is it not a duty to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting +their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty +owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, +or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for +society.” + +This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I +should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if +remorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my +other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of +despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view. + +About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was +particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at +ten o’clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that +hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome +to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had +retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the +water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and +sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to +pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I +was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only +unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and +heavenly—if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and +interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore—often, +I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters +might close over me and my calamities for ever. But I was restrained, +when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly +loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine. I thought also of my +father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them +exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose +among them? + +At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my +mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that +could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of +unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I had +created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling +that all was not over and that he would still commit some signal crime, +which by its enormity should almost efface the recollection of the past. +There was always scope for fear so long as anything I loved remained +behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of +him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to +extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I +reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds +of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the +Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I wished +to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his +head and avenge the deaths of William and Justine. + +Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply +shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and +desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all +pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she +then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so blasted +and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth +wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our +future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from +the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest +smiles. + +“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of +Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before +appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and +injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient +days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to +reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men +appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood. Yet I am +certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and +if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly +she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake +of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, +a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if +it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human +being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to +remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel +she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. +Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can +assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on +the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and +endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were +assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, +and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the +scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a +wretch.” + +I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, +but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my +countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, “My dearest friend, you +must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how +deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of +despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me +tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the +friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost +the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are +true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native +country, we may reap every tranquil blessing—what can disturb our +peace?” + +And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every +other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my +heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at +that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. + +Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of +heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were +ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial +influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fainting +limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had +pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me. + +Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but +sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily +exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable +sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left +my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought +in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and +my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. My wanderings were directed +towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my +boyhood. Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought +had changed in those savage and enduring scenes. + +I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards +hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive +injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine; it was about the +middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of +Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe. The +weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in +the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung +me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and +the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as +Omnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less +almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here +displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, +the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. +Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the +impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from +among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was +augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and +shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another +earth, the habitations of another race of beings. + +I passed the bridge of Pélissier, where the ravine, which the river +forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that +overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This +valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and +picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. The +high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no +more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached +the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and +marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and +magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_, +and its tremendous _dôme_ overlooked the valley. + +A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this +journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and +recognised, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the +lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing +accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the +kindly influence ceased to act—I found myself fettered again to grief +and indulging in all the misery of reflection. Then I spurred on my +animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, +myself—or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on +the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. + +At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded +to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. +For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid +lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of +the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds +acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head +upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed +the giver of oblivion. + + + + +Chapter 10 + + +I spent the following day roaming through the valley. I stood beside +the sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that +with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to +barricade the valley. The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before +me; the icy wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines were +scattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious +presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only by the brawling +waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the +avalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the +accumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws, +was ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in +their hands. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the +greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me +from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my +grief, they subdued and tranquillised it. In some degree, also, they +diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the +last month. I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were, +waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I +had contemplated during the day. They congregated round me; the +unstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, +and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all +gathered round me and bade me be at peace. + +Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of +soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every +thought. The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the +summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those +mighty friends. Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them +in their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mule was +brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of +Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous +and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. +It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the +soul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy. +The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the +effect of solemnising my mind and causing me to forget the passing +cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, for I was well +acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the +solitary grandeur of the scene. + +The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short +windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the +mountain. It is a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots +the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie +broken and strewed on the ground, some entirely destroyed, others bent, +leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain or transversely upon +other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines +of snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is +particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking +in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw +destruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall or +luxuriant, but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene. +I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers +which ran through it and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite +mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain +poured from the dark sky and added to the melancholy impression I +received from the objects around me. Alas! Why does man boast of +sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders +them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, +thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by +every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may +convey to us. + + We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep. + We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day. + We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep, + Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away; + It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow, + The path of its departure still is free. + Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow; + Nought may endure but mutability! + + +It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some +time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered +both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated +the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is very +uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and +interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The field of ice is almost a +league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it. The +opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the side where I +now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league; +and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess +of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, +or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, +whose aerial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering +peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was +before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed, +“Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow +beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, +away from the joys of life.” + +As I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance, +advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the +crevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his +stature, also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was +troubled; a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me, +but I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains. I +perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and abhorred!) +that it was the wretch whom I had created. I trembled with rage and +horror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in +mortal combat. He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, +combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness +rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes. But I scarcely +observed this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance, +and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious +detestation and contempt. + +“Devil,” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? And do +not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? +Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust! And, +oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore +those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!” + +“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon. “All men hate the +wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all +living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, +to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of +one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? +Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of +mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and +you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it +be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.” + +“Abhorred monster! Fiend that thou art! The tortures of hell are too +mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! You reproach me with +your creation, come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I +so negligently bestowed.” + +My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the +feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another. + +He easily eluded me and said, + +“Be calm! I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred +on my devoted head. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to +increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of +anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made +me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my +joints more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in +opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and +docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, +the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every +other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy +clemency and affection, is most due. Remember that I am thy creature; +I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou +drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I +alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made +me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.” + +“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you +and me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, +in which one must fall.” + +“How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a +favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and +compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein, I was benevolent; my soul glowed +with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my +creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures, +who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and +dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the +caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the +only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they +are kinder to me than your fellow beings. If the multitude of mankind +knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for +my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep +no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my +wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver +them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that +not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be +swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be +moved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale; when you have heard +that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. +But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they +are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned. Listen +to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with +a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the +eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me; listen to me, +and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.” + +“Why do you call to my remembrance,” I rejoined, “circumstances of +which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and +author? Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw +light! Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you! +You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power +to consider whether I am just to you or not. Begone! Relieve me from +the sight of your detested form.” + +“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands +before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from +thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me and grant +me thy compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this +from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of +this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon +the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends +to hide itself behind your snowy precipices and illuminate another +world, you will have heard my story and can decide. On you it rests, +whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man and lead a harmless +life, or become the scourge of your fellow creatures and the author of +your own speedy ruin.” + +As he said this he led the way across the ice; I followed. My heart +was full, and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the +various arguments that he had used and determined at least to listen to +his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my +resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my +brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion. +For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards +his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I +complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with +his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite +rock. The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend; we +entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy +heart and depressed spirits. But I consented to listen, and seating +myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began +his tale. + + + + +Chapter 11 + + +“It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of +my being; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct. +A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, +and smelt at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I +learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses. By +degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I +was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me and troubled +me, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now +suppose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked and, I believe, +descended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations. +Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my +touch or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with +no obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The light +became more and more oppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I +walked, I sought a place where I could receive shade. This was the +forest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting +from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This +roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I +found hanging on the trees or lying on the ground. I slaked my thirst +at the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep. + +“It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it +were, instinctively, finding myself so desolate. Before I had quitted +your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some +clothes, but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of +night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could +distinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat +down and wept. + +“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation of +pleasure. I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the +trees. [The moon] I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, +but it enlightened my path, and I again went out in search of berries. +I was still cold when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with +which I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground. No distinct +ideas occupied my mind; all was confused. I felt light, and hunger, +and thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in my ears, and on +all sides various scents saluted me; the only object that I could +distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with +pleasure. + +“Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had +greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each +other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with +drink and the trees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted +when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my +ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had +often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, +with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me and to perceive the +boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I +tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds but was unable. +Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the +uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into +silence again. + +“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened +form, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My +sensations had by this time become distinct, and my mind received every +day additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to the light and to +perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from +the herb, and by degrees, one herb from another. I found that the +sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and +thrush were sweet and enticing. + +“One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been +left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the +warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live +embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, +I thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects! I +examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be +composed of wood. I quickly collected some branches, but they were wet +and would not burn. I was pained at this and sat still watching the +operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed near the heat +dried and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this, and by touching +the various branches, I discovered the cause and busied myself in +collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it and have a +plentiful supply of fire. When night came on and brought sleep with +it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. I +covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet branches +upon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground and sank +into sleep. + +“It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. +I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I +observed this also and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the +embers when they were nearly extinguished. When night came again I +found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat and that +the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food, for I found +some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and +tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees. I +tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on +the live embers. I found that the berries were spoiled by this +operation, and the nuts and roots much improved. + +“Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day +searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When +I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto +inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be +more easily satisfied. In this emigration I exceedingly lamented the +loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident and knew not how +to reproduce it. I gave several hours to the serious consideration of +this difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply +it, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood +towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles and at +length discovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken +place the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the +appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold +damp substance that covered the ground. + +“It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and +shelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which +had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd. This +was a new sight to me, and I examined the structure with great +curiosity. Finding the door open, I entered. An old man sat in it, +near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast. He turned on +hearing a noise, and perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and quitting the +hut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form +hardly appeared capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever +before seen, and his flight somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted +by the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not +penetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite +and divine a retreat as Pandæmonium appeared to the dæmons of hell +after their sufferings in the lake of fire. I greedily devoured the +remnants of the shepherd’s breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, +milk, and wine; the latter, however, I did not like. Then, overcome by +fatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep. + +“It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which +shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my +travels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant’s breakfast in a +wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until +at sunset I arrived at a village. How miraculous did this appear! The +huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses engaged my admiration by +turns. The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw +placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One +of the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within +the door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted. +The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until, +grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I +escaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel, +quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had +beheld in the village. This hovel however, joined a cottage of a neat +and pleasant appearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I +dared not enter it. My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so +low that I could with difficulty sit upright in it. No wood, however, +was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and +although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an +agreeable asylum from the snow and rain. + +“Here, then, I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter, +however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more +from the barbarity of man. As soon as morning dawned I crept from my +kennel, that I might view the adjacent cottage and discover if I could +remain in the habitation I had found. It was situated against the back +of the cottage and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig +sty and a clear pool of water. One part was open, and by that I had +crept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might be perceived +with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on +occasion to pass out; all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and +that was sufficient for me. + +“Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I +retired, for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered +too well my treatment the night before to trust myself in his power. I +had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf +of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink +more conveniently than from my hand of the pure water which flowed by +my retreat. The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept +perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was +tolerably warm. + +“Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until +something should occur which might alter my determination. It was +indeed a paradise compared to the bleak forest, my former residence, +the rain-dropping branches, and dank earth. I ate my breakfast with +pleasure and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little +water when I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld +a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The +girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found +cottagers and farmhouse servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a +coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair +hair was plaited but not adorned: she looked patient yet sad. I lost +sight of her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing +the pail, which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked along, +seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose +countenance expressed a deeper despondence. Uttering a few sounds with +an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head and bore it to the +cottage himself. She followed, and they disappeared. Presently I saw +the young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field +behind the cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the +house and sometimes in the yard. + +“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the +cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been +filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost +imperceptible chink through which the eye could just penetrate. +Through this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean +but very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an +old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude. The +young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she +took something out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat +down beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play +and to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the +nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to me, poor wretch who had +never beheld aught beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent +countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, while the gentle +manners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful air +which I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of +which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then +pronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt +at his feet. He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection +that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature; they were +a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, +either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the +window, unable to bear these emotions. + +“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a +load of wood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of +his burden, and taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on +the fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, +and he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed +pleased and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she +placed in water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her +work, whilst the young man went into the garden and appeared busily +employed in digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed +thus about an hour, the young woman joined him and they entered the +cottage together. + +“The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance +of his companions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to +eat. The meal was quickly dispatched. The young woman was again +occupied in arranging the cottage, the old man walked before the +cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth. +Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent +creatures. One was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming +with benevolence and love; the younger was slight and graceful in his +figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry, yet his +eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The +old man returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different +from those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the +fields. + +“Night quickly shut in, but to my extreme wonder, I found that the +cottagers had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was +delighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the +pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours. In the evening +the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations +which I did not understand; and the old man again took up the +instrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in +the morning. So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play, +but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the +harmony of the old man’s instrument nor the songs of the birds; I since +found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the +science of words or letters. + +“The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time, +extinguished their lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.” + + + + +Chapter 12 + + +“I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the +occurrences of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners +of these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not. I +remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from +the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I +might hereafter think it right to pursue, that for the present I would +remain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring to discover the +motives which influenced their actions. + +“The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman +arranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed +after the first meal. + +“This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. +The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in +various laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon +perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or +in contemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the +younger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They +performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with +gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles. + +“They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often +went apart and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness, +but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were +miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, +should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They +possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes) and every +luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and delicious viands +when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more, +they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day +looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they +really express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions, +but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which +were at first enigmatic. + +“A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of +the uneasiness of this amiable family: it was poverty, and they +suffered that evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment +consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden and the milk of +one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters +could scarcely procure food to support it. They often, I believe, +suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two +younger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the old +man when they reserved none for themselves. + +“This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed, +during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own +consumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on +the cottagers, I abstained and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and +roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood. + +“I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist +their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day +in collecting wood for the family fire, and during the night I often +took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home +firing sufficient for the consumption of several days. + +“I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she +opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great +pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the +youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed, with pleasure, +that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the +cottage and cultivating the garden. + +“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that +these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and +feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words +they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the +minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, +and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in +every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and +the words they uttered, not having any apparent connection with visible +objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel the +mystery of their reference. By great application, however, and after having +remained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I +discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of +discourse; I learned and applied the words, _fire, milk, bread,_ and +_wood._ I learned also the names of the cottagers themselves. The youth +and his companion had each of them several names, but the old man had only +one, which was _father._ The girl was called _sister_ or +_Agatha,_ and the youth _Felix, brother,_ or _son_. I cannot +describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of +these sounds and was able to pronounce them. I distinguished several other +words without being able as yet to understand or apply them, such as _good, +dearest, unhappy._ + +“I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of +the cottagers greatly endeared them to me; when they were unhappy, I +felt depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys. I saw +few human beings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the +cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the +superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man, I could perceive, +often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that +he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a +cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure +even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled +with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I +generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after +having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus +with Felix. He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my +unpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his +friends. But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more +cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old +man. + +“I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked +the dispositions of these amiable cottagers. In the midst of poverty +and want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little +white flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in +the morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that +obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and +brought the wood from the outhouse, where, to his perpetual +astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible +hand. In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring +farmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner, +yet brought no wood with him. At other times he worked in the garden, +but as there was little to do in the frosty season, he read to the old +man and Agatha. + +“This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I +discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when +he talked. I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs +for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend +these also; but how was that possible when I did not even understand +the sounds for which they stood as signs? I improved, however, +sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of +conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour, for I +easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to +the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become +master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them +overlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrast +perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted. + +“I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty, +and delicate complexions; but how was I terrified when I viewed myself +in a transparent pool! At first I started back, unable to believe that +it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became +fully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was +filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification. +Alas! I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable +deformity. + +“As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer, the snow +vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this +time Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of +impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was +coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it. +Several new kinds of plants sprang up in the garden, which they +dressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season +advanced. + +“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did +not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its +waters. This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the +earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been. + +“My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the morning I +attended the motions of the cottagers, and when they were dispersed in +various occupations, I slept; the remainder of the day was spent in +observing my friends. When they had retired to rest, if there was any +moon or the night was star-light, I went into the woods and collected +my own food and fuel for the cottage. When I returned, as often as it +was necessary, I cleared their path from the snow and performed those +offices that I had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found that these +labours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and +once or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words _good +spirit, wonderful_; but I did not then understand the signification +of these terms. + +“My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the +motives and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to +know why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad. I thought +(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to +these deserving people. When I slept or was absent, the forms of the +venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix +flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings who would be +the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a +thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of +me. I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle +demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and +afterwards their love. + +“These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to +the acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but +supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their +tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease. +It was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass whose +intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved +better treatment than blows and execration. + +“The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the +aspect of the earth. Men who before this change seemed to have been +hid in caves dispersed themselves and were employed in various arts of +cultivation. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves +began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy earth! Fit habitation +for gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and +unwholesome. My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of +nature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, +and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy.” + + + + +Chapter 13 + + +“I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate +events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been, +have made me what I am. + +“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies +cloudless. It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy +should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My +senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and +a thousand sights of beauty. + +“It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested +from labour—the old man played on his guitar, and the children +listened to him—that I observed the countenance of Felix was +melancholy beyond expression; he sighed frequently, and once his father +paused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired +the cause of his son’s sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and +the old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door. + +“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide. +The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black +veil. Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by +pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was +musical but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this word, +Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her +veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her +hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were +dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular +proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with +a lovely pink. + +“Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of +sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of +ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his +eyes sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I +thought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by +different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held +out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously and called her, as +well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not appear to +understand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and +dismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some +conversation took place between him and his father, and the young +stranger knelt at the old man’s feet and would have kissed his hand, +but he raised her and embraced her affectionately. + +“I soon perceived that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds +and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood +by nor herself understood the cottagers. They made many signs which I +did not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness +through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the +morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy and with smiles of +delight welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed +the hands of the lovely stranger, and pointing to her brother, made +signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she +came. Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances, +expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I +found, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger +repeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language; +and the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the +same instructions to the same end. The stranger learned about twenty +words at the first lesson; most of them, indeed, were those which I had +before understood, but I profited by the others. + +“As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they +separated Felix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, ‘Good night +sweet Safie.’ He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and +by the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely +guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently desired to +understand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found +it utterly impossible. + +“The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual +occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the +old man, and taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly +beautiful that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my +eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or +dying away like a nightingale of the woods. + +“When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first +declined it. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in +sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old +man appeared enraptured and said some words which Agatha endeavoured to +explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that she +bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music. + +“The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration +that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends. +Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the +knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most +of the words uttered by my protectors. + +“In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and +the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the +scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods; +the sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal +rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably +shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never +ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same +treatment I had formerly endured in the first village which I entered. + +“My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily +master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than +the Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken +accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that +was spoken. + +“While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as +it was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field +for wonder and delight. + +“The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney’s _Ruins +of Empires_. I should not have understood the purport of this book had not +Felix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this +work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the +Eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history +and a view of the several empires at present existing in the world; it gave +me an insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the different +nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous +genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue +of the early Romans—of their subsequent degenerating—of the +decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard +of the discovery of the American hemisphere and wept with Safie over the +hapless fate of its original inhabitants. + +“These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was +man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so +vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil +principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and +godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour +that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on +record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more +abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I +could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or +even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of +vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and +loathing. + +“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me. +While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the +Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me. I +heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid +poverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood. + +“The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the +possessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and +unsullied descent united with riches. A man might be respected with +only one of these advantages, but without either he was considered, +except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to +waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few! And what was I? Of +my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I +possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, +endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even +of the same nature as man. I was more agile than they and could +subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with +less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked +around I saw and heard of none like me. Was I, then, a monster, a blot +upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned? + +“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted +upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with +knowledge. Oh, that I had for ever remained in my native wood, nor +known nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat! + +“Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind when it +has once seized on it like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to +shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one +means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state +which I feared yet did not understand. I admired virtue and good +feelings and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my +cottagers, but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except +through means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and +unknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of +becoming one among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha and the +animated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me. The mild +exhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved +Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch! + +“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of the +difference of sexes, and the birth and growth of children, how the +father doted on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the +older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up +in the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained +knowledge, of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which +bind one human being to another in mutual bonds. + +“But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my +infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if +they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I +distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I +then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being +resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The +question again recurred, to be answered only with groans. + +“I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to +return to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various +feelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated +in additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in +an innocent, half-painful self-deceit, to call them).” + + + + +Chapter 14 + + +“Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was +one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding +as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to +one so utterly inexperienced as I was. + +“The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good +family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence, +respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals. His son was bred +in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the +highest distinction. A few months before my arrival they had lived in +a large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and +possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or +taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford. + +“The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a +Turkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some +reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. +He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from +Constantinople to join him. He was tried and condemned to death. The +injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant; +and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime +alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation. + +“Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and +indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the +court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then +looked around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain +admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an +unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the +unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the +execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the grate at night +and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, +amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer +by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with +contempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit +her father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the +youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed +a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard. + +“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made +on the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in +his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he +should be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to +accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the +event as to the consummation of his happiness. + +“During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for +the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several +letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to +express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old +man, a servant of her father who understood French. She thanked him in +the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent, and +at the same time she gently deplored her own fate. + +“I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence +in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters +were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart I will +give them to you; they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present, +as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat +the substance of them to you. + +“Safie related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a +slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of +the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and +enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the +bondage to which she was now reduced. She instructed her daughter in +the tenets of her religion and taught her to aspire to higher powers of +intellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female +followers of Muhammad. This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly +impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again +returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem, +allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to +the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble +emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian and +remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in +society was enchanting to her. + +“The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night +previous to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant +many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of +his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his +plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under +the pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in +an obscure part of Paris. + +“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont +Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable +opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions. + +“Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his +departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she +should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in +expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society +of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest +affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an +interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie +sang to him the divine airs of her native country. + +“The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes +of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other +plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a +Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear +lukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer +if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they +inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled +to prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and +secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans +were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris. + +“The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their +victim and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The +plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were +thrown into prison. The news reached Felix and roused him from his +dream of pleasure. His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay +in a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the free air and the society of +her whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged +with the Turk that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity +for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a +boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian, +he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the +law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding. + +“He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the +trial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune +and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country. + +“They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I +discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for +whom he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on +discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin, +became a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with +his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him, +as he said, in some plan of future maintenance. + +“Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered +him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could +have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his +virtue, he gloried in it; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss +of his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The +arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul. + +“When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth +and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her +lover, but to prepare to return to her native country. The generous +nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to +expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his +tyrannical mandate. + +“A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment and told +her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn +had been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the +French government; he had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to +Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He +intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential +servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his +property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn. + +“When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it +would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey +was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike averse +to it. By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she +heard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where +he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her +determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a +sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, +but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for +Germany. + +“She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage +of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her +with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the +Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country +and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, +into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for +which they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in +which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at +the cottage of her lover.” + + + + +Chapter 15 + + +“Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. +I learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire +their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind. + +“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and +generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to +become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities +were called forth and displayed. But in giving an account of the +progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred +in the beginning of the month of August of the same year. + +“One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I +collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on +the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and +some books. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. +Fortunately the books were written in the language, the elements of which I +had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of _Paradise Lost_, a volume +of _Plutarch’s Lives_, and the _Sorrows of Werter_. The +possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now continually +studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst my friends were +employed in their ordinary occupations. + +“I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced +in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me +to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In +the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and affecting +story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon +what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a +never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and +domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and +feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded +well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which +were for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a +more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character +contained no pretension, but it sank deep. The disquisitions upon +death and suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not +pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards +the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely +understanding it. + +“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and +condition. I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely +unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I +was a listener. I sympathised with and partly understood them, but I +was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none. +‘The path of my departure was free,’ and there was none to lament my +annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did +this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my +destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to +solve them. + +“The volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_ which I possessed contained the +histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book +had a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_. I +learned from Werter’s imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch +taught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my +own reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many +things I read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very +confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, +and boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and +large assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the +only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book +developed new and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned +in public affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the +greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as +far as I understood the signification of those terms, relative as they +were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these +feelings, I was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, +Solon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The +patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a +firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had +been made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should +have been imbued with different sensations. + +“But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions. I read +it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as +a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the +picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of +exciting. I often referred the several situations, as their similarity +struck me, to my own. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to +any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine +in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a +perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of +his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from +beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone. +Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for +often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter +gall of envy rose within me. + +“Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon +after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of +the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had +neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in +which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was +your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You +minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress +of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic +occurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. +Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed +origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances +which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious +and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own +horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. ‘Hateful +day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursed creator! +Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in +disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own +image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the +very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire +and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’ + +“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; +but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and +benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should +become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they would +compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn +from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion +and friendship? I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way +to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate. I +postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance +attached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. +Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every +day’s experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking +until a few more months should have added to my sagacity. + +“Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage. The +presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also +found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha +spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in +their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were +contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while +mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only +discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I +cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person +reflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail +image and that inconstant shade. + +“I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial +which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my +thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and +dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my +feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed +smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my +sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s +supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, +and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. + +“Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay +and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it +had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did +not heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my +conformation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief +delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay +apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention +towards the cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the +absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another; and +their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the +casualties that took place around them. The more I saw of them, the +greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my +heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see +their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost +limit of my ambition. I dared not think that they would turn them from +me with disdain and horror. The poor that stopped at their door were +never driven away. I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a +little food or rest: I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not +believe myself utterly unworthy of it. + +“The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken +place since I awoke into life. My attention at this time was solely +directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my +protectors. I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally +fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. +I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my +person was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly +beheld me. My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I +thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain +the good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means +be tolerated by my younger protectors. + +“One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground +and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, +and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own +desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed, +he took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs, more +sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his +countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued, +thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the +instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection. + +“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which +would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a +neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage; it was an +excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my +limbs failed me and I sank to the ground. Again I rose, and exerting +all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had +placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived +me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their +cottage. + +“I knocked. ‘Who is there?’ said the old man. ‘Come in.’ + +“I entered. ‘Pardon this intrusion,’ said I; ‘I am +a traveller in want of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you +would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.’ + +“‘Enter,’ said De Lacey, ‘and I will try in what +manner I can to relieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are +from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to +procure food for you.’ + +“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is +warmth and rest only that I need.’ + +“I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was +precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence +the interview, when the old man addressed me. + +‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you +French?’ + +“‘No; but I was educated by a French family and understand that +language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, +whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’ + +“‘Are they Germans?’ + +“‘No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an +unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation +or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never +seen me and know little of me. I am full of fears, for if I fail +there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.’ + +“‘Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but +the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are +full of brotherly love and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes; +and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.’ + +“‘They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world; +but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good +dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree +beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they +ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable +monster.’ + +“‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot +you undeceive them?’ + +“‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I +feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I +have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily +kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and +it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.’ + +“‘Where do these friends reside?’ + +“‘Near this spot.’ + +“The old man paused and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly +confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in +undeceiving them. I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but +there is something in your words which persuades me that you are +sincere. I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure +to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.’ + +“‘Excellent man! I thank you and accept your generous offer. You +raise me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, +I shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow +creatures.’ + +“‘Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only +drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am +unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent; +judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.’ + +“‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips +first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall +be for ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success +with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.’ + +“‘May I know the names and residence of those friends?’ + +“I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to +rob me of or bestow happiness on me for ever. I struggled vainly for +firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my +remaining strength; I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud. At that +moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment +to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, ‘Now is the +time! Save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I +seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!’ + +“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Who are you?’ + +“At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and +Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on +beholding me? Agatha fainted, and Safie, unable to attend to her +friend, rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with +supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung, in +a transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently +with a stick. I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends +the antelope. But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and +I refrained. I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, +overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general +tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.” + + + + +Chapter 16 + + +“Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I +not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly +bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my +feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have +destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with +their shrieks and misery. + +“When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and +now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my +anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken +the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging +through the wood with a stag-like swiftness. Oh! What a miserable +night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees +waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird +burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest +or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and +finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread +havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed +the ruin. + +“But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became +fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in +the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men +that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness +towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war +against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me +and sent me forth to this insupportable misery. + +“The sun rose; I heard the voices of men and knew that it was +impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid +myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours +to reflection on my situation. + +“The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some +degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the +cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my +conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that +my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a +fool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children. I +ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to +have discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they should have +been prepared for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be +irretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the +cottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my +party. + +“These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound +sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by +peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was for ever +acting before my eyes; the females were flying and the enraged Felix +tearing me from his father’s feet. I awoke exhausted, and finding that +it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in +search of food. + +“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the +well-known path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. +I crept into my hovel and remained in silent expectation of the +accustomed hour when the family arose. That hour passed, the sun +mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear. I +trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune. The inside +of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the +agony of this suspense. + +“Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they +entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not +understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country, +which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix +approached with another man; I was surprised, as I knew that he had not +quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from +his discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances. + +“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him, +‘that you will be obliged to pay three months’ rent and to lose +the produce of your garden? I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and +I beg therefore that you will take some days to consider of your +determination.’ + +“‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix; ‘we can +never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest +danger, owing to the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and +my sister will never recover from their horror. I entreat you not to reason +with me any more. Take possession of your tenement and let me fly from this +place.’ + +“Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion +entered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then +departed. I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more. + +“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of +utter and stupid despair. My protectors had departed and had broken +the only link that held me to the world. For the first time the +feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to +control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I +bent my mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, +of the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the +exquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and a gush of +tears somewhat soothed me. But again when I reflected that they had +spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to +injure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As +night advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage, +and after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, +I waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my +operations. + +“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quickly +dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore +along like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my +spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the +dry branch of a tree and danced with fury around the devoted cottage, +my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon +nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my +brand; it sank, and with a loud scream I fired the straw, and heath, +and bushes, which I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the +cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it and +licked it with their forked and destroying tongues. + +“As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of +the habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods. + +“And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps? I +resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated +and despised, every country must be equally horrible. At length the +thought of you crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you +were my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness +than to him who had given me life? Among the lessons that Felix had +bestowed upon Safie, geography had not been omitted; I had learned from +these the relative situations of the different countries of the earth. +You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, and towards +this place I resolved to proceed. + +“But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a +southwesterly direction to reach my destination, but the sun was my +only guide. I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass +through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I +did not despair. From you only could I hope for succour, although +towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. Unfeeling, +heartless creator! You had endowed me with perceptions and passions +and then cast me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind. +But on you only had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I +determined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from +any other being that wore the human form. + +“My travels were long and the sufferings I endured intense. It was +late in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. +I travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a +human being. Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless; +rain and snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface +of the earth was hard and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter. Oh, +earth! How often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being! The +mildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall +and bitterness. The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more +deeply did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart. Snow +fell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not. A few incidents +now and then directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I +often wandered wide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me +no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could +not extract its food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived +on the confines of Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth +and the earth again began to look green, confirmed in an especial +manner the bitterness and horror of my feelings. + +“I generally rested during the day and travelled only when I was +secured by night from the view of man. One morning, however, finding +that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey +after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring, +cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of +the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long +appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of +these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and +forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Soft tears +again bedewed my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with +thankfulness towards the blessed sun, which bestowed such joy upon me. + +“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its +boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many +of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring. +Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard +the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade +of a cypress. I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running +towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from +someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides +of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the +rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, +from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She +was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore +animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, +who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On +seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, +hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I +hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, +which he carried, at my body and fired. I sank to the ground, and my +injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood. + +“This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being +from destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable +pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of +kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments +before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by +pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the +agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted. + +“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to +cure the wound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder, +and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any +rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented +also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their +infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge—a deep and deadly revenge, +such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had +endured. + +“After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The +labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or +gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my +desolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for +the enjoyment of pleasure. + +“But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I +reached the environs of Geneva. + +“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among +the fields that surround it to meditate in what manner I should apply +to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger and far too unhappy to +enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting +behind the stupendous mountains of Jura. + +“At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection, +which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came +running into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of +infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this +little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have +imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him and +educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in +this peopled earth. + +“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him +towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before +his eyes and uttered a shrill scream; I drew his hand forcibly from his +face and said, ‘Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to +hurt you; listen to me.’ + +“He struggled violently. ‘Let me go,’ he cried; +‘monster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You +are an ogre. Let me go, or I will tell my papa.’ + +“‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’ + +“‘Hideous monster! Let me go. My papa is a syndic—he is M. +Frankenstein—he will punish you. You dare not keep me.’ + +“‘Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have +sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’ + +“The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried +despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a +moment he lay dead at my feet. + +“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish +triumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can create desolation; +my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and +a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’ + +“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his +breast. I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite +of my malignity, it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I +gazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her +lovely lips; but presently my rage returned; I remembered that I was +for ever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could +bestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in +regarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to one +expressive of disgust and affright. + +“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only +wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in +exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the +attempt to destroy them. + +“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had +committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I +entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty. A woman was +sleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful as her +whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the +loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose +joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me. And then I bent over +her and whispered, ‘Awake, fairest, thy lover is near—he who would +give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my +beloved, awake!’ + +“The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me. Should she +indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus +would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me. +The thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me—not I, but +she, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am for ever +robbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone. The crime had +its source in her; be hers the punishment! Thanks to the lessons of +Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work +mischief. I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of +the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled. + +“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, +sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and +its miseries for ever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, +and have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning +passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part until you have +promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone and miserable; man +will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself +would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species +and have the same defects. This being you must create.” + + + + +Chapter 17 + + +The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the +expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to +arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his +proposition. He continued, + +“You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the +interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone +can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to +concede.” + +The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had +died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and +as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within +me. + +“I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a +consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you +shall never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like +yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I +have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.” + +“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead +of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I +am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, +would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I +should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you +could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the +work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him +live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would +bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. +But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our +union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will +revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and +chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear +inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor +finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of +your birth.” + +A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled +into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently +he calmed himself and proceeded— + +“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do +not reflect that _you_ are the cause of its excess. If any being felt +emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a +hundredfold; for that one creature’s sake I would make peace with the +whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised. +What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of +another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it +is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be +monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more +attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be +harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me +happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I +excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my +request!” + +I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences +of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument. +His tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature +of fine sensations, and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion +of happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of +feeling and continued, + +“If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see +us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not +that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; +acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will +be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare. +We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on +man and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful +and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the +wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards me, +I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment +and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.” + +“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of +man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your +only companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man, +persevere in this exile? You will return and again seek their kindness, and +you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed, +and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction. +This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot consent.” + +“How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by +my representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints? +I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that +with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of man and +dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil passions +will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! My life will flow quietly +away, and in my dying moments I shall not curse my maker.” + +His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him and +sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when +I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my +feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle +these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathise with him, I +had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which +was yet in my power to bestow. + +“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not +already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust +you? May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by +affording a wider scope for your revenge?” + +“How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer. If +I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; +the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall +become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant. My vices +are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will +necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel +the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of +existence and events from which I am now excluded.” + +I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various +arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which +he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight +of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had +manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my +calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers +and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices +was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a +long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice due both to him and +my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request. +Turning to him, therefore, I said, + +“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever, +and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall +deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.” + +“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of +heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my +prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your +home and commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with +unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall +appear.” + +Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in +my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than +the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the +sea of ice. + +His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of +the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent +towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my +heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the +little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced +perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences +of the day had produced. Night was far advanced when I came to the +halfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars +shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines +rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the +ground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity and stirred strange +thoughts within me. I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I +exclaimed, “Oh! stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock +me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as +nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.” + +These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you +how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I +listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its +way to consume me. + +Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no +rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my own heart I could +give no expression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a +mountain’s weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them. +Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the +family. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I +answered no question, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed +under a ban—as if I had no right to claim their sympathies—as if +never more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yet even thus I +loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate +myself to my most abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation +made every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream, +and that thought only had to me the reality of life. + + + + +Chapter 18 + + +Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and +I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the +vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my +repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not +compose a female without again devoting several months to profound +study and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries +having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was +material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my +father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to +every pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an +undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to +me. A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had +hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when +unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My +father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts +towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, +which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring +blackness overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took +refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake +alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the +rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air and +bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and +on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile +and a more cheerful heart. + +It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, +calling me aside, thus addressed me, + +“I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former +pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still +unhappy and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in +conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me, +and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a +point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.” + +I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued— + +“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your +marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the +stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your +earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and +tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of +man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have +entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any +wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another +whom you may love; and considering yourself as bound in honour to +Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear +to feel.” + +“My dear father, reassure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and +sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my +warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are +entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.” + +“The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor, +gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you +feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast +a gloom over us. But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so +strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate. Tell me, +therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the +marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us +from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You +are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent +fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future +plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, +however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on +your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words +with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and +sincerity.” + +I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable +of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of +thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! To me +the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and +dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled +and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not +impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival +with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the +ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with +his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from +which I expected peace. + +I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to +England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers +of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable +use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining +the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I +had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my +loathsome task in my father’s house while in habits of familiar +intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful +accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to +thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I +should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the +harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my +unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus +employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be +restored to my family in peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled, +the monster would depart for ever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some +accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my +slavery for ever. + +These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to +visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I +clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I +urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to +comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that +resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find +that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, +and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my +return, have restored me entirely to myself. + +The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or +at most a year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind +precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without +previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth, +arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This interfered +with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the +commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be +an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many +hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between +me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times +force his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to +contemplate its progress? + +To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union +with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father’s +age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one +reward I promised myself from my detested toils—one consolation for my +unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when, +enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and +forget the past in my union with her. + +I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me +which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should +leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and +unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my +departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and +would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in +itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends. +I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of +this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the +slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of +the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend +would follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his +machinations. + +It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native +country. My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth +therefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of +my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had +been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval—and yet a man +is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman’s +sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand +conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent +farewell. + +I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly +knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. +I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on +it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with +me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful +and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could +only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy +me whilst they endured. + +After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed +many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for +Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He +was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the +setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new +day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and +the appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live,” he cried; +“now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are +you desponding and sorrowful!” In truth, I was occupied by gloomy +thoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden +sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more +amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an +eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a +miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to +enjoyment. + +We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to +Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this +voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns. +We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from +Strasburgh, arrived at Mainz. The course of the Rhine below Mainz +becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly and winds +between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw +many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by +black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, +presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view +rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with +the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory, +flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river +and populous towns occupy the scene. + +We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the labourers +as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits +continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the +bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to +drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these +were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had +been transported to Fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by +man. “I have seen,” he said, “the most beautiful scenes +of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the +snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black +and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance +were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay +appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore +up whirlwinds of water and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be +on the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, +where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche and +where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the +nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud; +but this country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The +mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a +charm in the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled. +Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the +island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now +that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village +half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits +and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who +pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of +our own country.” + +Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words and +to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a +being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and +enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His +soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that +devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only +in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to +satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard +only with admiration, he loved with ardour:— + + ——The sounding cataract + Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock, + The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, + Their colours and their forms, were then to him + An appetite; a feeling, and a love, + That had no need of a remoter charm, + By thought supplied, or any interest + Unborrow’d from the eye. + + [Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”.] + +And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost +for ever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful +and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the +life of its creator;—has this mind perished? Does it now only exist +in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and +beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and +consoles your unhappy friend. + +Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight +tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart, +overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will +proceed with my tale. + +Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to +post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the stream of +the river was too gentle to aid us. + +Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we +arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. +It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw +the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene; +they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the +remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the Spanish +Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich—places which I had heard +of even in my country. + +At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering +above all, and the Tower famed in English history. + + + + +Chapter 19 + + +London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several +months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the +intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this +time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally +occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the +completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of +introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most +distinguished natural philosophers. + +If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, +it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had +come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of +the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest +was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I +could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of +Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory +peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to +my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my +fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and +Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled +my soul with anguish. + +But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive +and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of +manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of +instruction and amusement. He was also pursuing an object he had long +had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had +in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had +taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of +European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he further the +execution of his plan. He was for ever busy, and the only check to his +enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this +as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures +natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by +any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, +alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also +began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this +was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling +on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme +anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips +to quiver, and my heart to palpitate. + +After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in +Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the +beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient +allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, +where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I, +although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and +all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places. + +We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now +February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the +north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not +intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, +Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of +this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and +the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some +obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland. + +We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at +Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us +mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of +stately deer were all novelties to us. + +From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds +were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted +there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles +I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, +after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of +Parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king and his +companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and +son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they +might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a +dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these +feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of +the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. +The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost +magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows +of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, +which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and +domes, embosomed among aged trees. + +I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the +memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed +for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never +visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what +is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in +the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate +elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has +entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what +I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, +pitiable to others and intolerable to myself. + +We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs +and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most +animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery +were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented +themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the +field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated +from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas +of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments +and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains +and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten +into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my +miserable self. + +We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next +place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village +resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but +everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of +distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my +native country. We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets +of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same +manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name +made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit +Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated. + +From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in +Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the +Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the +northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the +rocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we +made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into +happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than +mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found +in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have +imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his +inferiors. “I could pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among +these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.” + +But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain +amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and +when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit +that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again +engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties. + +We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland +and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period +of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them +to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected my +promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon’s +disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance +on my relatives. This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment +from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited +for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was +miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I +saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to +read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend +followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion. +When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment, +but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of +his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the +consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed +drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime. + +I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might +have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well +as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him. +But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic +castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur’s +Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for +the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was +impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey. + +We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and +along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. +But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into +their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and +accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland +alone. “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our +rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with +my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short +time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more +congenial to your own temper.” + +Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to +remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with +you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch +people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return, +that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in +your absence.” + +Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of +Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the +monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have +finished, that he might receive his companion. + +With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of +the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a place +fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were +continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely +affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its +inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs +gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they +indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from +the mainland, which was about five miles distant. + +On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of +these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two +rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable +penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the +door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some +furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have +occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been +benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at +and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes +which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations +of men. + +In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening, +when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to +listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a +monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was +far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills +are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the +plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when +troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively +infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean. + +In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but +as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and +irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my +laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night +in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in +which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of +enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my +mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes +were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in +cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands. + +Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in +a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from +the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I +grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my +persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing +to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much +dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow +creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion. + +In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably +advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager +hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was +intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken +in my bosom. + + + + +Chapter 20 + + +I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was just +rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment, and I +remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should leave my +labour for the night or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting attention +to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to me which led me to +consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three years before, I was +engaged in the same manner and had created a fiend whose unparalleled +barbarity had desolated my heart and filled it for ever with the bitterest +remorse. I was now about to form another being of whose dispositions I was +alike ignorant; she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her +mate and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had +sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man and hide himself in deserts, but she +had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and +reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her +creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived +loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence +for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn +with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, +and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being +deserted by one of his own species. + +Even if they were to leave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world, +yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon +thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon +the earth who might make the very existence of the species of man a +condition precarious and full of terror. Had I right, for my own benefit, +to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had before been moved +by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck senseless by +his fiendish threats; but now, for the first time, the wickedness of my +promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me +as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at +the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race. + +I trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by +the light of the moon the dæmon at the casement. A ghastly grin +wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task +which he had allotted to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he +had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide +and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress and claim the +fulfilment of my promise. + +As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of +malice and treachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my +promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion, +tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me +destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for +happiness, and with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew. + +I left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own +heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I +sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate +the gloom and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most +terrible reveries. + +Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; +it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature +reposed under the eye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone +specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound +of voices as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence, +although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear +was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a +person landed close to my house. + +In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one +endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a +presentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who +dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation +of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain +endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the spot. + +Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door +opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he +approached me and said in a smothered voice, + +“You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you +intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; +I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among +its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many +months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have +endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my +hopes?” + +“Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like +yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.” + +“Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself +unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe +yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of +day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master; +obey!” + +“The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is +arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but +they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in +vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon whose +delight is in death and wretchedness? Begone! I am firm, and your +words will only exasperate my rage.” + +The monster saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in the +impotence of anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a +wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had +feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. +Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, +and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for +ever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my +wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge +remains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but +first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your +misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with +the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall +repent of the injuries you inflict.” + +“Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. +I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend +beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable.” + +“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your +wedding-night.” + +I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain! Before you sign my +death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.” + +I would have seized him, but he eluded me and quitted the house with +precipitation. In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot +across the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the +waves. + +All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage to +pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I +walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination +conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not +followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him +to depart, and he had directed his course towards the mainland. I shuddered +to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge. +And then I thought again of his words—“_I will be with you on +your wedding-night._” That, then, was the period fixed for the +fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and at once satisfy and +extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I +thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endless sorrow, when she +should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her, tears, the first I +had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall +before my enemy without a bitter struggle. + +The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings became +calmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage sinks into +the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of the last +night’s contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I +almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my fellow +creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole across me. I +desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily, it is true, +but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned, it was to +be sacrificed or to see those whom I most loved die under the grasp of a +dæmon whom I had myself created. + +I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it +loved and miserable in the separation. When it became noon, and the +sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was overpowered by a deep +sleep. I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves +were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery. The sleep +into which I now sank refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as +if I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to +reflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the +words of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared +like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality. + +The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my +appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a +fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; +it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to +join him. He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where +he was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired +his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his +Indian enterprise. He could not any longer delay his departure; but as +his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now +conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of +my society on him as I could spare. He besought me, therefore, to +leave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed +southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and +I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days. + +Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered +to reflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I +must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must +handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The next +morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked the door +of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had +destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had +mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to collect myself and +then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I conveyed the instruments +out of the room, but I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics of my +work to excite the horror and suspicion of the peasants; and I accordingly +put them into a basket, with a great quantity of stones, and laying them +up, determined to throw them into the sea that very night; and in the +meantime I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and arranging my +chemical apparatus. + +Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place +in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon. I had +before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with +whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film +had been taken from before my eyes and that I for the first time saw +clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur +to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not +reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in +my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made +would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I +banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different +conclusion. + +Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting my +basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the shore. +The scene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning towards land, +but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the commission of a +dreadful crime and avoided with shuddering anxiety any encounter with my +fellow creatures. At one time the moon, which had before been clear, was +suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage of the moment of +darkness and cast my basket into the sea; I listened to the gurgling sound +as it sank and then sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded, but +the air was pure, although chilled by the northeast breeze that was then +rising. But it refreshed me and filled me with such agreeable sensations +that I resolved to prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a +direct position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the +moon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as its +keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I +slept soundly. + +I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I +found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and +the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found +that the wind was northeast and must have driven me far from the coast from +which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course but quickly found +that if I again made the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with +water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I +confess that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me +and was so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the +world that the sun was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into the +wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be swallowed up in +the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around me. I had already +been out many hours and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to +my other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds +that flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others; I looked upon the +sea; it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your +task is already fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and +of Clerval—all left behind, on whom the monster might satisfy his +sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea plunged me into a reverie so +despairing and frightful that even now, when the scene is on the point of +closing before me for ever, I shudder to reflect on it. + +Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the +horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became +free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick +and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high +land towards the south. + +Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured +for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of +warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes. + +How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have +of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a +part of my dress and eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a +wild and rocky appearance, but as I approached nearer I easily perceived +the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore and found myself +suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilised man. I +carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed a steeple which I at +length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was in a state of +extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the town, as a place +where I could most easily procure nourishment. Fortunately I had money with +me. As I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good +harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected +escape. + +As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several +people crowded towards the spot. They seemed much surprised at my +appearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered +together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me +a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they +spoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language. “My +good friends,” said I, “will you be so kind as to tell me the name of +this town and inform me where I am?” + +“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a hoarse voice. +“Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste, +but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.” + +I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a +stranger, and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and +angry countenances of his companions. “Why do you answer me so +roughly?” I replied. “Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to +receive strangers so inhospitably.” + +“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the +English may be, but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.” + +While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly +increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which +annoyed and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn, but +no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the +crowd as they followed and surrounded me, when an ill-looking man +approaching tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Come, sir, you must +follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give an account of yourself.” + +“Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not +this a free country?” + +“Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate, +and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was +found murdered here last night.” + +This answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself. I was innocent; +that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my conductor in silence +and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to sink from +fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it politic +to rouse all my strength, that no physical debility might be construed into +apprehension or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity that +was in a few moments to overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair +all fear of ignominy or death. + +I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of +the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my +recollection. + + + + +Chapter 21 + + +I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old +benevolent man with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however, +with some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors, +he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion. + +About half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the +magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before with +his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock, +they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put in +for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen; they did +not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a creek about +two miles below. He walked on first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle, +and his companions followed him at some distance. As he was proceeding +along the sands, he struck his foot against something and fell at his +length on the ground. His companions came up to assist him, and by the +light of their lantern they found that he had fallen on the body of a man, +who was to all appearance dead. Their first supposition was that it was the +corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrown on shore by the +waves, but on examination they found that the clothes were not wet and even +that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage +of an old woman near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it +to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty +years of age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of +any violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck. + +The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but +when the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of +my brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a +mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for +support. The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew +an unfavourable augury from my manner. + +The son confirmed his father’s account, but when Daniel Nugent was +called he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion, he +saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the shore; +and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same +boat in which I had just landed. + +A woman deposed that she lived near the beach and was standing at the door +of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour +before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with +only one man in it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse +was afterwards found. + +Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the +body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed and +rubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was +quite gone. + +Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed +that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it +was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been +obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed. +Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body +from another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know +the shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance +of the town of —— from the place where I had deposited the corpse. + +Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into +the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what +effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was probably +suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of the +murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by the magistrate +and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help being struck by the +strange coincidences that had taken place during this eventful night; but, +knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in the island I had +inhabited about the time that the body had been found, I was perfectly +tranquil as to the consequences of the affair. + +I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How +can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with +horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and +agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses, +passed like a dream from my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry +Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on +the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations deprived you +also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other +victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my +benefactor—” + +The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and +I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions. + +A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my +ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the +murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my +attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was +tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of the monster already grasping +my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke +my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my gestures and +bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other witnesses. + +Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not +sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming +children, the only hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and +youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the +next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I +made that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of +the wheel, continually renewed the torture? + +But I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from +a dream, in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by +gaolers, turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon. +It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding; I had +forgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some +great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around +and saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I +was, all flashed across my memory and I groaned bitterly. + +This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside +me. She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her +countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterise +that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of +persons accustomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery. Her +tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English, +and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings. + +“Are you better now, sir?” said she. + +I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, “I believe I am; +but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am +still alive to feel this misery and horror.” + +“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the +gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you +were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you! However, that’s none +of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty +with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.” + +I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a +speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt +languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series +of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it +were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force +of reality. + +As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew +feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed +me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me. The +physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared +them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the +expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the +second. Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the +hangman who would gain his fee? + +These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had +shown me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison +to be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who +had provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to +see me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of +every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and +miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, sometimes to see +that I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long +intervals. + +One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes +half open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome by gloom +and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to +remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I +considered whether I should not declare myself guilty and suffer the +penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my +thoughts when the door of my apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered. +His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to +mine and addressed me in French, + +“I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to +make you more comfortable?” + +“I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole +earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.” + +“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to +one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I +hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can +easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.” + +“That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become +the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and +have been, can death be any evil to me?” + +“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the +strange chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some +surprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality, +seized immediately, and charged with murder. The first sight that was +presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so +unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across +your path.” + +As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on +this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at +the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose some +astonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened +to say, + +“Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on +your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some +trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your misfortune +and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one which I +discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote +to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter. +But you are ill; even now you tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any +kind.” + +“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event; +tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am +now to lament?” + +“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. Kirwin with +gentleness; “and someone, a friend, is come to visit you.” + +I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it +instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my +misery and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for +me to comply with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes, +and cried out in agony, + +“Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not +let him enter!” + +Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance. He could not help +regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said in +rather a severe tone, + +“I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father +would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.” + +“My father!” cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed +from anguish to pleasure. “Is my father indeed come? How kind, how +very kind! But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?” + +My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he +thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium, +and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence. He rose and +quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it. + +Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the +arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried, + +“Are you then safe—and Elizabeth—and Ernest?” + +My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare and endeavoured, by +dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my +desponding spirits; but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of +cheerfulness. “What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!” +said he, looking mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance +of the room. “You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems +to pursue you. And poor Clerval—” + +The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too +great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears. + +“Alas! Yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the +most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I +should have died on the coffin of Henry.” + +We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the +precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that +could ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my +strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the +appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I +gradually recovered my health. + +As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black +melancholy that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was +for ever before me, ghastly and murdered. More than once the agitation +into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous +relapse. Alas! Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a +life? It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now +drawing to a close. Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these +throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears +me to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also +sink to rest. Then the appearance of death was distant, although the +wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours +motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that +might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins. + +The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months +in prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a +relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country +town where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every +care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence. I was spared +the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not +brought before the court that decides on life and death. The grand +jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney +Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight +after my removal I was liberated from prison. + +My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a +criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh +atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country. I did not +participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a +palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned for ever, and +although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I +saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by +no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes +they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark +orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed +them; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster, as I +first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt. + +My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked +of Geneva, which I should soon visit, of Elizabeth and Ernest; but +these words only drew deep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a +wish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved +cousin or longed, with a devouring _maladie du pays_, to see once more +the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early +childhood; but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a +prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and +these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and +despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the +existence I loathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance +to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence. + +Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally +triumphed over my selfish despair. It was necessary that I should +return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those +I so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any +chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to +blast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to +the existence of the monstrous image which I had endued with the +mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My father still desired to +delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a +journey, for I was a shattered wreck—the shadow of a human being. My +strength was gone. I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day +preyed upon my wasted frame. + +Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience, +my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel +bound for Havre-de-Grace and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores. +It was midnight. I lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to +the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my +sight, and my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should +soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream; +yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested +shore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly +that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest +companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation. I +repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing +with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for +Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on +to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night in +which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought; a +thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly. + +Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been in the custom of taking +every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was by means of this drug +only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of +life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now +swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did +not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a +thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind +of nightmare; I felt the fiend’s grasp in my neck and could not free +myself from it; groans and cries rang in my ears. My father, who was +watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves +were around, the cloudy sky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of +security, a feeling that a truce was established between the present hour +and the irresistible, disastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm +forgetfulness, of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly +susceptible. + + + + +Chapter 22 + + +The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soon +found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I +could continue my journey. My father’s care and attentions were +indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and +sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to +seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not +abhorred! They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt +attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an +angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right +to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose +joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How they +would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world, did they know +my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me! + +My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by +various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I +felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of +murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride. + +“Alas! My father,” said I, “how little do you know me. +Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such +a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent +as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause +of this—I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry—they all +died by my hands.” + +My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same +assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an +explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of +delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented +itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my +convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence +concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be +supposed mad, and this in itself would for ever have chained my tongue. But, +besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my +hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of +his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy and was +silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret. +Yet, still, words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably +from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part +relieved the burden of my mysterious woe. + +Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder, +“My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat +you never to make such an assertion again.” + +“I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who +have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the +assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. +A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have +saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not +sacrifice the whole human race.” + +The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were +deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and +endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as +possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in +Ireland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my +misfortunes. + +As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my +heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own +crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost +self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which +sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners +were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey +to the sea of ice. + +A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the +following letter from Elizabeth: + +“My dear Friend, + +“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle +dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may +hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you +must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than +when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, +tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in +your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of +comfort and tranquillity. + +“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable +a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at +this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a +conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders +some explanation necessary before we meet. + +Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If +you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied. +But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet +be pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the +case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I +have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to begin. + +“You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of +your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and +taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take +place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I +believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But +as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each +other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our +case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual +happiness, with simple truth—Do you not love another? + +“You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at +Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last +autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every +creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our +connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of +your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations. +But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love +you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant +friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my +own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally +miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now +I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest +misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that +love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who +have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries +tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured +that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be +made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you +obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth +will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity. + +“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the +next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle +will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your +lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I +shall need no other happiness. + +“Elizabeth Lavenza. + + + +“Geneva, May 18th, 17—” + + + +This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat of +the fiend—“_I will be with you on your +wedding-night!_” Such was my sentence, and on that night would the +dæmon employ every art to destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of +happiness which promised partly to console my sufferings. On that night he +had determined to consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a +deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if he were +victorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he +were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the +peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his +cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, +penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my +Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of +remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death. + +Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some +softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal +dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the +angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make +her happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet, +again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My +destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer +should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would +surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed +_to be with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that +threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me that +he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately +after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my +immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my +father’s happiness, my adversary’s designs against my life +should not retard it a single hour. + +In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and +affectionate. “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness +remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in +you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life +and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a +dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with +horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only +wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of +misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place, +for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But +until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most +earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.” + +In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter we returned +to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were +in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a +change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly +vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of +compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I +was. + +The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness +with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed +me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and +despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless, +bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me. + +Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice +would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human +feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason +returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with +resignation. Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the +guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is +otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief. + +Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with +Elizabeth. I remained silent. + +“Have you, then, some other attachment?” + +“None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with +delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate +myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.” + +“My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen +us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love +for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be +small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. +And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of +care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly +deprived.” + +Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the +threat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had +yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as +invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words “_I shall be with +you on your wedding-night_,” I should regard the threatened fate as +unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were +balanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful +countenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the +ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, +the seal to my fate. + +Great God! If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish +intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself +for ever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over +the earth than have consented to this miserable marriage. But, as if +possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real +intentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I +hastened that of a far dearer victim. + +As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or +a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my +feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the +countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer +eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, +not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, +that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate +into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret. + +Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, +and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own +heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness +into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the +decorations of my tragedy. Through my father’s exertions a part of +the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian +government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It +was agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa +Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake +near which it stood. + +In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the +fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger +constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and +by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the +period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be +regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for +in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed +for its solemnisation drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of +as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent. + +Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to +calm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my +destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her; +and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had +promised to reveal to her on the following day. My father was in the +meantime overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in +the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride. + +After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my +father’s, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our +journey by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our +voyage on the following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable; +all smiled on our nuptial embarkation. + +Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the +feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we +were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the +beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw +Mont Salêve, the pleasant banks of Montalègre, and at a distance, +surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowy +mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the +opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the +ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost +insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it. + +I took the hand of Elizabeth. “You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! If +you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would +endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this +one day at least permits me to enjoy.” + +“Be happy, my dear Victor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope, +nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not +painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me +not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I +will not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move +along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise +above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more +interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in +the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at +the bottom. What a divine day! How happy and serene all nature +appears!” + +Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all +reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; +joy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place +to distraction and reverie. + +The sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and +observed its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the +lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached +the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The +spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it and the range +of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung. + +The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity, +sank at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water +and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the +shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and +hay. The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched +the shore I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp +me and cling to me for ever. + + + + +Chapter 23 + + +It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the +shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and +contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured +in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines. + +The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence +in the west. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was +beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the +flight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the +scene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves +that were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended. + +I had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the +shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious +and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in +my bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my +life dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that +of my adversary was extinguished. + +Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence, +but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and +trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor? +What is it you fear?” + +“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and +all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.” + +I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how +fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife, +and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her +until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy. + +She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages +of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to +my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to +conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the +execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful +scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I +heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the +motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood +trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This +state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed +into the room. + +Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the +destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was +there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down +and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I +turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung +by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas! +Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment +only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground. + +When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their +countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others +appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I +escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my +wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the +posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon +her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have +supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but +the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held +in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. +The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the +breath had ceased to issue from her lips. + +While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up. +The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of +panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. +The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be +described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred. +A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his +fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards +the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, +leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning, +plunged into the lake. + +The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to +the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with +boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we +returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a +form conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to +search the country, parties going in different directions among the +woods and vines. + +I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the +house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken +man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my +eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I +was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had +happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that +I had lost. + +After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room +where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women weeping around; I +hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no +distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to +various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their +cause. I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death +of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly +of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining +friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now +might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his +feet. This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started +up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed. + +There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the +wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was +hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men +to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from +mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt, +and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any +exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way +to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were +familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day +before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection. +Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw +the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had +then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as +a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, +but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had +snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been +so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of +man. + +But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last +overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their +_acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know +that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My +own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of +my hideous narration. + +I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk +under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old +man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their +delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with +all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having +few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed +be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste +in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated +around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to +rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms. + +What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and +darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, +indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales +with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a +dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear +conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my +prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I +understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation. + +Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I +awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the +memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their +cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had +sent abroad into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a +maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed +that I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal +revenge on his cursed head. + +Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to +reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about +a month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town +and told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the +destroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole +authority for the apprehension of the murderer. + +The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. “Be +assured, sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall +be spared to discover the villain.” + +“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the +deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I +should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth +which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to +be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My +manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my +own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose +quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related +my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with +accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation. + +The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued +he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with +horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted +on his countenance. + +When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I +accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your +whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that +your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those +functions on this occasion.” + +This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own +auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given +to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon +to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity +returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you +every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to +have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can follow an +animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where +no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since +the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he +has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.” + +“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if +he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois +and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not +credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the +punishment which is his desert.” + +As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated. +“You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if +it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer +punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have +yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove +impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should +make up your mind to disappointment.” + +“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My +revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I +confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage +is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned +loose upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have +but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to +his destruction.” + +I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy +in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness +which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan +magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of +devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of +madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and +reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium. + +“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of +wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.” + +I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on +some other mode of action. + + + + +Chapter 24 + + +My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was +swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone +endowed me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings and +allowed me to be calculating and calm at periods when otherwise +delirium or death would have been my portion. + +My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when I +was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became +hateful. I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few jewels +which had belonged to my mother, and departed. + +And now my wanderings began which are to cease but with life. I have +traversed a vast portion of the earth and have endured all the hardships +which travellers in deserts and barbarous countries are wont to meet. How I +have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my failing limbs upon +the sandy plain and prayed for death. But revenge kept me alive; I dared +not die and leave my adversary in being. + +When I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I +might trace the steps of my fiendish enemy. But my plan was unsettled, +and I wandered many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain +what path I should pursue. As night approached I found myself at the +entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father +reposed. I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their +graves. Everything was silent except the leaves of the trees, which +were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, and the +scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested +observer. The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to +cast a shadow, which was felt but not seen, around the head of the +mourner. + +The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to +rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived, +and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass +and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By the +sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the +deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the +spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the dæmon who caused this misery, +until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will +preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun +and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my +eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering +ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed +and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now +torments me.” + +I had begun my adjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured me +that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my devotion, but +the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my utterance. + +I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish +laugh. It rang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed +it, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter. +Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy and have +destroyed my miserable existence but that my vow was heard and that I +was reserved for vengeance. The laughter died away, when a well-known +and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an +audible whisper, “I am satisfied, miserable wretch! You have +determined to live, and I am satisfied.” + +I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil +eluded my grasp. Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone +full upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than +mortal speed. + +I pursued him, and for many months this has been my task. Guided by a +slight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly. The +blue Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend +enter by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. I +took my passage in the same ship, but he escaped, I know not how. + +Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I +have ever followed in his track. Sometimes the peasants, scared by +this horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself, +who feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die, +left some mark to guide me. The snows descended on my head, and I saw +the print of his huge step on the white plain. To you first entering +on life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand +what I have felt and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue were the +least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil +and carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good +followed and directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly +extricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Sometimes, +when nature, overcome by hunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast +was prepared for me in the desert that restored and inspirited me. The +fare was, indeed, coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate, but +I will not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had +invoked to aid me. Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and +I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the +few drops that revived me, and vanish. + +I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the dæmon +generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the +country chiefly collected. In other places human beings were seldom +seen, and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my +path. I had money with me and gained the friendship of the villagers +by distributing it; or I brought with me some food that I had killed, +which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had +provided me with fire and utensils for cooking. + +My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during +sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most +miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The +spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of +happiness that I might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of +this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I was +sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my +friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the benevolent +countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my Elizabeth’s +voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often, when wearied by +a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night should +come and that I should then enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest +friends. What agonising fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to +their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and +persuade myself that they still lived! At such moments vengeance, that +burned within me, died in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the +destruction of the dæmon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the +mechanical impulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the +ardent desire of my soul. + +What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed, he +left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided +me and instigated my fury. “My reign is not yet +over”—these words were legible in one of these +inscriptions—“you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I +seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of +cold and frost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if +you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my +enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable +hours must you endure until that period shall arrive.” + +Scoffing devil! Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee, +miserable fiend, to torture and death. Never will I give up my search +until he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my +Elizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the +reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage! + +As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and the +cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The peasants were +shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy ventured forth to +seize the animals whom starvation had forced from their hiding-places to +seek for prey. The rivers were covered with ice, and no fish could be +procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief article of maintenance. + +The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One +inscription that he left was in these words: “Prepare! Your toils +only begin; wrap yourself in furs and provide food, for we shall soon enter +upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting +hatred.” + +My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I +resolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on Heaven to support +me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts, +until the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary +of the horizon. Oh! How unlike it was to the blue seasons of the +south! Covered with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by +its superior wildness and ruggedness. The Greeks wept for joy when +they beheld the Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with +rapture the boundary of their toils. I did not weep, but I knelt down +and with a full heart thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in +safety to the place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary’s gibe, +to meet and grapple with him. + +Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs and thus +traversed the snows with inconceivable speed. I know not whether the +fiend possessed the same advantages, but I found that, as before I had +daily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him, so much so that +when I first saw the ocean he was but one day’s journey in advance, and +I hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach. With new +courage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched +hamlet on the seashore. I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the +fiend and gained accurate information. A gigantic monster, they said, +had arrived the night before, armed with a gun and many pistols, +putting to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fear of +his terrific appearance. He had carried off their store of winter +food, and placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a +numerous drove of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same +night, to the joy of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his +journey across the sea in a direction that led to no land; and they +conjectured that he must speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the +ice or frozen by the eternal frosts. + +On hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair. +He had escaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless +journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few +of the inhabitants could long endure and which I, the native of a +genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive. Yet at the idea +that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance +returned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling. +After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered +round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey. + +I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of +the Frozen Ocean, and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I +departed from land. + +I cannot guess how many days have passed since then, but I have endured +misery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution +burning within my heart could have enabled me to support. Immense and +rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard +the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction. But +again the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure. + +By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that +I had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction +of hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of +despondency and grief from my eyes. Despair had indeed almost secured +her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery. Once, after +the poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the +summit of a sloping ice mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue, +died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye +caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. I strained my sight to +discover what it could be and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I +distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known +form within. Oh! With what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart! +Warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might +not intercept the view I had of the dæmon; but still my sight was +dimmed by the burning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that +oppressed me, I wept aloud. + +But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their +dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food, and after an +hour’s rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly +irksome to me, I continued my route. The sledge was still visible, nor +did I again lose sight of it except at the moments when for a short +time some ice-rock concealed it with its intervening crags. I indeed +perceptibly gained on it, and when, after nearly two days’ journey, I +beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within +me. + +But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my hopes were +suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had +ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its progress, as +the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every moment more ominous +and terrific. I pressed on, but in vain. The wind arose; the sea roared; +and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake, it split and cracked with a +tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work was soon finished; in a few +minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me and my enemy, and I was left +drifting on a scattered piece of ice that was continually lessening and +thus preparing for me a hideous death. + +In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died, and I +myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress when I saw your +vessel riding at anchor and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life. +I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north and was astounded +at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to construct oars, and +by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice raft in +the direction of your ship. I had determined, if you were going southwards, +still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my +purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could pursue +my enemy. But your direction was northwards. You took me on board when my +vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied +hardships into a death which I still dread, for my task is unfulfilled. + +Oh! When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the dæmon, allow +me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live? If I do, +swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape, that you will seek him +and satisfy my vengeance in his death. And do I dare to ask of you to +undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone? +No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear, if +the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he +shall not live—swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated +woes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes. He is eloquent +and persuasive, and once his words had even power over my heart; but +trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery +and fiend-like malice. Hear him not; call on the names of William, +Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and +thrust your sword into his heart. I will hover near and direct the +steel aright. + +Walton, _in continuation._ + + +August 26th, 17—. + + +You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not +feel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles +mine? Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his +tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with +difficulty the words so replete with anguish. His fine and lovely eyes +were now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow +and quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes he commanded his +countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a +tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a +volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression +of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor. + +His tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest truth, +yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed me, +and the apparition of the monster seen from our ship, brought to me a +greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations, +however earnest and connected. Such a monster has, then, really existence! +I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I +endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the particulars of his +creature’s formation, but on this point he was impenetrable. + +“Are you mad, my friend?” said he. “Or whither does your +senseless curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the +world a demoniacal enemy? Peace, peace! Learn my miseries and do not seek +to increase your own.” + +Frankenstein discovered that I made notes concerning his history; he asked +to see them and then himself corrected and augmented them in many places, +but principally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he held +with his enemy. “Since you have preserved my narration,” said +he, “I would not that a mutilated one should go down to +posterity.” + +Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest +tale that ever imagination formed. My thoughts and every feeling of my +soul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale +and his own elevated and gentle manners have created. I wish to soothe +him, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of +every hope of consolation, to live? Oh, no! The only joy that he can +now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and +death. Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and +delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his +friends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or +excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his +fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a +remote world. This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render +them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth. + +Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and +misfortunes. On every point of general literature he displays +unbounded knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension. His +eloquence is forcible and touching; nor can I hear him, when he relates +a pathetic incident or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love, +without tears. What a glorious creature must he have been in the days +of his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin! He seems +to feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall. + +“When younger,” said he, “I believed myself destined for +some great enterprise. My feelings are profound, but I possessed a coolness +of judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of +the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been oppressed, +for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those talents that +might be useful to my fellow creatures. When I reflected on the work I had +completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational +animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors. But +this thought, which supported me in the commencement of my career, now +serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. All my speculations and hopes +are as nothing, and like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am +chained in an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of +analysis and application were intense; by the union of these qualities I +conceived the idea and executed the creation of a man. Even now I cannot +recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod +heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea +of their effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty +ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! My friend, if you had known me as I once +was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency +rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me on, until I fell, +never, never again to rise.” + +Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I have +sought one who would sympathise with and love me. Behold, on these desert +seas I have found such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his +value and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea. + +“I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so +miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh +affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone? Can any +man be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth? Even +where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, +the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our +minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our +infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, +are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more +certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a +brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early, +suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, +however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be +contemplated with suspicion. But I enjoyed friends, dear not only +through habit and association, but from their own merits; and wherever +I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of +Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one +feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life. If I +were engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive +utility to my fellow creatures, then could I live to fulfil it. But +such is not my destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I +gave existence; then my lot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die.” + +My beloved Sister, + +September 2d. + + +I write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever +doomed to see again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit +it. I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit of no escape and +threaten every moment to crush my vessel. The brave fellows whom I +have persuaded to be my companions look towards me for aid, but I have +none to bestow. There is something terribly appalling in our +situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me. Yet it is +terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered +through me. If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause. + +And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my +destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and +you will have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! My +beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is, +in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a husband +and lovely children; you may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so! + +My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He +endeavours to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession +which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have +happened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and in spite +of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel +the power of his eloquence; when he speaks, they no longer despair; he +rouses their energies, and while they hear his voice they believe these +vast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the +resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day of +expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny +caused by this despair. + +September 5th. + + +A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is +highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot +forbear recording it. + +We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger +of being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of +my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of +desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined in health; a feverish fire +still glimmers in his eyes, but he is exhausted, and when suddenly +roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent +lifelessness. + +I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. +This morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his +eyes half closed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was roused by half +a dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin. They +entered, and their leader addressed me. He told me that he and his +companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation +to me to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse. +We were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they +feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free +passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and +lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted +this. They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn +promise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my +course southwards. + +This speech troubled me. I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived +the idea of returning if set free. Yet could I, in justice, or even in +possibility, refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered, when +Frankenstein, who had at first been silent, and indeed appeared hardly +to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled, +and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour. Turning towards the men, +he said, + +“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then, +so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious +expedition? “And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was +smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and +terror, because at every new incident your fortitude was to be called forth +and your courage exhibited, because danger and death surrounded it, and +these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this +was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the +benefactors of your species, your names adored as belonging to brave men +who encountered death for honour and the benefit of mankind. And now, +behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first +mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away and are content +to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and +peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm +firesides. Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come +thus far and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat merely to prove +yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your +purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your +hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it +shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace +marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and +who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.” + +He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed +in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can +you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were +unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider of what had +been said, that I would not lead them farther north if they strenuously +desired the contrary, but that I hoped that, with reflection, their courage +would return. + +They retired and I turned towards my friend, but he was sunk in languor and +almost deprived of life. + +How all this will terminate, I know not, but I had rather die than +return shamefully, my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my +fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never +willingly continue to endure their present hardships. + +September 7th. + + +The die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed. +Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back +ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess +to bear this injustice with patience. + +September 12th. + + +It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility +and glory; I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these +bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted +towards England and towards you, I will not despond. + +September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard +at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were +in the most imminent peril, but as we could only remain passive, my chief +attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest whose illness increased in +such a degree that he was entirely confined to his bed. The ice cracked +behind us and was driven with force towards the north; a breeze sprang from +the west, and on the 11th the passage towards the south became perfectly +free. When the sailors saw this and that their return to their native +country was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, +loud and long-continued. Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke and asked the +cause of the tumult. “They shout,” I said, “because they +will soon return to England.” + +“Do you, then, really return?” + +“Alas! Yes; I cannot withstand their demands. I cannot lead them +unwillingly to danger, and I must return.” + +“Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose, but +mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am weak, but +surely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with +sufficient strength.” Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the +bed, but the exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted. + +It was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was +entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with +difficulty and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing +draught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he +told me that my friend had certainly not many hours to live. + +His sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient. I sat +by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; but +presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and bidding me come near, +said, “Alas! The strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I shall +soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being. Think +not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that burning +hatred and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed; but I feel myself +justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these last days I +have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor do I find it blamable. +In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature and was +bound towards him to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and +well-being. This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to +that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to +my attention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or +misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to +create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity +and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction +beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I +know where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself that he may +render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destruction was +mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, I +asked you to undertake my unfinished work, and I renew this request now, +when I am only induced by reason and virtue. + +“Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to fulfil +this task; and now that you are returning to England, you will have +little chance of meeting with him. But the consideration of these +points, and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I +leave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near +approach of death. I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I +may still be misled by passion. + +“That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in +other respects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the +only happy one which I have enjoyed for several years. The forms of +the beloved dead flit before me, and I hasten to their arms. Farewell, +Walton! Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it +be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in +science and discoveries. Yet why do I say this? I have myself been +blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed.” + +His voice became fainter as he spoke, and at length, exhausted by his +effort, he sank into silence. About half an hour afterwards he +attempted again to speak but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and +his eyes closed for ever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed +away from his lips. + +Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this +glorious spirit? What can I say that will enable you to understand the +depth of my sorrow? All that I should express would be inadequate and +feeble. My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of +disappointment. But I journey towards England, and I may there find +consolation. + +I am interrupted. What do these sounds portend? It is midnight; the +breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir. Again there +is a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin +where the remains of Frankenstein still lie. I must arise and examine. +Good night, my sister. + +Great God! what a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the +remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to detail +it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete without this +final and wonderful catastrophe. + +I entered the cabin where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable +friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to +describe—gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its +proportions. As he hung over the coffin, his face was concealed by long +locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and +apparent texture like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my +approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief and horror and sprung +towards the window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of +such loathsome yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily and +endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with regard to this destroyer. +I called on him to stay. + +He paused, looking on me with wonder, and again turning towards the +lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and +every feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some +uncontrollable passion. + +“That is also my victim!” he exclaimed. “In his murder my +crimes are consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its +close! Oh, Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it +avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee +by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer +me.” + +His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to +me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in destroying his +enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. I +approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to his +face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I +attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. The monster +continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I +gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his passion. + +“Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you +had listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse +before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity, +Frankenstein would yet have lived.” + +“And do you dream?” said the dæmon. “Do you think that I was then +dead to agony and remorse? He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse, +“he suffered not in the consummation of the deed. Oh! Not the +ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the +lingering detail of its execution. A frightful selfishness hurried me +on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think you that the +groans of Clerval were music to my ears? My heart was fashioned to be +susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice +and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without +torture such as you cannot even imagine. + +“After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken +and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my pity amounted to horror; I +abhorred myself. But when I discovered that he, the author at once of +my existence and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for +happiness, that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me +he sought his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the +indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then impotent envy and bitter +indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. I +recollected my threat and resolved that it should be accomplished. I +knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the +slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not +disobey. Yet when she died! Nay, then I was not miserable. I had +cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my +despair. Evil thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I had no +choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly +chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable +passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim!” + +I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I called +to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and +persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my +friend, indignation was rekindled within me. “Wretch!” I said. +“It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you +have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are +consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! +If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would +he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you +feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn +from your power.” + +“Oh, it is not thus—not thus,” interrupted the being. +“Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to +be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. +No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of +virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being +overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has +become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into +bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am +content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am +well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once +my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once +I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would +love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was +nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has +degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no +malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the +frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same +creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent +visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the +fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man +had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone. + +“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my +crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them +he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured +wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did +not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still +I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no +injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all +humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his +friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic +who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous +and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an +abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my +blood boils at the recollection of this injustice. + +“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and +the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to +death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have +devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and +admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that +irremediable ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me, but +your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look on the +hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the +imagination of it was conceived and long for the moment when these hands +will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more. + +“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work +is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man’s death is needed to +consummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be done, +but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this +sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which brought me +thither and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall +collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its +remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would +create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the +agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet +unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no +more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no +longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, +feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my +happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first +opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the +rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to +me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by +crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in +death? + +“Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of humankind whom these +eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive +and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better +satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou +didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness; +and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased to think +and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than +that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to +thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my +wounds until death shall close them for ever. + +“But soon,” he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I +shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning +miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and +exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration +will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit +will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. +Farewell.” + +He sprang from the cabin-window as he said this, upon the ice raft +which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and +lost in darkness and distance. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience + +Author: Henry David Thoreau + +Release date: January 1, 1995 [eBook #205] + Most recently updated: September 19, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: Judith Boss, and David Widger + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WALDEN, AND ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE *** +WALDEN + + + + +and + + + +ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE + + + +by Henry David Thoreau + + +cover + + +Contents + + + WALDEN + + Economy + Where I Lived, and What I Lived For + Reading + Sounds + Solitude + Visitors + The Bean-Field + The Village + The Ponds + Baker Farm + Higher Laws + Brute Neighbors + House-Warming + Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors + Winter Animals + The Pond in Winter + Spring + Conclusion + + ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE + + + +WALDEN + +Economy + +When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived +alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had +built myself, on the shore of Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts, +and earned my living by the labor of my hands only. I lived there two +years and two months. At present I am a sojourner in civilized life +again. + +I should not obtrude my affairs so much on the notice of my readers if +very particular inquiries had not been made by my townsmen concerning +my mode of life, which some would call impertinent, though they do not +appear to me at all impertinent, but, considering the circumstances, +very natural and pertinent. Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did +not feel lonesome; if I was not afraid; and the like. Others have been +curious to learn what portion of my income I devoted to charitable +purposes; and some, who have large families, how many poor children I +maintained. I will therefore ask those of my readers who feel no +particular interest in me to pardon me if I undertake to answer some of +these questions in this book. In most books, the _I_, or first person, +is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, +is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after +all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so +much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well. +Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my +experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or +last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what +he has heard of other men’s lives; some such account as he would send +to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it +must have been in a distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more +particularly addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers, +they will accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will +stretch the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to +him whom it fits. + +I would fain say something, not so much concerning the Chinese and +Sandwich Islanders as you who read these pages, who are said to live in +New England; something about your condition, especially your outward +condition or circumstances in this world, in this town, what it is, +whether it is necessary that it be as bad as it is, whether it cannot +be improved as well as not. I have travelled a good deal in Concord; +and everywhere, in shops, and offices, and fields, the inhabitants have +appeared to me to be doing penance in a thousand remarkable ways. What +I have heard of Brahmins sitting exposed to four fires and looking in +the face of the sun; or hanging suspended, with their heads downward, +over flames; or looking at the heavens over their shoulders “until it +becomes impossible for them to resume their natural position, while +from the twist of the neck nothing but liquids can pass into the +stomach;” or dwelling, chained for life, at the foot of a tree; or +measuring with their bodies, like caterpillars, the breadth of vast +empires; or standing on one leg on the tops of pillars,—even these +forms of conscious penance are hardly more incredible and astonishing +than the scenes which I daily witness. The twelve labors of Hercules +were trifling in comparison with those which my neighbors have +undertaken; for they were only twelve, and had an end; but I could +never see that these men slew or captured any monster or finished any +labor. They have no friend Iolas to burn with a hot iron the root of +the hydra’s head, but as soon as one head is crushed, two spring up. + +I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited +farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more +easily acquired than got rid of. Better if they had been born in the +open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with +clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in. Who made them +serfs of the soil? Why should they eat their sixty acres, when man is +condemned to eat only his peck of dirt? Why should they begin digging +their graves as soon as they are born? They have got to live a man’s +life, pushing all these things before them, and get on as well as they +can. How many a poor immortal soul have I met well nigh crushed and +smothered under its load, creeping down the road of life, pushing +before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its Augean stables never +cleansed, and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture, and +wood-lot! The portionless, who struggle with no such unnecessary +inherited encumbrances, find it labor enough to subdue and cultivate a +few cubic feet of flesh. + +But men labor under a mistake. The better part of the man is soon +plowed into the soil for compost. By a seeming fate, commonly called +necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up +treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through +and steal. It is a fool’s life, as they will find when they get to the +end of it, if not before. It is said that Deucalion and Pyrrha created +men by throwing stones over their heads behind them:— + + Inde genus durum sumus, experiensque laborum, + Et documenta damus quâ simus origine nati. + +Or, as Raleigh rhymes it in his sonorous way,— + + “From thence our kind hard-hearted is, enduring pain and care, + Approving that our bodies of a stony nature are.” + +So much for a blind obedience to a blundering oracle, throwing the +stones over their heads behind them, and not seeing where they fell. + +Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere +ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and +superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be +plucked by them. Their fingers, from excessive toil, are too clumsy and +tremble too much for that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure +for a true integrity day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the +manliest relations to men; his labor would be depreciated in the +market. He has no time to be anything but a machine. How can he +remember well his ignorance—which his growth requires—who has so often +to use his knowledge? We should feed and clothe him gratuitously +sometimes, and recruit him with our cordials, before we judge of him. +The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be +preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat +ourselves nor one another thus tenderly. + +Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are +sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath. I have no doubt that some of +you who read this book are unable to pay for all the dinners which you +have actually eaten, or for the coats and shoes which are fast wearing +or are already worn out, and have come to this page to spend borrowed +or stolen time, robbing your creditors of an hour. It is very evident +what mean and sneaking lives many of you live, for my sight has been +whetted by experience; always on the limits, trying to get into +business and trying to get out of debt, a very ancient slough, called +by the Latins _æs alienum_, another’s brass, for some of their coins +were made of brass; still living, and dying, and buried by this other’s +brass; always promising to pay, promising to pay, tomorrow, and dying +today, insolvent; seeking to curry favor, to get custom, by how many +modes, only not state-prison offences; lying, flattering, voting, +contracting yourselves into a nutshell of civility or dilating into an +atmosphere of thin and vaporous generosity, that you may persuade your +neighbor to let you make his shoes, or his hat, or his coat, or his +carriage, or import his groceries for him; making yourselves sick, that +you may lay up something against a sick day, something to be tucked +away in an old chest, or in a stocking behind the plastering, or, more +safely, in the brick bank; no matter where, no matter how much or how +little. + +I sometimes wonder that we can be so frivolous, I may almost say, as to +attend to the gross but somewhat foreign form of servitude called Negro +Slavery, there are so many keen and subtle masters that enslave both +north and south. It is hard to have a southern overseer; it is worse to +have a northern one; but worst of all when you are the slave-driver of +yourself. Talk of a divinity in man! Look at the teamster on the +highway, wending to market by day or night; does any divinity stir +within him? His highest duty to fodder and water his horses! What is +his destiny to him compared with the shipping interests? Does not he +drive for Squire Make-a-stir? How godlike, how immortal, is he? See how +he cowers and sneaks, how vaguely all the day he fears, not being +immortal nor divine, but the slave and prisoner of his own opinion of +himself, a fame won by his own deeds. Public opinion is a weak tyrant +compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, +that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate. +Self-emancipation even in the West Indian provinces of the fancy and +imagination,—what Wilberforce is there to bring that about? Think, +also, of the ladies of the land weaving toilet cushions against the +last day, not to betray too green an interest in their fates! As if you +could kill time without injuring eternity. + +The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called +resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go +into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the +bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is +concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of +mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is +a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things. + +When we consider what, to use the words of the catechism, is the chief +end of man, and what are the true necessaries and means of life, it +appears as if men had deliberately chosen the common mode of living +because they preferred it to any other. Yet they honestly think there +is no choice left. But alert and healthy natures remember that the sun +rose clear. It is never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of +thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof. What +everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out to +be falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted +for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What +old people say you cannot do you try and find that you can. Old deeds +for old people, and new deeds for new. Old people did not know enough +once, perchance, to fetch fresh fuel to keep the fire a-going; new +people put a little dry wood under a pot, and are whirled round the +globe with the speed of birds, in a way to kill old people, as the +phrase is. Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an +instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost. +One may almost doubt if the wisest man has learned any thing of +absolute value by living. Practically, the old have no very important +advice to give the young, their own experience has been so partial, and +their lives have been such miserable failures, for private reasons, as +they must believe; and it may be that they have some faith left which +belies that experience, and they are only less young than they were. I +have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the +first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They +have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell me any thing to the +purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; +but it does not avail me that they have tried it. If I have any +experience which I think valuable, I am sure to reflect that this my +Mentors said nothing about. + +One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for +it furnishes nothing to make bones with;” and so he religiously devotes +a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of +bones; walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with +vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite +of every obstacle. Some things are really necessaries of life in some +circles, the most helpless and diseased, which in others are luxuries +merely, and in others still are entirely unknown. + +The whole ground of human life seems to some to have been gone over by +their predecessors, both the heights and the valleys, and all things to +have been cared for. According to Evelyn, “the wise Solomon prescribed +ordinances for the very distances of trees; and the Roman prætors have +decided how often you may go into your neighbor’s land to gather the +acorns which fall on it without trespass, and what share belongs to +that neighbor.” Hippocrates has even left directions how we should cut +our nails; that is, even with the ends of the fingers, neither shorter +nor longer. Undoubtedly the very tedium and ennui which presume to have +exhausted the variety and the joys of life are as old as Adam. But +man’s capacities have never been measured; nor are we to judge of what +he can do by any precedents, so little has been tried. Whatever have +been thy failures hitherto, “be not afflicted, my child, for who shall +assign to thee what thou hast left undone?” + +We might try our lives by a thousand simple tests; as, for instance, +that the same sun which ripens my beans illumines at once a system of +earths like ours. If I had remembered this it would have prevented some +mistakes. This was not the light in which I hoed them. The stars are +the apexes of what wonderful triangles! What distant and different +beings in the various mansions of the universe are contemplating the +same one at the same moment! Nature and human life are as various as +our several constitutions. Who shall say what prospect life offers to +another? Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through +each other’s eyes for an instant? We should live in all the ages of the +world in an hour; ay, in all the worlds of the ages. History, Poetry, +Mythology!—I know of no reading of another’s experience so startling +and informing as this would be. + +The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to +be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good +behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well? You may say +the wisest thing you can, old man,—you who have lived seventy years, +not without honor of a kind,—I hear an irresistible voice which invites +me away from all that. One generation abandons the enterprises of +another like stranded vessels. + +I think that we may safely trust a good deal more than we do. We may +waive just so much care of ourselves as we honestly bestow elsewhere. +Nature is as well adapted to our weakness as to our strength. The +incessant anxiety and strain of some is a well nigh incurable form of +disease. We are made to exaggerate the importance of what work we do; +and yet how much is not done by us! or, what if we had been taken sick? +How vigilant we are! determined not to live by faith if we can avoid +it; all the day long on the alert, at night we unwillingly say our +prayers and commit ourselves to uncertainties. So thoroughly and +sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying +the possibility of change. This is the only way, we say; but there are +as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. All change is +a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place +every instant. Confucius said, “To know that we know what we know, and +that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.” When +one man has reduced a fact of the imagination to be a fact to his +understanding, I foresee that all men at length establish their lives +on that basis. + + + +Let us consider for a moment what most of the trouble and anxiety which +I have referred to is about, and how much it is necessary that we be +troubled, or, at least, careful. It would be some advantage to live a +primitive and frontier life, though in the midst of an outward +civilization, if only to learn what are the gross necessaries of life +and what methods have been taken to obtain them; or even to look over +the old day-books of the merchants, to see what it was that men most +commonly bought at the stores, what they stored, that is, what are the +grossest groceries. For the improvements of ages have had but little +influence on the essential laws of man’s existence; as our skeletons, +probably, are not to be distinguished from those of our ancestors. + +By the words, _necessary of life_, I mean whatever, of all that man +obtains by his own exertions, has been from the first, or from long use +has become, so important to human life that few, if any, whether from +savageness, or poverty, or philosophy, ever attempt to do without it. +To many creatures there is in this sense but one necessary of life, +Food. To the bison of the prairie it is a few inches of palatable +grass, with water to drink; unless he seeks the Shelter of the forest +or the mountain’s shadow. None of the brute creation requires more than +Food and Shelter. The necessaries of life for man in this climate may, +accurately enough, be distributed under the several heads of Food, +Shelter, Clothing, and Fuel; for not till we have secured these are we +prepared to entertain the true problems of life with freedom and a +prospect of success. Man has invented, not only houses, but clothes and +cooked food; and possibly from the accidental discovery of the warmth +of fire, and the consequent use of it, at first a luxury, arose the +present necessity to sit by it. We observe cats and dogs acquiring the +same second nature. By proper Shelter and Clothing we legitimately +retain our own internal heat; but with an excess of these, or of Fuel, +that is, with an external heat greater than our own internal, may not +cookery properly be said to begin? Darwin, the naturalist, says of the +inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego, that while his own party, who were +well clothed and sitting close to a fire, were far from too warm, these +naked savages, who were farther off, were observed, to his great +surprise, “to be streaming with perspiration at undergoing such a +roasting.” So, we are told, the New Hollander goes naked with impunity, +while the European shivers in his clothes. Is it impossible to combine +the hardiness of these savages with the intellectualness of the +civilized man? According to Liebig, man’s body is a stove, and food the +fuel which keeps up the internal combustion in the lungs. In cold +weather we eat more, in warm less. The animal heat is the result of a +slow combustion, and disease and death take place when this is too +rapid; or for want of fuel, or from some defect in the draught, the +fire goes out. Of course the vital heat is not to be confounded with +fire; but so much for analogy. It appears, therefore, from the above +list, that the expression, _animal life_, is nearly synonymous with the +expression, _animal heat_; for while Food may be regarded as the Fuel +which keeps up the fire within us,—and Fuel serves only to prepare that +Food or to increase the warmth of our bodies by addition from +without,—Shelter and Clothing also serve only to retain the _heat_ thus +generated and absorbed. + +The grand necessity, then, for our bodies, is to keep warm, to keep the +vital heat in us. What pains we accordingly take, not only with our +Food, and Clothing, and Shelter, but with our beds, which are our +night-clothes, robbing the nests and breasts of birds to prepare this +shelter within a shelter, as the mole has its bed of grass and leaves +at the end of its burrow! The poor man is wont to complain that this is +a cold world; and to cold, no less physical than social, we refer +directly a great part of our ails. The summer, in some climates, makes +possible to man a sort of Elysian life. Fuel, except to cook his Food, +is then unnecessary; the sun is his fire, and many of the fruits are +sufficiently cooked by its rays; while Food generally is more various, +and more easily obtained, and Clothing and Shelter are wholly or half +unnecessary. At the present day, and in this country, as I find by my +own experience, a few implements, a knife, an axe, a spade, a +wheelbarrow, &c., and for the studious, lamplight, stationery, and +access to a few books, rank next to necessaries, and can all be +obtained at a trifling cost. Yet some, not wise, go to the other side +of the globe, to barbarous and unhealthy regions, and devote themselves +to trade for ten or twenty years, in order that they may live,—that is, +keep comfortably warm,—and die in New England at last. The luxuriously +rich are not simply kept comfortably warm, but unnaturally hot; as I +implied before, they are cooked, of course _à la mode_. + +Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are +not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of +mankind. With respect to luxuries and comforts, the wisest have ever +lived a more simple and meagre life than the poor. The ancient +philosophers, Chinese, Hindoo, Persian, and Greek, were a class than +which none has been poorer in outward riches, none so rich in inward. +We know not much about them. It is remarkable that _we_ know so much of +them as we do. The same is true of the more modern reformers and +benefactors of their race. None can be an impartial or wise observer of +human life but from the vantage ground of what we should call voluntary +poverty. Of a life of luxury the fruit is luxury, whether in +agriculture, or commerce, or literature, or art. There are nowadays +professors of philosophy, but not philosophers. Yet it is admirable to +profess because it was once admirable to live. To be a philosopher is +not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so +to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of +simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust. It is to solve some +of the problems of life, not only theoretically, but practically. The +success of great scholars and thinkers is commonly a courtier-like +success, not kingly, not manly. They make shift to live merely by +conformity, practically as their fathers did, and are in no sense the +progenitors of a nobler race of men. But why do men degenerate ever? +What makes families run out? What is the nature of the luxury which +enervates and destroys nations? Are we sure that there is none of it in +our own lives? The philosopher is in advance of his age even in the +outward form of his life. He is not fed, sheltered, clothed, warmed, +like his contemporaries. How can a man be a philosopher and not +maintain his vital heat by better methods than other men? + +When a man is warmed by the several modes which I have described, what +does he want next? Surely not more warmth of the same kind, as more and +richer food, larger and more splendid houses, finer and more abundant +clothing, more numerous incessant and hotter fires, and the like. When +he has obtained those things which are necessary to life, there is +another alternative than to obtain the superfluities; and that is, to +adventure on life now, his vacation from humbler toil having commenced. +The soil, it appears, is suited to the seed, for it has sent its +radicle downward, and it may now send its shoot upward also with +confidence. Why has man rooted himself thus firmly in the earth, but +that he may rise in the same proportion into the heavens above?—for the +nobler plants are valued for the fruit they bear at last in the air and +light, far from the ground, and are not treated like the humbler +esculents, which, though they may be biennials, are cultivated only +till they have perfected their root, and often cut down at top for this +purpose, so that most would not know them in their flowering season. + +I do not mean to prescribe rules to strong and valiant natures, who +will mind their own affairs whether in heaven or hell, and perchance +build more magnificently and spend more lavishly than the richest, +without ever impoverishing themselves, not knowing how they live,—if, +indeed, there are any such, as has been dreamed; nor to those who find +their encouragement and inspiration in precisely the present condition +of things, and cherish it with the fondness and enthusiasm of +lovers,—and, to some extent, I reckon myself in this number; I do not +speak to those who are well employed, in whatever circumstances, and +they know whether they are well employed or not;—but mainly to the mass +of men who are discontented, and idly complaining of the hardness of +their lot or of the times, when they might improve them. There are some +who complain most energetically and inconsolably of any, because they +are, as they say, doing their duty. I also have in my mind that +seemingly wealthy, but most terribly impoverished class of all, who +have accumulated dross, but know not how to use it, or get rid of it, +and thus have forged their own golden or silver fetters. + + + +If I should attempt to tell how I have desired to spend my life in +years past, it would probably surprise those of my readers who are +somewhat acquainted with its actual history; it would certainly +astonish those who know nothing about it. I will only hint at some of +the enterprises which I have cherished. + +In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to +improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the +meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the +present moment; to toe that line. You will pardon some obscurities, for +there are more secrets in my trade than in most men’s, and yet not +voluntarily kept, but inseparable from its very nature. I would gladly +tell all that I know about it, and never paint “No Admittance” on my +gate. + +I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse, and a turtle-dove, and am still +on their trail. Many are the travellers I have spoken concerning them, +describing their tracks and what calls they answered to. I have met one +or two who had heard the hound, and the tramp of the horse, and even +seen the dove disappear behind a cloud, and they seemed as anxious to +recover them as if they had lost them themselves. + +To anticipate, not the sunrise and the dawn merely, but, if possible, +Nature herself! How many mornings, summer and winter, before yet any +neighbor was stirring about his business, have I been about mine! No +doubt, many of my townsmen have met me returning from this enterprise, +farmers starting for Boston in the twilight, or woodchoppers going to +their work. It is true, I never assisted the sun materially in his +rising, but, doubt not, it was of the last importance only to be +present at it. + +So many autumn, ay, and winter days, spent outside the town, trying to +hear what was in the wind, to hear and carry it express! I well-nigh +sunk all my capital in it, and lost my own breath into the bargain, +running in the face of it. If it had concerned either of the political +parties, depend upon it, it would have appeared in the Gazette with the +earliest intelligence. At other times watching from the observatory of +some cliff or tree, to telegraph any new arrival; or waiting at evening +on the hill-tops for the sky to fall, that I might catch something, +though I never caught much, and that, manna-wise, would dissolve again +in the sun. + +For a long time I was reporter to a journal, of no very wide +circulation, whose editor has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of +my contributions, and, as is too common with writers, I got only my +labor for my pains. However, in this case my pains were their own +reward. + +For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow storms and rain +storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then +of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, and +ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had +testified to their utility. + +I have looked after the wild stock of the town, which give a faithful +herdsman a good deal of trouble by leaping fences; and I have had an +eye to the unfrequented nooks and corners of the farm; though I did not +always know whether Jonas or Solomon worked in a particular field +to-day; that was none of my business. I have watered the red +huckleberry, the sand cherry and the nettle tree, the red pine and the +black ash, the white grape and the yellow violet, which might have +withered else in dry seasons. + +In short, I went on thus for a long time, I may say it without +boasting, faithfully minding my business, till it became more and more +evident that my townsmen would not after all admit me into the list of +town officers, nor make my place a sinecure with a moderate allowance. +My accounts, which I can swear to have kept faithfully, I have, indeed, +never got audited, still less accepted, still less paid and settled. +However, I have not set my heart on that. + +Not long since, a strolling Indian went to sell baskets at the house of +a well-known lawyer in my neighborhood. “Do you wish to buy any +baskets?” he asked. “No, we do not want any,” was the reply. “What!” +exclaimed the Indian as he went out the gate, “do you mean to starve +us?” Having seen his industrious white neighbors so well off,—that the +lawyer had only to weave arguments, and by some magic, wealth and +standing followed, he had said to himself; I will go into business; I +will weave baskets; it is a thing which I can do. Thinking that when he +had made the baskets he would have done his part, and then it would be +the white man’s to buy them. He had not discovered that it was +necessary for him to make it worth the other’s while to buy them, or at +least make him think that it was so, or to make something else which it +would be worth his while to buy. I too had woven a kind of basket of a +delicate texture, but I had not made it worth any one’s while to buy +them. Yet not the less, in my case, did I think it worth my while to +weave them, and instead of studying how to make it worth men’s while to +buy my baskets, I studied rather how to avoid the necessity of selling +them. The life which men praise and regard as successful is but one +kind. Why should we exaggerate any one kind at the expense of the +others? + +Finding that my fellow-citizens were not likely to offer me any room in +the court house, or any curacy or living any where else, but I must +shift for myself, I turned my face more exclusively than ever to the +woods, where I was better known. I determined to go into business at +once, and not wait to acquire the usual capital, using such slender +means as I had already got. My purpose in going to Walden Pond was not +to live cheaply nor to live dearly there, but to transact some private +business with the fewest obstacles; to be hindered from accomplishing +which for want of a little common sense, a little enterprise and +business talent, appeared not so sad as foolish. + +I have always endeavored to acquire strict business habits; they are +indispensable to every man. If your trade is with the Celestial Empire, +then some small counting house on the coast, in some Salem harbor, will +be fixture enough. You will export such articles as the country +affords, purely native products, much ice and pine timber and a little +granite, always in native bottoms. These will be good ventures. To +oversee all the details yourself in person; to be at once pilot and +captain, and owner and underwriter; to buy and sell and keep the +accounts; to read every letter received, and write or read every letter +sent; to superintend the discharge of imports night and day; to be upon +many parts of the coast almost at the same time;—often the richest +freight will be discharged upon a Jersey shore;—to be your own +telegraph, unweariedly sweeping the horizon, speaking all passing +vessels bound coastwise; to keep up a steady despatch of commodities, +for the supply of such a distant and exorbitant market; to keep +yourself informed of the state of the markets, prospects of war and +peace every where, and anticipate the tendencies of trade and +civilization,—taking advantage of the results of all exploring +expeditions, using new passages and all improvements in +navigation;—charts to be studied, the position of reefs and new lights +and buoys to be ascertained, and ever, and ever, the logarithmic tables +to be corrected, for by the error of some calculator the vessel often +splits upon a rock that should have reached a friendly pier,—there is +the untold fate of La Perouse;—universal science to be kept pace with, +studying the lives of all great discoverers and navigators, great +adventurers and merchants, from Hanno and the Phœnicians down to our +day; in fine, account of stock to be taken from time to time, to know +how you stand. It is a labor to task the faculties of a man,—such +problems of profit and loss, of interest, of tare and tret, and gauging +of all kinds in it, as demand a universal knowledge. + +I have thought that Walden Pond would be a good place for business, not +solely on account of the railroad and the ice trade; it offers +advantages which it may not be good policy to divulge; it is a good +port and a good foundation. No Neva marshes to be filled; though you +must every where build on piles of your own driving. It is said that a +flood-tide, with a westerly wind, and ice in the Neva, would sweep St. +Petersburg from the face of the earth. + + + +As this business was to be entered into without the usual capital, it +may not be easy to conjecture where those means, that will still be +indispensable to every such undertaking, were to be obtained. As for +Clothing, to come at once to the practical part of the question, +perhaps we are led oftener by the love of novelty, and a regard for the +opinions of men, in procuring it, than by a true utility. Let him who +has work to do recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to +retain the vital heat, and secondly, in this state of society, to cover +nakedness, and he may judge how much of any necessary or important work +may be accomplished without adding to his wardrobe. Kings and queens +who wear a suit but once, though made by some tailor or dressmaker to +their majesties, cannot know the comfort of wearing a suit that fits. +They are no better than wooden horses to hang the clean clothes on. +Every day our garments become more assimilated to ourselves, receiving +the impress of the wearer’s character, until we hesitate to lay them +aside, without such delay and medical appliances and some such +solemnity even as our bodies. No man ever stood the lower in my +estimation for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure that there +is greater anxiety, commonly, to have fashionable, or at least clean +and unpatched clothes, than to have a sound conscience. But even if the +rent is not mended, perhaps the worst vice betrayed is improvidence. I +sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as this;—who could wear a +patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee? Most behave as if they +believed that their prospects for life would be ruined if they should +do it. It would be easier for them to hobble to town with a broken leg +than with a broken pantaloon. Often if an accident happens to a +gentleman’s legs, they can be mended; but if a similar accident happens +to the legs of his pantaloons, there is no help for it; for he +considers, not what is truly respectable, but what is respected. We +know but few men, a great many coats and breeches. Dress a scarecrow in +your last shift, you standing shiftless by, who would not soonest +salute the scarecrow? Passing a cornfield the other day, close by a hat +and coat on a stake, I recognized the owner of the farm. He was only a +little more weather-beaten than when I saw him last. I have heard of a +dog that barked at every stranger who approached his master’s premises +with clothes on, but was easily quieted by a naked thief. It is an +interesting question how far men would retain their relative rank if +they were divested of their clothes. Could you, in such a case, tell +surely of any company of civilized men, which belonged to the most +respected class? When Madam Pfeiffer, in her adventurous travels round +the world, from east to west, had got so near home as Asiatic Russia, +she says that she felt the necessity of wearing other than a travelling +dress, when she went to meet the authorities, for she “was now in a +civilized country, where —— — people are judged of by their clothes.” +Even in our democratic New England towns the accidental possession of +wealth, and its manifestation in dress and equipage alone, obtain for +the possessor almost universal respect. But they yield such respect, +numerous as they are, are so far heathen, and need to have a missionary +sent to them. Beside, clothes introduced sewing, a kind of work which +you may call endless; a woman’s dress, at least, is never done. + +A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a +new suit to do it in; for him the old will do, that has lain dusty in +the garret for an indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero +longer than they have served his valet,—if a hero ever has a +valet,—bare feet are older than shoes, and he can make them do. Only +they who go to soirées and legislative halls must have new coats, coats +to change as often as the man changes in them. But if my jacket and +trousers, my hat and shoes, are fit to worship God in, they will do; +will they not? Who ever saw his old clothes,—his old coat, actually +worn out, resolved into its primitive elements, so that it was not a +deed of charity to bestow it on some poor boy, by him perchance to be +bestowed on some poorer still, or shall we say richer, who could do +with less? I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, +and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how +can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise before +you, try it in your old clothes. All men want, not something to _do +with_, but something to _do_, or rather something to _be_. Perhaps we +should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old, until +we have so conducted, so enterprised or sailed in some way, that we +feel like new men in the old, and that to retain it would be like +keeping new wine in old bottles. Our moulting season, like that of the +fowls, must be a crisis in our lives. The loon retires to solitary +ponds to spend it. Thus also the snake casts its slough, and the +caterpillar its wormy coat, by an internal industry and expansion; for +clothes are but our outmost cuticle and mortal coil. Otherwise we shall +be found sailing under false colors, and be inevitably cashiered at +last by our own opinion, as well as that of mankind. + +We don garment after garment, as if we grew like exogenous plants by +addition without. Our outside and often thin and fanciful clothes are +our epidermis, or false skin, which partakes not of our life, and may +be stripped off here and there without fatal injury; our thicker +garments, constantly worn, are our cellular integument, or cortex; but +our shirts are our liber or true bark, which cannot be removed without +girdling and so destroying the man. I believe that all races at some +seasons wear something equivalent to the shirt. It is desirable that a +man be clad so simply that he can lay his hands on himself in the dark, +and that he live in all respects so compactly and preparedly, that, if +an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the +gate empty-handed without anxiety. While one thick garment is, for most +purposes, as good as three thin ones, and cheap clothing can be +obtained at prices really to suit customers; while a thick coat can be +bought for five dollars, which will last as many years, thick +pantaloons for two dollars, cowhide boots for a dollar and a half a +pair, a summer hat for a quarter of a dollar, and a winter cap for +sixty-two and a half cents, or a better be made at home at a nominal +cost, where is he so poor that, clad in such a suit, of _his own +earning_, there will not be found wise men to do him reverence? + +When I ask for a garment of a particular form, my tailoress tells me +gravely, “They do not make them so now,” not emphasizing the “They” at +all, as if she quoted an authority as impersonal as the Fates, and I +find it difficult to get made what I want, simply because she cannot +believe that I mean what I say, that I am so rash. When I hear this +oracular sentence, I am for a moment absorbed in thought, emphasizing +to myself each word separately that I may come at the meaning of it, +that I may find out by what degree of consanguinity _They_ are related +to _me_, and what authority they may have in an affair which affects me +so nearly; and, finally, I am inclined to answer her with equal +mystery, and without any more emphasis of the “they,”—“It is true, they +did not make them so recently, but they do now.” Of what use this +measuring of me if she does not measure my character, but only the +breadth of my shoulders, as it were a peg to hang the coat on? We +worship not the Graces, nor the Parcæ, but Fashion. She spins and +weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a +traveller’s cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same. I +sometimes despair of getting anything quite simple and honest done in +this world by the help of men. They would have to be passed through a +powerful press first, to squeeze their old notions out of them, so that +they would not soon get upon their legs again, and then there would be +some one in the company with a maggot in his head, hatched from an egg +deposited there nobody knows when, for not even fire kills these +things, and you would have lost your labor. Nevertheless, we will not +forget that some Egyptian wheat was handed down to us by a mummy. + +On the whole, I think that it cannot be maintained that dressing has in +this or any country risen to the dignity of an art. At present men make +shift to wear what they can get. Like shipwrecked sailors, they put on +what they can find on the beach, and at a little distance, whether of +space or time, laugh at each other’s masquerade. Every generation +laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new. We are +amused at beholding the costume of Henry VIII., or Queen Elizabeth, as +much as if it was that of the King and Queen of the Cannibal Islands. +All costume off a man is pitiful or grotesque. It is only the serious +eye peering from and the sincere life passed within it, which restrain +laughter and consecrate the costume of any people. Let Harlequin be +taken with a fit of the colic and his trappings will have to serve that +mood too. When the soldier is hit by a cannon ball rags are as becoming +as purple. + +The childish and savage taste of men and women for new patterns keeps +how many shaking and squinting through kaleidoscopes that they may +discover the particular figure which this generation requires today. +The manufacturers have learned that this taste is merely whimsical. Of +two patterns which differ only by a few threads more or less of a +particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the +shelf, though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season +the latter becomes the most fashionable. Comparatively, tattooing is +not the hideous custom which it is called. It is not barbarous merely +because the printing is skin-deep and unalterable. + +I cannot believe that our factory system is the best mode by which men +may get clothing. The condition of the operatives is becoming every day +more like that of the English; and it cannot be wondered at, since, as +far as I have heard or observed, the principal object is, not that +mankind may be well and honestly clad, but, unquestionably, that +corporations may be enriched. In the long run men hit only what they +aim at. Therefore, though they should fail immediately, they had better +aim at something high. + + + +As for a Shelter, I will not deny that this is now a necessary of life, +though there are instances of men having done without it for long +periods in colder countries than this. Samuel Laing says that “the +Laplander in his skin dress, and in a skin bag which he puts over his +head and shoulders, will sleep night after night on the snow—in a +degree of cold which would extinguish the life of one exposed to it in +any woollen clothing.” He had seen them asleep thus. Yet he adds, “They +are not hardier than other people.” But, probably, man did not live +long on the earth without discovering the convenience which there is in +a house, the domestic comforts, which phrase may have originally +signified the satisfactions of the house more than of the family; +though these must be extremely partial and occasional in those climates +where the house is associated in our thoughts with winter or the rainy +season chiefly, and two thirds of the year, except for a parasol, is +unnecessary. In our climate, in the summer, it was formerly almost +solely a covering at night. In the Indian gazettes a wigwam was the +symbol of a day’s march, and a row of them cut or painted on the bark +of a tree signified that so many times they had camped. Man was not +made so large limbed and robust but that he must seek to narrow his +world, and wall in a space such as fitted him. He was at first bare and +out of doors; but though this was pleasant enough in serene and warm +weather, by daylight, the rainy season and the winter, to say nothing +of the torrid sun, would perhaps have nipped his race in the bud if he +had not made haste to clothe himself with the shelter of a house. Adam +and Eve, according to the fable, wore the bower before other clothes. +Man wanted a home, a place of warmth, or comfort, first of physical +warmth, then the warmth of the affections. + +We may imagine a time when, in the infancy of the human race, some +enterprising mortal crept into a hollow in a rock for shelter. Every +child begins the world again, to some extent, and loves to stay out +doors, even in wet and cold. It plays house, as well as horse, having +an instinct for it. Who does not remember the interest with which when +young he looked at shelving rocks, or any approach to a cave? It was +the natural yearning of that portion of our most primitive ancestor +which still survived in us. From the cave we have advanced to roofs of +palm leaves, of bark and boughs, of linen woven and stretched, of grass +and straw, of boards and shingles, of stones and tiles. At last, we +know not what it is to live in the open air, and our lives are domestic +in more senses than we think. From the hearth to the field is a great +distance. It would be well perhaps if we were to spend more of our days +and nights without any obstruction between us and the celestial bodies, +if the poet did not speak so much from under a roof, or the saint dwell +there so long. Birds do not sing in caves, nor do doves cherish their +innocence in dovecots. + +However, if one designs to construct a dwelling house, it behooves him +to exercise a little Yankee shrewdness, lest after all he find himself +in a workhouse, a labyrinth without a clue, a museum, an almshouse, a +prison, or a splendid mausoleum instead. Consider first how slight a +shelter is absolutely necessary. I have seen Penobscot Indians, in this +town, living in tents of thin cotton cloth, while the snow was nearly a +foot deep around them, and I thought that they would be glad to have it +deeper to keep out the wind. Formerly, when how to get my living +honestly, with freedom left for my proper pursuits, was a question +which vexed me even more than it does now, for unfortunately I am +become somewhat callous, I used to see a large box by the railroad, six +feet long by three wide, in which the laborers locked up their tools at +night, and it suggested to me that every man who was hard pushed might +get such a one for a dollar, and, having bored a few auger holes in it, +to admit the air at least, get into it when it rained and at night, and +hook down the lid, and so have freedom in his love, and in his soul be +free. This did not appear the worst, nor by any means a despicable +alternative. You could sit up as late as you pleased, and, whenever you +got up, go abroad without any landlord or house-lord dogging you for +rent. Many a man is harassed to death to pay the rent of a larger and +more luxurious box who would not have frozen to death in such a box as +this. I am far from jesting. Economy is a subject which admits of being +treated with levity, but it cannot so be disposed of. A comfortable +house for a rude and hardy race, that lived mostly out of doors, was +once made here almost entirely of such materials as Nature furnished +ready to their hands. Gookin, who was superintendent of the Indians +subject to the Massachusetts Colony, writing in 1674, says, “The best +of their houses are covered very neatly, tight and warm, with barks of +trees, slipped from their bodies at those seasons when the sap is up, +and made into great flakes, with pressure of weighty timber, when they +are green.... The meaner sort are covered with mats which they make of +a kind of bulrush, and are also indifferently tight and warm, but not +so good as the former.... Some I have seen, sixty or a hundred feet +long and thirty feet broad.... I have often lodged in their wigwams, +and found them as warm as the best English houses.” He adds, that they +were commonly carpeted and lined within with well-wrought embroidered +mats, and were furnished with various utensils. The Indians had +advanced so far as to regulate the effect of the wind by a mat +suspended over the hole in the roof and moved by a string. Such a lodge +was in the first instance constructed in a day or two at most, and +taken down and put up in a few hours; and every family owned one, or +its apartment in one. + +In the savage state every family owns a shelter as good as the best, +and sufficient for its coarser and simpler wants; but I think that I +speak within bounds when I say that, though the birds of the air have +their nests, and the foxes their holes, and the savages their wigwams, +in modern civilized society not more than one half the families own a +shelter. In the large towns and cities, where civilization especially +prevails, the number of those who own a shelter is a very small +fraction of the whole. The rest pay an annual tax for this outside +garment of all, become indispensable summer and winter, which would buy +a village of Indian wigwams, but now helps to keep them poor as long as +they live. I do not mean to insist here on the disadvantage of hiring +compared with owning, but it is evident that the savage owns his +shelter because it costs so little, while the civilized man hires his +commonly because he cannot afford to own it; nor can he, in the long +run, any better afford to hire. But, answers one, by merely paying this +tax the poor civilized man secures an abode which is a palace compared +with the savage’s. An annual rent of from twenty-five to a hundred +dollars, these are the country rates, entitles him to the benefit of +the improvements of centuries, spacious apartments, clean paint and +paper, Rumford fireplace, back plastering, Venetian blinds, copper +pump, spring lock, a commodious cellar, and many other things. But how +happens it that he who is said to enjoy these things is so commonly a +_poor_ civilized man, while the savage, who has them not, is rich as a +savage? If it is asserted that civilization is a real advance in the +condition of man,—and I think that it is, though only the wise improve +their advantages,—it must be shown that it has produced better +dwellings without making them more costly; and the cost of a thing is +the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged +for it, immediately or in the long run. An average house in this +neighborhood costs perhaps eight hundred dollars, and to lay up this +sum will take from ten to fifteen years of the laborer’s life, even if +he is not encumbered with a family;—estimating the pecuniary value of +every man’s labor at one dollar a day, for if some receive more, others +receive less;—so that he must have spent more than half his life +commonly before _his_ wigwam will be earned. If we suppose him to pay a +rent instead, this is but a doubtful choice of evils. Would the savage +have been wise to exchange his wigwam for a palace on these terms? + +It may be guessed that I reduce almost the whole advantage of holding +this superfluous property as a fund in store against the future, so far +as the individual is concerned, mainly to the defraying of funeral +expenses. But perhaps a man is not required to bury himself. +Nevertheless this points to an important distinction between the +civilized man and the savage; and, no doubt, they have designs on us +for our benefit, in making the life of a civilized people an +_institution_, in which the life of the individual is to a great extent +absorbed, in order to preserve and perfect that of the race. But I wish +to show at what a sacrifice this advantage is at present obtained, and +to suggest that we may possibly so live as to secure all the advantage +without suffering any of the disadvantage. What mean ye by saying that +the poor ye have always with you, or that the fathers have eaten sour +grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge? + +“As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion any more to +use this proverb in Israel.” + +“Behold all souls are mine; as the soul of the father, so also the soul +of the son is mine: the soul that sinneth, it shall die.” + +When I consider my neighbors, the farmers of Concord, who are at least +as well off as the other classes, I find that for the most part they +have been toiling twenty, thirty, or forty years, that they may become +the real owners of their farms, which commonly they have inherited with +encumbrances, or else bought with hired money,—and we may regard one +third of that toil as the cost of their houses,—but commonly they have +not paid for them yet. It is true, the encumbrances sometimes outweigh +the value of the farm, so that the farm itself becomes one great +encumbrance, and still a man is found to inherit it, being well +acquainted with it, as he says. On applying to the assessors, I am +surprised to learn that they cannot at once name a dozen in the town +who own their farms free and clear. If you would know the history of +these homesteads, inquire at the bank where they are mortgaged. The man +who has actually paid for his farm with labor on it is so rare that +every neighbor can point to him. I doubt if there are three such men in +Concord. What has been said of the merchants, that a very large +majority, even ninety-seven in a hundred, are sure to fail, is equally +true of the farmers. With regard to the merchants, however, one of them +says pertinently that a great part of their failures are not genuine +pecuniary failures, but merely failures to fulfil their engagements, +because it is inconvenient; that is, it is the moral character that +breaks down. But this puts an infinitely worse face on the matter, and +suggests, beside, that probably not even the other three succeed in +saving their souls, but are perchance bankrupt in a worse sense than +they who fail honestly. Bankruptcy and repudiation are the springboards +from which much of our civilization vaults and turns its somersets, but +the savage stands on the unelastic plank of famine. Yet the Middlesex +Cattle Show goes off here with _éclat_ annually, as if all the joints +of the agricultural machine were suent. + +The farmer is endeavoring to solve the problem of a livelihood by a +formula more complicated than the problem itself. To get his +shoestrings he speculates in herds of cattle. With consummate skill he +has set his trap with a hair spring to catch comfort and independence, +and then, as he turned away, got his own leg into it. This is the +reason he is poor; and for a similar reason we are all poor in respect +to a thousand savage comforts, though surrounded by luxuries. As +Chapman sings,— + + “The false society of men— + —for earthly greatness + All heavenly comforts rarefies to air.” + +And when the farmer has got his house, he may not be the richer but the +poorer for it, and it be the house that has got him. As I understand +it, that was a valid objection urged by Momus against the house which +Minerva made, that she “had not made it movable, by which means a bad +neighborhood might be avoided;” and it may still be urged, for our +houses are such unwieldy property that we are often imprisoned rather +than housed in them; and the bad neighborhood to be avoided is our own +scurvy selves. I know one or two families, at least, in this town, who, +for nearly a generation, have been wishing to sell their houses in the +outskirts and move into the village, but have not been able to +accomplish it, and only death will set them free. + +Granted that the _majority_ are able at last either to own or hire the +modern house with all its improvements. While civilization has been +improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to +inhabit them. It has created palaces, but it was not so easy to create +noblemen and kings. And _if the civilized man’s pursuits are no +worthier than the savage’s, if he is employed the greater part of his +life in obtaining gross necessaries and comforts merely, why should he +have a better dwelling than the former?_ + +But how do the poor minority fare? Perhaps it will be found, that just +in proportion as some have been placed in outward circumstances above +the savage, others have been degraded below him. The luxury of one +class is counterbalanced by the indigence of another. On the one side +is the palace, on the other are the almshouse and “silent poor.” The +myriads who built the pyramids to be the tombs of the Pharaohs were fed +on garlic, and it may be were not decently buried themselves. The mason +who finishes the cornice of the palace returns at night perchance to a +hut not so good as a wigwam. It is a mistake to suppose that, in a +country where the usual evidences of civilization exist, the condition +of a very large body of the inhabitants may not be as degraded as that +of savages. I refer to the degraded poor, not now to the degraded rich. +To know this I should not need to look farther than to the shanties +which every where border our railroads, that last improvement in +civilization; where I see in my daily walks human beings living in +sties, and all winter with an open door, for the sake of light, without +any visible, often imaginable, wood pile, and the forms of both old and +young are permanently contracted by the long habit of shrinking from +cold and misery, and the development of all their limbs and faculties +is checked. It certainly is fair to look at that class by whose labor +the works which distinguish this generation are accomplished. Such too, +to a greater or less extent, is the condition of the operatives of +every denomination in England, which is the great workhouse of the +world. Or I could refer you to Ireland, which is marked as one of the +white or enlightened spots on the map. Contrast the physical condition +of the Irish with that of the North American Indian, or the South Sea +Islander, or any other savage race before it was degraded by contact +with the civilized man. Yet I have no doubt that that people’s rulers +are as wise as the average of civilized rulers. Their condition only +proves what squalidness may consist with civilization. I hardly need +refer now to the laborers in our Southern States who produce the staple +exports of this country, and are themselves a staple production of the +South. But to confine myself to those who are said to be in _moderate_ +circumstances. + +Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are +actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think that +they must have such a one as their neighbors have. As if one were to +wear any sort of coat which the tailor might cut out for him, or, +gradually leaving off palmleaf hat or cap of woodchuck skin, complain +of hard times because he could not afford to buy him a crown! It is +possible to invent a house still more convenient and luxurious than we +have, which yet all would admit that man could not afford to pay for. +Shall we always study to obtain more of these things, and not sometimes +to be content with less? Shall the respectable citizen thus gravely +teach, by precept and example, the necessity of the young man’s +providing a certain number of superfluous glow-shoes, and umbrellas, +and empty guest chambers for empty guests, before he dies? Why should +not our furniture be as simple as the Arab’s or the Indian’s? When I +think of the benefactors of the race, whom we have apotheosized as +messengers from heaven, bearers of divine gifts to man, I do not see in +my mind any retinue at their heels, any car-load of fashionable +furniture. Or what if I were to allow—would it not be a singular +allowance?—that our furniture should be more complex than the Arab’s, +in proportion as we are morally and intellectually his superiors! At +present our houses are cluttered and defiled with it, and a good +housewife would sweep out the greater part into the dust hole, and not +leave her morning’s work undone. Morning work! By the blushes of Aurora +and the music of Memnon, what should be man’s _morning work_ in this +world? I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified +to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my +mind was all undusted still, and I threw them out the window in +disgust. How, then, could I have a furnished house? I would rather sit +in the open air, for no dust gathers on the grass, unless where man has +broken ground. + +It is the luxurious and dissipated who set the fashions which the herd +so diligently follow. The traveller who stops at the best houses, so +called, soon discovers this, for the publicans presume him to be a +Sardanapalus, and if he resigned himself to their tender mercies he +would soon be completely emasculated. I think that in the railroad car +we are inclined to spend more on luxury than on safety and convenience, +and it threatens without attaining these to become no better than a +modern drawing room, with its divans, and ottomans, and sun-shades, and +a hundred other oriental things, which we are taking west with us, +invented for the ladies of the harem and the effeminate natives of the +Celestial Empire, which Jonathan should be ashamed to know the names +of. I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be +crowded on a velvet cushion. I would rather ride on earth in an ox cart +with a free circulation, than go to heaven in the fancy car of an +excursion train and breathe a _malaria_ all the way. + +The very simplicity and nakedness of man’s life in the primitive ages +imply this advantage at least, that they left him still but a sojourner +in nature. When he was refreshed with food and sleep he contemplated +his journey again. He dwelt, as it were, in a tent in this world, and +was either threading the valleys, or crossing the plains, or climbing +the mountain tops. But lo! men have become the tools of their tools. +The man who independently plucked the fruits when he was hungry is +become a farmer; and he who stood under a tree for shelter, a +housekeeper. We now no longer camp as for a night, but have settled +down on earth and forgotten heaven. We have adopted Christianity merely +as an improved method of _agri_-culture. We have built for this world a +family mansion, and for the next a family tomb. The best works of art +are the expression of man’s struggle to free himself from this +condition, but the effect of our art is merely to make this low state +comfortable and that higher state to be forgotten. There is actually no +place in this village for a work of _fine_ art, if any had come down to +us, to stand, for our lives, our houses and streets, furnish no proper +pedestal for it. There is not a nail to hang a picture on, nor a shelf +to receive the bust of a hero or a saint. When I consider how our +houses are built and paid for, or not paid for, and their internal +economy managed and sustained, I wonder that the floor does not give +way under the visitor while he is admiring the gewgaws upon the +mantel-piece, and let him through into the cellar, to some solid and +honest though earthy foundation. I cannot but perceive that this so +called rich and refined life is a thing jumped at, and I do not get on +in the enjoyment of the _fine_ arts which adorn it, my attention being +wholly occupied with the jump; for I remember that the greatest genuine +leap, due to human muscles alone, on record, is that of certain +wandering Arabs, who are said to have cleared twenty-five feet on level +ground. Without factitious support, man is sure to come to earth again +beyond that distance. The first question which I am tempted to put to +the proprietor of such great impropriety is, Who bolsters you? Are you +one of the ninety-seven who fail, or of the three who succeed? Answer +me these questions, and then perhaps I may look at your bawbles and +find them ornamental. The cart before the horse is neither beautiful +nor useful. Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects the +walls must be stripped, and our lives must be stripped, and beautiful +housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation: now, a +taste for the beautiful is most cultivated out of doors, where there is +no house and no housekeeper. + +Old Johnson, in his “Wonder-Working Providence,” speaking of the first +settlers of this town, with whom he was contemporary, tells us that +“they burrow themselves in the earth for their first shelter under some +hillside, and, casting the soil aloft upon timber, they make a smoky +fire against the earth, at the highest side.” They did not “provide +them houses,” says he, “till the earth, by the Lord’s blessing, brought +forth bread to feed them,” and the first year’s crop was so light that +“they were forced to cut their bread very thin for a long season.” The +secretary of the Province of New Netherland, writing in Dutch, in 1650, +for the information of those who wished to take up land there, states +more particularly that “those in New Netherland, and especially in New +England, who have no means to build farmhouses at first according to +their wishes, dig a square pit in the ground, cellar fashion, six or +seven feet deep, as long and as broad as they think proper, case the +earth inside with wood all round the wall, and line the wood with the +bark of trees or something else to prevent the caving in of the earth; +floor this cellar with plank, and wainscot it overhead for a ceiling, +raise a roof of spars clear up, and cover the spars with bark or green +sods, so that they can live dry and warm in these houses with their +entire families for two, three, and four years, it being understood +that partitions are run through those cellars which are adapted to the +size of the family. The wealthy and principal men in New England, in +the beginning of the colonies, commenced their first dwelling houses in +this fashion for two reasons; firstly, in order not to waste time in +building, and not to want food the next season; secondly, in order not +to discourage poor laboring people whom they brought over in numbers +from Fatherland. In the course of three or four years, when the country +became adapted to agriculture, they built themselves handsome houses, +spending on them several thousands.” + +In this course which our ancestors took there was a show of prudence at +least, as if their principle were to satisfy the more pressing wants +first. But are the more pressing wants satisfied now? When I think of +acquiring for myself one of our luxurious dwellings, I am deterred, +for, so to speak, the country is not yet adapted to _human_ culture, +and we are still forced to cut our _spiritual_ bread far thinner than +our forefathers did their wheaten. Not that all architectural ornament +is to be neglected even in the rudest periods; but let our houses first +be lined with beauty, where they come in contact with our lives, like +the tenement of the shellfish, and not overlaid with it. But, alas! I +have been inside one or two of them, and know what they are lined with. + +Though we are not so degenerate but that we might possibly live in a +cave or a wigwam or wear skins today, it certainly is better to accept +the advantages, though so dearly bought, which the invention and +industry of mankind offer. In such a neighborhood as this, boards and +shingles, lime and bricks, are cheaper and more easily obtained than +suitable caves, or whole logs, or bark in sufficient quantities, or +even well-tempered clay or flat stones. I speak understandingly on this +subject, for I have made myself acquainted with it both theoretically +and practically. With a little more wit we might use these materials so +as to become richer than the richest now are, and make our civilization +a blessing. The civilized man is a more experienced and wiser savage. +But to make haste to my own experiment. + + + +Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went down to the +woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my house, +and began to cut down some tall, arrowy white pines, still in their +youth, for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but +perhaps it is the most generous course thus to permit your fellow-men +to have an interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe, as he +released his hold on it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I +returned it sharper than I received it. It was a pleasant hillside +where I worked, covered with pine woods, through which I looked out on +the pond, and a small open field in the woods where pines and hickories +were springing up. The ice in the pond was not yet dissolved, though +there were some open spaces, and it was all dark colored and saturated +with water. There were some slight flurries of snow during the days +that I worked there; but for the most part when I came out on to the +railroad, on my way home, its yellow sand heap stretched away gleaming +in the hazy atmosphere, and the rails shone in the spring sun, and I +heard the lark and pewee and other birds already come to commence +another year with us. They were pleasant spring days, in which the +winter of man’s discontent was thawing as well as the earth, and the +life that had lain torpid began to stretch itself. One day, when my axe +had come off and I had cut a green hickory for a wedge, driving it with +a stone, and had placed the whole to soak in a pond hole in order to +swell the wood, I saw a striped snake run into the water, and he lay on +the bottom, apparently without inconvenience, as long as I stayed +there, or more than a quarter of an hour; perhaps because he had not +yet fairly come out of the torpid state. It appeared to me that for a +like reason men remain in their present low and primitive condition; +but if they should feel the influence of the spring of springs arousing +them, they would of necessity rise to a higher and more ethereal life. +I had previously seen the snakes in frosty mornings in my path with +portions of their bodies still numb and inflexible, waiting for the sun +to thaw them. On the 1st of April it rained and melted the ice, and in +the early part of the day, which was very foggy, I heard a stray goose +groping about over the pond and cackling as if lost, or like the spirit +of the fog. + +So I went on for some days cutting and hewing timber, and also studs +and rafters, all with my narrow axe, not having many communicable or +scholar-like thoughts, singing to myself,— + + Men say they know many things; + But lo! they have taken wings,— + The arts and sciences, + And a thousand appliances; + The wind that blows + Is all that any body knows. + +I hewed the main timbers six inches square, most of the studs on two +sides only, and the rafters and floor timbers on one side, leaving the +rest of the bark on, so that they were just as straight and much +stronger than sawed ones. Each stick was carefully mortised or tenoned +by its stump, for I had borrowed other tools by this time. My days in +the woods were not very long ones; yet I usually carried my dinner of +bread and butter, and read the newspaper in which it was wrapped, at +noon, sitting amid the green pine boughs which I had cut off, and to my +bread was imparted some of their fragrance, for my hands were covered +with a thick coat of pitch. Before I had done I was more the friend +than the foe of the pine tree, though I had cut down some of them, +having become better acquainted with it. Sometimes a rambler in the +wood was attracted by the sound of my axe, and we chatted pleasantly +over the chips which I had made. + +By the middle of April, for I made no haste in my work, but rather made +the most of it, my house was framed and ready for the raising. I had +already bought the shanty of James Collins, an Irishman who worked on +the Fitchburg Railroad, for boards. James Collins’ shanty was +considered an uncommonly fine one. When I called to see it he was not +at home. I walked about the outside, at first unobserved from within, +the window was so deep and high. It was of small dimensions, with a +peaked cottage roof, and not much else to be seen, the dirt being +raised five feet all around as if it were a compost heap. The roof was +the soundest part, though a good deal warped and made brittle by the +sun. Door-sill there was none, but a perennial passage for the hens +under the door board. Mrs. C. came to the door and asked me to view it +from the inside. The hens were driven in by my approach. It was dark, +and had a dirt floor for the most part, dank, clammy, and aguish, only +here a board and there a board which would not bear removal. She +lighted a lamp to show me the inside of the roof and the walls, and +also that the board floor extended under the bed, warning me not to +step into the cellar, a sort of dust hole two feet deep. In her own +words, they were “good boards overhead, good boards all around, and a +good window,”—of two whole squares originally, only the cat had passed +out that way lately. There was a stove, a bed, and a place to sit, an +infant in the house where it was born, a silk parasol, gilt-framed +looking-glass, and a patent new coffee mill nailed to an oak sapling, +all told. The bargain was soon concluded, for James had in the +meanwhile returned. I to pay four dollars and twenty-five cents +to-night, he to vacate at five to-morrow morning, selling to nobody +else meanwhile: I to take possession at six. It were well, he said, to +be there early, and anticipate certain indistinct but wholly unjust +claims on the score of ground rent and fuel. This he assured me was the +only encumbrance. At six I passed him and his family on the road. One +large bundle held their all,—bed, coffee-mill, looking-glass, hens,—all +but the cat, she took to the woods and became a wild cat, and, as I +learned afterward, trod in a trap set for woodchucks, and so became a +dead cat at last. + +I took down this dwelling the same morning, drawing the nails, and +removed it to the pond side by small cartloads, spreading the boards on +the grass there to bleach and warp back again in the sun. One early +thrush gave me a note or two as I drove along the woodland path. I was +informed treacherously by a young Patrick that neighbor Seeley, an +Irishman, in the intervals of the carting, transferred the still +tolerable, straight, and drivable nails, staples, and spikes to his +pocket, and then stood when I came back to pass the time of day, and +look freshly up, unconcerned, with spring thoughts, at the devastation; +there being a dearth of work, as he said. He was there to represent +spectatordom, and help make this seemingly insignificant event one with +the removal of the gods of Troy. + +I dug my cellar in the side of a hill sloping to the south, where a +woodchuck had formerly dug his burrow, down through sumach and +blackberry roots, and the lowest stain of vegetation, six feet square +by seven deep, to a fine sand where potatoes would not freeze in any +winter. The sides were left shelving, and not stoned; but the sun +having never shone on them, the sand still keeps its place. It was but +two hours’ work. I took particular pleasure in this breaking of ground, +for in almost all latitudes men dig into the earth for an equable +temperature. Under the most splendid house in the city is still to be +found the cellar where they store their roots as of old, and long after +the superstructure has disappeared posterity remark its dent in the +earth. The house is still but a sort of porch at the entrance of a +burrow. + +At length, in the beginning of May, with the help of some of my +acquaintances, rather to improve so good an occasion for neighborliness +than from any necessity, I set up the frame of my house. No man was +ever more honored in the character of his raisers than I. They are +destined, I trust, to assist at the raising of loftier structures one +day. I began to occupy my house on the 4th of July, as soon as it was +boarded and roofed, for the boards were carefully feather-edged and +lapped, so that it was perfectly impervious to rain; but before +boarding I laid the foundation of a chimney at one end, bringing two +cartloads of stones up the hill from the pond in my arms. I built the +chimney after my hoeing in the fall, before a fire became necessary for +warmth, doing my cooking in the mean while out of doors on the ground, +early in the morning: which mode I still think is in some respects more +convenient and agreeable than the usual one. When it stormed before my +bread was baked, I fixed a few boards over the fire, and sat under them +to watch my loaf, and passed some pleasant hours in that way. In those +days, when my hands were much employed, I read but little, but the +least scraps of paper which lay on the ground, my holder, or +tablecloth, afforded me as much entertainment, in fact answered the +same purpose as the Iliad. + + + +It would be worth the while to build still more deliberately than I +did, considering, for instance, what foundation a door, a window, a +cellar, a garret, have in the nature of man, and perchance never +raising any superstructure until we found a better reason for it than +our temporal necessities even. There is some of the same fitness in a +man’s building his own house that there is in a bird’s building its own +nest. Who knows but if men constructed their dwellings with their own +hands, and provided food for themselves and families simply and +honestly enough, the poetic faculty would be universally developed, as +birds universally sing when they are so engaged? But alas! we do like +cowbirds and cuckoos, which lay their eggs in nests which other birds +have built, and cheer no traveller with their chattering and unmusical +notes. Shall we forever resign the pleasure of construction to the +carpenter? What does architecture amount to in the experience of the +mass of men? I never in all my walks came across a man engaged in so +simple and natural an occupation as building his house. We belong to +the community. It is not the tailor alone who is the ninth part of a +man; it is as much the preacher, and the merchant, and the farmer. +Where is this division of labor to end? and what object does it finally +serve? No doubt another _may_ also think for me; but it is not +therefore desirable that he should do so to the exclusion of my +thinking for myself. + +True, there are architects so called in this country, and I have heard +of one at least possessed with the idea of making architectural +ornaments have a core of truth, a necessity, and hence a beauty, as if +it were a revelation to him. All very well perhaps from his point of +view, but only a little better than the common dilettantism. A +sentimental reformer in architecture, he began at the cornice, not at +the foundation. It was only how to put a core of truth within the +ornaments, that every sugar plum in fact might have an almond or +caraway seed in it,—though I hold that almonds are most wholesome +without the sugar,—and not how the inhabitant, the indweller, might +build truly within and without, and let the ornaments take care of +themselves. What reasonable man ever supposed that ornaments were +something outward and in the skin merely,—that the tortoise got his +spotted shell, or the shellfish its mother-o’-pearl tints, by such a +contract as the inhabitants of Broadway their Trinity Church? But a man +has no more to do with the style of architecture of his house than a +tortoise with that of its shell: nor need the soldier be so idle as to +try to paint the precise color of his virtue on his standard. The enemy +will find it out. He may turn pale when the trial comes. This man +seemed to me to lean over the cornice, and timidly whisper his half +truth to the rude occupants who really knew it better than he. What of +architectural beauty I now see, I know has gradually grown from within +outward, out of the necessities and character of the indweller, who is +the only builder,—out of some unconscious truthfulness, and nobleness, +without ever a thought for the appearance and whatever additional +beauty of this kind is destined to be produced will be preceded by a +like unconscious beauty of life. The most interesting dwellings in this +country, as the painter knows, are the most unpretending, humble log +huts and cottages of the poor commonly; it is the life of the +inhabitants whose shells they are, and not any peculiarity in their +surfaces merely, which makes them _picturesque;_ and equally +interesting will be the citizen’s suburban box, when his life shall be +as simple and as agreeable to the imagination, and there is as little +straining after effect in the style of his dwelling. A great proportion +of architectural ornaments are literally hollow, and a September gale +would strip them off, like borrowed plumes, without injury to the +substantials. They can do without _architecture_ who have no olives nor +wines in the cellar. What if an equal ado were made about the ornaments +of style in literature, and the architects of our bibles spent as much +time about their cornices as the architects of our churches do? So are +made the _belles-lettres_ and the _beaux-arts_ and their professors. +Much it concerns a man, forsooth, how a few sticks are slanted over him +or under him, and what colors are daubed upon his box. It would signify +somewhat, if, in any earnest sense, _he_ slanted them and daubed it; +but the spirit having departed out of the tenant, it is of a piece with +constructing his own coffin,—the architecture of the grave, and +“carpenter” is but another name for “coffin-maker.” One man says, in +his despair or indifference to life, take up a handful of the earth at +your feet, and paint your house that color. Is he thinking of his last +and narrow house? Toss up a copper for it as well. What an abundance of +leisure he must have! Why do you take up a handful of dirt? Better +paint your house your own complexion; let it turn pale or blush for +you. An enterprise to improve the style of cottage architecture! When +you have got my ornaments ready I will wear them. + +Before winter I built a chimney, and shingled the sides of my house, +which were already impervious to rain, with imperfect and sappy +shingles made of the first slice of the log, whose edges I was obliged +to straighten with a plane. + +I have thus a tight shingled and plastered house, ten feet wide by +fifteen long, and eight-feet posts, with a garret and a closet, a large +window on each side, two trap doors, one door at the end, and a brick +fireplace opposite. The exact cost of my house, paying the usual price +for such materials as I used, but not counting the work, all of which +was done by myself, was as follows; and I give the details because very +few are able to tell exactly what their houses cost, and fewer still, +if any, the separate cost of the various materials which compose them:— + + + Boards.......................... $ 8.03½, mostly shanty boards. + Refuse shingles for roof sides,.. 4.00 + Laths,........................... 1.25 + Two second-hand windows + with glass,................... 2.43 + One thousand old brick,.......... 4.00 + Two casks of lime,............... 2.40 That was high. + Hair,............................ 0.31 More than I needed. + Mantle-tree iron,................ 0.15 + Nails,........................... 3.90 + Hinges and screws,............... 0.14 + Latch,........................... 0.10 + Chalk,........................... 0.01 + Transportation,.................. 1.40 I carried a good part + ———— on my back. + In all,..................... $28.12½ + + +These are all the materials excepting the timber stones and sand, which +I claimed by squatter’s right. I have also a small wood-shed adjoining, +made chiefly of the stuff which was left after building the house. + +I intend to build me a house which will surpass any on the main street +in Concord in grandeur and luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and +will cost me no more than my present one. + +I thus found that the student who wishes for a shelter can obtain one +for a lifetime at an expense not greater than the rent which he now +pays annually. If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse is +that I brag for humanity rather than for myself; and my shortcomings +and inconsistencies do not affect the truth of my statement. +Notwithstanding much cant and hypocrisy,—chaff which I find it +difficult to separate from my wheat, but for which I am as sorry as any +man,—I will breathe freely and stretch myself in this respect, it is +such a relief to both the moral and physical system; and I am resolved +that I will not through humility become the devil’s attorney. I will +endeavor to speak a good word for the truth. At Cambridge College the +mere rent of a student’s room, which is only a little larger than my +own, is thirty dollars each year, though the corporation had the +advantage of building thirty-two side by side and under one roof, and +the occupant suffers the inconvenience of many and noisy neighbors, and +perhaps a residence in the fourth story. I cannot but think that if we +had more true wisdom in these respects, not only less education would +be needed, because, forsooth, more would already have been acquired, +but the pecuniary expense of getting an education would in a great +measure vanish. Those conveniences which the student requires at +Cambridge or elsewhere cost him or somebody else ten times as great a +sacrifice of life as they would with proper management on both sides. +Those things for which the most money is demanded are never the things +which the student most wants. Tuition, for instance, is an important +item in the term bill, while for the far more valuable education which +he gets by associating with the most cultivated of his contemporaries +no charge is made. The mode of founding a college is, commonly, to get +up a subscription of dollars and cents, and then following blindly the +principles of a division of labor to its extreme, a principle which +should never be followed but with circumspection,—to call in a +contractor who makes this a subject of speculation, and he employs +Irishmen or other operatives actually to lay the foundations, while the +students that are to be are said to be fitting themselves for it; and +for these oversights successive generations have to pay. I think that +it would be _better than this_, for the students, or those who desire +to be benefited by it, even to lay the foundation themselves. The +student who secures his coveted leisure and retirement by +systematically shirking any labor necessary to man obtains but an +ignoble and unprofitable leisure, defrauding himself of the experience +which alone can make leisure fruitful. “But,” says one, “you do not +mean that the students should go to work with their hands instead of +their heads?” I do not mean that exactly, but I mean something which he +might think a good deal like that; I mean that they should not _play_ +life, or _study_ it merely, while the community supports them at this +expensive game, but earnestly _live_ it from beginning to end. How +could youths better learn to live than by at once trying the experiment +of living? Methinks this would exercise their minds as much as +mathematics. If I wished a boy to know something about the arts and +sciences, for instance, I would not pursue the common course, which is +merely to send him into the neighborhood of some professor, where any +thing is professed and practised but the art of life;—to survey the +world through a telescope or a microscope, and never with his natural +eye; to study chemistry, and not learn how his bread is made, or +mechanics, and not learn how it is earned; to discover new satellites +to Neptune, and not detect the motes in his eyes, or to what vagabond +he is a satellite himself; or to be devoured by the monsters that swarm +all around him, while contemplating the monsters in a drop of vinegar. +Which would have advanced the most at the end of a month,—the boy who +had made his own jackknife from the ore which he had dug and smelted, +reading as much as would be necessary for this,—or the boy who had +attended the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in the mean while, +and had received a Rodgers’ penknife from his father? Which would be +most likely to cut his fingers?... To my astonishment I was informed on +leaving college that I had studied navigation!—why, if I had taken one +turn down the harbor I should have known more about it. Even the _poor_ +student studies and is taught only _political_ economy, while that +economy of living which is synonymous with philosophy is not even +sincerely professed in our colleges. The consequence is, that while he +is reading Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Say, he runs his father in debt +irretrievably. + +As with our colleges, so with a hundred “modern improvements”; there is +an illusion about them; there is not always a positive advance. The +devil goes on exacting compound interest to the last for his early +share and numerous succeeding investments in them. Our inventions are +wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious +things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which +it was already but too easy to arrive at; as railroads lead to Boston +or New York. We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph +from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing +important to communicate. Either is in such a predicament as the man +who was earnest to be introduced to a distinguished deaf woman, but +when he was presented, and one end of her ear trumpet was put into his +hand, had nothing to say. As if the main object were to talk fast and +not to talk sensibly. We are eager to tunnel under the Atlantic and +bring the old world some weeks nearer to the new; but perchance the +first news that will leak through into the broad, flapping American ear +will be that the Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough. After all, +the man whose horse trots a mile in a minute does not carry the most +important messages; he is not an evangelist, nor does he come round +eating locusts and wild honey. I doubt if Flying Childers ever carried +a peck of corn to mill. + +One says to me, “I wonder that you do not lay up money; you love to +travel; you might take the cars and go to Fitchburg to-day and see the +country.” But I am wiser than that. I have learned that the swiftest +traveller is he that goes afoot. I say to my friend, Suppose we try who +will get there first. The distance is thirty miles; the fare ninety +cents. That is almost a day’s wages. I remember when wages were sixty +cents a day for laborers on this very road. Well, I start now on foot, +and get there before night; I have travelled at that rate by the week +together. You will in the mean while have earned your fare, and arrive +there some time to-morrow, or possibly this evening, if you are lucky +enough to get a job in season. Instead of going to Fitchburg, you will +be working here the greater part of the day. And so, if the railroad +reached round the world, I think that I should keep ahead of you; and +as for seeing the country and getting experience of that kind, I should +have to cut your acquaintance altogether. + +Such is the universal law, which no man can ever outwit, and with +regard to the railroad even we may say it is as broad as it is long. To +make a railroad round the world available to all mankind is equivalent +to grading the whole surface of the planet. Men have an indistinct +notion that if they keep up this activity of joint stocks and spades +long enough all will at length ride somewhere, in next to no time, and +for nothing; but though a crowd rushes to the depot, and the conductor +shouts “All aboard!” when the smoke is blown away and the vapor +condensed, it will be perceived that a few are riding, but the rest are +run over,—and it will be called, and will be, “A melancholy accident.” +No doubt they can ride at last who shall have earned their fare, that +is, if they survive so long, but they will probably have lost their +elasticity and desire to travel by that time. This spending of the best +part of one’s life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable +liberty during the least valuable part of it, reminds me of the +Englishman who went to India to make a fortune first, in order that he +might return to England and live the life of a poet. He should have +gone up garret at once. “What!” exclaim a million Irishmen starting up +from all the shanties in the land, “is not this railroad which we have +built a good thing?” Yes, I answer, _comparatively_ good, that is, you +might have done worse; but I wish, as you are brothers of mine, that +you could have spent your time better than digging in this dirt. + + + +Before I finished my house, wishing to earn ten or twelve dollars by +some honest and agreeable method, in order to meet my unusual expenses, +I planted about two acres and a half of light and sandy soil near it +chiefly with beans, but also a small part with potatoes, corn, peas, +and turnips. The whole lot contains eleven acres, mostly growing up to +pines and hickories, and was sold the preceding season for eight +dollars and eight cents an acre. One farmer said that it was “good for +nothing but to raise cheeping squirrels on.” I put no manure whatever +on this land, not being the owner, but merely a squatter, and not +expecting to cultivate so much again, and I did not quite hoe it all +once. I got out several cords of stumps in ploughing, which supplied me +with fuel for a long time, and left small circles of virgin mould, +easily distinguishable through the summer by the greater luxuriance of +the beans there. The dead and for the most part unmerchantable wood +behind my house, and the driftwood from the pond, have supplied the +remainder of my fuel. I was obliged to hire a team and a man for the +ploughing, though I held the plough myself. My farm outgoes for the +first season were, for implements, seed, work, &c., $14.72½. The seed +corn was given me. This never costs anything to speak of, unless you +plant more than enough. I got twelve bushels of beans, and eighteen +bushels of potatoes, beside some peas and sweet corn. The yellow corn +and turnips were too late to come to any thing. My whole income from +the farm was + + $ 23.44 + Deducting the outgoes,........... 14.72½ + ———— + There are left,................. $ 8.71½, + +beside produce consumed and on hand at the time this estimate was made +of the value of $4.50,—the amount on hand much more than balancing a +little grass which I did not raise. All things considered, that is, +considering the importance of a man’s soul and of to-day, +notwithstanding the short time occupied by my experiment, nay, partly +even because of its transient character, I believe that that was doing +better than any farmer in Concord did that year. + +The next year I did better still, for I spaded up all the land which I +required, about a third of an acre, and I learned from the experience +of both years, not being in the least awed by many celebrated works on +husbandry, Arthur Young among the rest, that if one would live simply +and eat only the crop which he raised, and raise no more than he ate, +and not exchange it for an insufficient quantity of more luxurious and +expensive things, he would need to cultivate only a few rods of ground, +and that it would be cheaper to spade up that than to use oxen to +plough it, and to select a fresh spot from time to time than to manure +the old, and he could do all his necessary farm work as it were with +his left hand at odd hours in the summer; and thus he would not be tied +to an ox, or horse, or cow, or pig, as at present. I desire to speak +impartially on this point, and as one not interested in the success or +failure of the present economical and social arrangements. I was more +independent than any farmer in Concord, for I was not anchored to a +house or farm, but could follow the bent of my genius, which is a very +crooked one, every moment. Beside being better off than they already, +if my house had been burned or my crops had failed, I should have been +nearly as well off as before. + +I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds as +herds are the keepers of men, the former are so much the freer. Men and +oxen exchange work; but if we consider necessary work only, the oxen +will be seen to have greatly the advantage, their farm is so much the +larger. Man does some of his part of the exchange work in his six weeks +of haying, and it is no boy’s play. Certainly no nation that lived +simply in all respects, that is, no nation of philosophers, would +commit so great a blunder as to use the labor of animals. True, there +never was and is not likely soon to be a nation of philosophers, nor am +I certain it is desirable that there should be. However, _I_ should +never have broken a horse or bull and taken him to board for any work +he might do for me, for fear I should become a horse-man or a herds-man +merely; and if society seems to be the gainer by so doing, are we +certain that what is one man’s gain is not another’s loss, and that the +stable-boy has equal cause with his master to be satisfied? Granted +that some public works would not have been constructed without this +aid, and let man share the glory of such with the ox and horse; does it +follow that he could not have accomplished works yet more worthy of +himself in that case? When men begin to do, not merely unnecessary or +artistic, but luxurious and idle work, with their assistance, it is +inevitable that a few do all the exchange work with the oxen, or, in +other words, become the slaves of the strongest. Man thus not only +works for the animal within him, but, for a symbol of this, he works +for the animal without him. Though we have many substantial houses of +brick or stone, the prosperity of the farmer is still measured by the +degree to which the barn overshadows the house. This town is said to +have the largest houses for oxen, cows, and horses hereabouts, and it +is not behindhand in its public buildings; but there are very few halls +for free worship or free speech in this county. It should not be by +their architecture, but why not even by their power of abstract +thought, that nations should seek to commemorate themselves? How much +more admirable the Bhagvat-Geeta than all the ruins of the East! Towers +and temples are the luxury of princes. A simple and independent mind +does not toil at the bidding of any prince. Genius is not a retainer to +any emperor, nor is its material silver, or gold, or marble, except to +a trifling extent. To what end, pray, is so much stone hammered? In +Arcadia, when I was there, I did not see any hammering stone. Nations +are possessed with an insane ambition to perpetuate the memory of +themselves by the amount of hammered stone they leave. What if equal +pains were taken to smooth and polish their manners? One piece of good +sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon. I +love better to see stones in place. The grandeur of Thebes was a vulgar +grandeur. More sensible is a rod of stone wall that bounds an honest +man’s field than a hundred-gated Thebes that has wandered farther from +the true end of life. The religion and civilization which are barbaric +and heathenish build splendid temples; but what you might call +Christianity does not. Most of the stone a nation hammers goes toward +its tomb only. It buries itself alive. As for the Pyramids, there is +nothing to wonder at in them so much as the fact that so many men could +be found degraded enough to spend their lives constructing a tomb for +some ambitious booby, whom it would have been wiser and manlier to have +drowned in the Nile, and then given his body to the dogs. I might +possibly invent some excuse for them and him, but I have no time for +it. As for the religion and love of art of the builders, it is much the +same all the world over, whether the building be an Egyptian temple or +the United States Bank. It costs more than it comes to. The mainspring +is vanity, assisted by the love of garlic and bread and butter. Mr. +Balcom, a promising young architect, designs it on the back of his +Vitruvius, with hard pencil and ruler, and the job is let out to Dobson +& Sons, stonecutters. When the thirty centuries begin to look down on +it, mankind begin to look up at it. As for your high towers and +monuments, there was a crazy fellow once in this town who undertook to +dig through to China, and he got so far that, as he said, he heard the +Chinese pots and kettles rattle; but I think that I shall not go out of +my way to admire the hole which he made. Many are concerned about the +monuments of the West and the East,—to know who built them. For my +part, I should like to know who in those days did not build them,—who +were above such trifling. But to proceed with my statistics. + +By surveying, carpentry, and day-labor of various other kinds in the +village in the mean while, for I have as many trades as fingers, I had +earned $13.34. The expense of food for eight months, namely, from July +4th to March 1st, the time when these estimates were made, though I +lived there more than two years,—not counting potatoes, a little green +corn, and some peas, which I had raised, nor considering the value of +what was on hand at the last date, was + + + Rice,................... $ 1.73½ + Molasses,................ 1.73 Cheapest form of the + saccharine. + Rye meal,................ 1.04¾ + Indian meal,............. 0.99¾ Cheaper than rye. + Pork,.................... 0.22 + + All experiments which failed: + Flour,................... 0.88 Costs more than Indian meal, + both money and trouble. + Sugar,................... 0.80 + Lard,.................... 0.65 + Apples,.................. 0.25 + Dried apple,............. 0.22 + Sweet potatoes,.......... 0.10 + One pumpkin,............. 0.06 + One watermelon,.......... 0.02 + Salt,.................... 0.03 + +Yes, I did eat $8.74, all told; but I should not thus unblushingly +publish my guilt, if I did not know that most of my readers were +equally guilty with myself, and that their deeds would look no better +in print. The next year I sometimes caught a mess of fish for my +dinner, and once I went so far as to slaughter a woodchuck which +ravaged my bean-field,—effect his transmigration, as a Tartar would +say,—and devour him, partly for experiment’s sake; but though it +afforded me a momentary enjoyment, notwithstanding a musky flavor, I +saw that the longest use would not make that a good practice, however +it might seem to have your woodchucks ready dressed by the village +butcher. + +Clothing and some incidental expenses within the same dates, though +little can be inferred from this item, amounted to + + $8.40¾ + Oil and some household utensils,....... 2.00 + +So that all the pecuniary outgoes, excepting for washing and mending, +which for the most part were done out of the house, and their bills +have not yet been received,—and these are all and more than all the +ways by which money necessarily goes out in this part of the +world,—were + + House,................................ $ 28.12½ + Farm one year,.......................... 14.72½ + Food eight months,...................... 8.74 + Clothing, etc., eight months,........... 8.40¾ + Oil, &c., eight months,................. 2.00 + —————— + In all,........................... $ 61.99¾ + +I address myself now to those of my readers who have a living to get. +And to meet this I have for farm produce sold + + $23.44 + Earned by day-labor,................... 13.34 + —————— + In all,............................ $36.78, + +which subtracted from the sum of the outgoes leaves a balance of +$25.21¾ on the one side,—this being very nearly the means with which I +started, and the measure of expenses to be incurred,—and on the other, +beside the leisure and independence and health thus secured, a +comfortable house for me as long as I choose to occupy it. + +These statistics, however accidental and therefore uninstructive they +may appear, as they have a certain completeness, have a certain value +also. Nothing was given me of which I have not rendered some account. +It appears from the above estimate, that my food alone cost me in money +about twenty-seven cents a week. It was, for nearly two years after +this, rye and Indian meal without yeast, potatoes, rice, a very little +salt pork, molasses, and salt, and my drink water. It was fit that I +should live on rice, mainly, who loved so well the philosophy of India. +To meet the objections of some inveterate cavillers, I may as well +state, that if I dined out occasionally, as I always had done, and I +trust shall have opportunities to do again, it was frequently to the +detriment of my domestic arrangements. But the dining out, being, as I +have stated, a constant element, does not in the least affect a +comparative statement like this. + +I learned from my two years’ experience that it would cost incredibly +little trouble to obtain one’s necessary food, even in this latitude; +that a man may use as simple a diet as the animals, and yet retain +health and strength. I have made a satisfactory dinner, satisfactory on +several accounts, simply off a dish of purslane (_Portulaca oleracea_) +which I gathered in my cornfield, boiled and salted. I give the Latin +on account of the savoriness of the trivial name. And pray what more +can a reasonable man desire, in peaceful times, in ordinary noons, than +a sufficient number of ears of green sweet-corn boiled, with the +addition of salt? Even the little variety which I used was a yielding +to the demands of appetite, and not of health. Yet men have come to +such a pass that they frequently starve, not for want of necessaries, +but for want of luxuries; and I know a good woman who thinks that her +son lost his life because he took to drinking water only. + +The reader will perceive that I am treating the subject rather from an +economic than a dietetic point of view, and he will not venture to put +my abstemiousness to the test unless he has a well-stocked larder. + +Bread I at first made of pure Indian meal and salt, genuine hoe-cakes, +which I baked before my fire out of doors on a shingle or the end of a +stick of timber sawed off in building my house; but it was wont to get +smoked and to have a piny flavor. I tried flour also; but have at last +found a mixture of rye and Indian meal most convenient and agreeable. +In cold weather it was no little amusement to bake several small loaves +of this in succession, tending and turning them as carefully as an +Egyptian his hatching eggs. They were a real cereal fruit which I +ripened, and they had to my senses a fragrance like that of other noble +fruits, which I kept in as long as possible by wrapping them in cloths. +I made a study of the ancient and indispensable art of bread-making, +consulting such authorities as offered, going back to the primitive +days and first invention of the unleavened kind, when from the wildness +of nuts and meats men first reached the mildness and refinement of this +diet, and travelling gradually down in my studies through that +accidental souring of the dough which, it is supposed, taught the +leavening process, and through the various fermentations thereafter, +till I came to “good, sweet, wholesome bread,” the staff of life. +Leaven, which some deem the soul of bread, the _spiritus_ which fills +its cellular tissue, which is religiously preserved like the vestal +fire,—some precious bottle-full, I suppose, first brought over in the +Mayflower, did the business for America, and its influence is still +rising, swelling, spreading, in cerealian billows over the land,—this +seed I regularly and faithfully procured from the village, till at +length one morning I forgot the rules, and scalded my yeast; by which +accident I discovered that even this was not indispensable,—for my +discoveries were not by the synthetic but analytic process,—and I have +gladly omitted it since, though most housewives earnestly assured me +that safe and wholesome bread without yeast might not be, and elderly +people prophesied a speedy decay of the vital forces. Yet I find it not +to be an essential ingredient, and after going without it for a year am +still in the land of the living; and I am glad to escape the +trivialness of carrying a bottle-full in my pocket, which would +sometimes pop and discharge its contents to my discomfiture. It is +simpler and more respectable to omit it. Man is an animal who more than +any other can adapt himself to all climates and circumstances. Neither +did I put any sal soda, or other acid or alkali, into my bread. It +would seem that I made it according to the recipe which Marcus Porcius +Cato gave about two centuries before Christ. “Panem depsticium sic +facito. Manus mortariumque bene lavato. Farinam in mortarium indito, +aquæ paulatim addito, subigitoque pulchre. Ubi bene subegeris, +defingito, coquitoque sub testu.” Which I take to mean—“Make kneaded +bread thus. Wash your hands and trough well. Put the meal into the +trough, add water gradually, and knead it thoroughly. When you have +kneaded it well, mould it, and bake it under a cover,” that is, in a +baking-kettle. Not a word about leaven. But I did not always use this +staff of life. At one time, owing to the emptiness of my purse, I saw +none of it for more than a month. + +Every New Englander might easily raise all his own breadstuffs in this +land of rye and Indian corn, and not depend on distant and fluctuating +markets for them. Yet so far are we from simplicity and independence +that, in Concord, fresh and sweet meal is rarely sold in the shops, and +hominy and corn in a still coarser form are hardly used by any. For the +most part the farmer gives to his cattle and hogs the grain of his own +producing, and buys flour, which is at least no more wholesome, at a +greater cost, at the store. I saw that I could easily raise my bushel +or two of rye and Indian corn, for the former will grow on the poorest +land, and the latter does not require the best, and grind them in a +hand-mill, and so do without rice and pork; and if I must have some +concentrated sweet, I found by experiment that I could make a very good +molasses either of pumpkins or beets, and I knew that I needed only to +set out a few maples to obtain it more easily still, and while these +were growing I could use various substitutes beside those which I have +named. “For,” as the Forefathers sang,— + + “we can make liquor to sweeten our lips + Of pumpkins and parsnips and walnut-tree chips.” + +Finally, as for salt, that grossest of groceries, to obtain this might +be a fit occasion for a visit to the seashore, or, if I did without it +altogether, I should probably drink the less water. I do not learn that +the Indians ever troubled themselves to go after it. + +Thus I could avoid all trade and barter, so far as my food was +concerned, and having a shelter already, it would only remain to get +clothing and fuel. The pantaloons which I now wear were woven in a +farmer’s family,—thank Heaven there is so much virtue still in man; for +I think the fall from the farmer to the operative as great and +memorable as that from the man to the farmer;—and in a new country, +fuel is an encumbrance. As for a habitat, if I were not permitted still +to squat, I might purchase one acre at the same price for which the +land I cultivated was sold—namely, eight dollars and eight cents. But +as it was, I considered that I enhanced the value of the land by +squatting on it. + +There is a certain class of unbelievers who sometimes ask me such +questions as, if I think that I can live on vegetable food alone; and +to strike at the root of the matter at once,—for the root is faith,—I +am accustomed to answer such, that I can live on board nails. If they +cannot understand that, they cannot understand much that I have to say. +For my part, I am glad to hear of experiments of this kind being tried; +as that a young man tried for a fortnight to live on hard, raw corn on +the ear, using his teeth for all mortar. The squirrel tribe tried the +same and succeeded. The human race is interested in these experiments, +though a few old women who are incapacitated for them, or who own their +thirds in mills, may be alarmed. + + + +My furniture, part of which I made myself, and the rest cost me nothing +of which I have not rendered an account, consisted of a bed, a table, a +desk, three chairs, a looking-glass three inches in diameter, a pair of +tongs and andirons, a kettle, a skillet, and a frying-pan, a dipper, a +wash-bowl, two knives and forks, three plates, one cup, one spoon, a +jug for oil, a jug for molasses, and a japanned lamp. None is so poor +that he need sit on a pumpkin. That is shiftlessness. There is a plenty +of such chairs as I like best in the village garrets to be had for +taking them away. Furniture! Thank God, I can sit and I can stand +without the aid of a furniture warehouse. What man but a philosopher +would not be ashamed to see his furniture packed in a cart and going up +country exposed to the light of heaven and the eyes of men, a beggarly +account of empty boxes? That is Spaulding’s furniture. I could never +tell from inspecting such a load whether it belonged to a so called +rich man or a poor one; the owner always seemed poverty-stricken. +Indeed, the more you have of such things the poorer you are. Each load +looks as if it contained the contents of a dozen shanties; and if one +shanty is poor, this is a dozen times as poor. Pray, for what do we +_move_ ever but to get rid of our furniture, our _exuviæ_; at last to +go from this world to another newly furnished, and leave this to be +burned? It is the same as if all these traps were buckled to a man’s +belt, and he could not move over the rough country where our lines are +cast without dragging them,—dragging his trap. He was a lucky fox that +left his tail in the trap. The muskrat will gnaw his third leg off to +be free. No wonder man has lost his elasticity. How often he is at a +dead set! “Sir, if I may be so bold, what do you mean by a dead set?” +If you are a seer, whenever you meet a man you will see all that he +owns, ay, and much that he pretends to disown, behind him, even to his +kitchen furniture and all the trumpery which he saves and will not +burn, and he will appear to be harnessed to it and making what headway +he can. I think that the man is at a dead set who has got through a +knot hole or gateway where his sledge load of furniture cannot follow +him. I cannot but feel compassion when I hear some trig, +compact-looking man, seemingly free, all girded and ready, speak of his +“furniture,” as whether it is insured or not. “But what shall I do with +my furniture?” My gay butterfly is entangled in a spider’s web then. +Even those who seem for a long while not to have any, if you inquire +more narrowly you will find have some stored in somebody’s barn. I look +upon England to-day as an old gentleman who is travelling with a great +deal of baggage, trumpery which has accumulated from long housekeeping, +which he has not the courage to burn; great trunk, little trunk, +bandbox and bundle. Throw away the first three at least. It would +surpass the powers of a well man nowadays to take up his bed and walk, +and I should certainly advise a sick one to lay down his bed and run. +When I have met an immigrant tottering under a bundle which contained +his all—looking like an enormous wen which had grown out of the nape of +his neck—I have pitied him, not because that was his all, but because +he had all _that_ to carry. If I have got to drag my trap, I will take +care that it be a light one and do not nip me in a vital part. But +perchance it would be wisest never to put one’s paw into it. + +I would observe, by the way, that it costs me nothing for curtains, for +I have no gazers to shut out but the sun and moon, and I am willing +that they should look in. The moon will not sour milk nor taint meat of +mine, nor will the sun injure my furniture or fade my carpet, and if he +is sometimes too warm a friend, I find it still better economy to +retreat behind some curtain which nature has provided, than to add a +single item to the details of housekeeping. A lady once offered me a +mat, but as I had no room to spare within the house, nor time to spare +within or without to shake it, I declined it, preferring to wipe my +feet on the sod before my door. It is best to avoid the beginnings of +evil. + +Not long since I was present at the auction of a deacon’s effects, for +his life had not been ineffectual:— + + “The evil that men do lives after them.” + +As usual, a great proportion was trumpery which had begun to accumulate +in his father’s day. Among the rest was a dried tapeworm. And now, +after lying half a century in his garret and other dust holes, these +things were not burned; instead of a _bonfire_, or purifying +destruction of them, there was an _auction_, or increasing of them. The +neighbors eagerly collected to view them, bought them all, and +carefully transported them to their garrets and dust holes, to lie +there till their estates are settled, when they will start again. When +a man dies he kicks the dust. + +The customs of some savage nations might, perchance, be profitably +imitated by us, for they at least go through the semblance of casting +their slough annually; they have the idea of the thing, whether they +have the reality or not. Would it not be well if we were to celebrate +such a “busk,” or “feast of first fruits,” as Bartram describes to have +been the custom of the Mucclasse Indians? “When a town celebrates the +busk,” says he, “having previously provided themselves with new +clothes, new pots, pans, and other household utensils and furniture, +they collect all their worn out clothes and other despicable things, +sweep and cleanse their houses, squares, and the whole town of their +filth, which with all the remaining grain and other old provisions they +cast together into one common heap, and consume it with fire. After +having taken medicine, and fasted for three days, all the fire in the +town is extinguished. During this fast they abstain from the +gratification of every appetite and passion whatever. A general amnesty +is proclaimed; all malefactors may return to their town.—” + +“On the fourth morning, the high priest, by rubbing dry wood together, +produces new fire in the public square, from whence every habitation in +the town is supplied with the new and pure flame.” + +They then feast on the new corn and fruits, and dance and sing for +three days, “and the four following days they receive visits and +rejoice with their friends from neighboring towns who have in like +manner purified and prepared themselves.” + +The Mexicans also practised a similar purification at the end of every +fifty-two years, in the belief that it was time for the world to come +to an end. + +I have scarcely heard of a truer sacrament, that is, as the dictionary +defines it, “outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual +grace,” than this, and I have no doubt that they were originally +inspired directly from Heaven to do thus, though they have no biblical +record of the revelation. + + + +For more than five years I maintained myself thus solely by the labor +of my hands, and I found, that by working about six weeks in a year, I +could meet all the expenses of living. The whole of my winters, as well +as most of my summers, I had free and clear for study. I have +thoroughly tried school-keeping, and found that my expenses were in +proportion, or rather out of proportion, to my income, for I was +obliged to dress and train, not to say think and believe, accordingly, +and I lost my time into the bargain. As I did not teach for the good of +my fellow-men, but simply for a livelihood, this was a failure. I have +tried trade; but I found that it would take ten years to get under way +in that, and that then I should probably be on my way to the devil. I +was actually afraid that I might by that time be doing what is called a +good business. When formerly I was looking about to see what I could do +for a living, some sad experience in conforming to the wishes of +friends being fresh in my mind to tax my ingenuity, I thought often and +seriously of picking huckleberries; that surely I could do, and its +small profits might suffice,—for my greatest skill has been to want but +little,—so little capital it required, so little distraction from my +wonted moods, I foolishly thought. While my acquaintances went +unhesitatingly into trade or the professions, I contemplated this +occupation as most like theirs; ranging the hills all summer to pick +the berries which came in my way, and thereafter carelessly dispose of +them; so, to keep the flocks of Admetus. I also dreamed that I might +gather the wild herbs, or carry evergreens to such villagers as loved +to be reminded of the woods, even to the city, by hay-cart loads. But I +have since learned that trade curses everything it handles; and though +you trade in messages from heaven, the whole curse of trade attaches to +the business. + +As I preferred some things to others, and especially valued my freedom, +as I could fare hard and yet succeed well, I did not wish to spend my +time in earning rich carpets or other fine furniture, or delicate +cookery, or a house in the Grecian or the Gothic style just yet. If +there are any to whom it is no interruption to acquire these things, +and who know how to use them when acquired, I relinquish to them the +pursuit. Some are “industrious,” and appear to love labor for its own +sake, or perhaps because it keeps them out of worse mischief; to such I +have at present nothing to say. Those who would not know what to do +with more leisure than they now enjoy, I might advise to work twice as +hard as they do,—work till they pay for themselves, and get their free +papers. For myself I found that the occupation of a day-laborer was the +most independent of any, especially as it required only thirty or forty +days in a year to support one. The laborer’s day ends with the going +down of the sun, and he is then free to devote himself to his chosen +pursuit, independent of his labor; but his employer, who speculates +from month to month, has no respite from one end of the year to the +other. + +In short, I am convinced, both by faith and experience, that to +maintain one’s self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if +we will live simply and wisely; as the pursuits of the simpler nations +are still the sports of the more artificial. It is not necessary that a +man should earn his living by the sweat of his brow, unless he sweats +easier than I do. + +One young man of my acquaintance, who has inherited some acres, told me +that he thought he should live as I did, _if he had the means_. I would +not have any one adopt _my_ mode of living on any account; for, beside +that before he has fairly learned it I may have found out another for +myself, I desire that there may be as many different persons in the +world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find +out and pursue _his own_ way, and not his father’s or his mother’s or +his neighbor’s instead. The youth may build or plant or sail, only let +him not be hindered from doing that which he tells me he would like to +do. It is by a mathematical point only that we are wise, as the sailor +or the fugitive slave keeps the polestar in his eye; but that is +sufficient guidance for all our life. We may not arrive at our port +within a calculable period, but we would preserve the true course. + +Undoubtedly, in this case, what is true for one is truer still for a +thousand, as a large house is not proportionally more expensive than a +small one, since one roof may cover, one cellar underlie, and one wall +separate several apartments. But for my part, I preferred the solitary +dwelling. Moreover, it will commonly be cheaper to build the whole +yourself than to convince another of the advantage of the common wall; +and when you have done this, the common partition, to be much cheaper, +must be a thin one, and that other may prove a bad neighbor, and also +not keep his side in repair. The only coöperation which is commonly +possible is exceedingly partial and superficial; and what little true +coöperation there is, is as if it were not, being a harmony inaudible +to men. If a man has faith, he will coöperate with equal faith +everywhere; if he has not faith, he will continue to live like the rest +of the world, whatever company he is joined to. To coöperate, in the +highest as well as the lowest sense, means _to get our living +together_. I heard it proposed lately that two young men should travel +together over the world, the one without money, earning his means as he +went, before the mast and behind the plow, the other carrying a bill of +exchange in his pocket. It was easy to see that they could not long be +companions or coöperate, since one would not _operate_ at all. They +would part at the first interesting crisis in their adventures. Above +all, as I have implied, the man who goes alone can start to-day; but he +who travels with another must wait till that other is ready, and it may +be a long time before they get off. + + + +But all this is very selfish, I have heard some of my townsmen say. I +confess that I have hitherto indulged very little in philanthropic +enterprises. I have made some sacrifices to a sense of duty, and among +others have sacrificed this pleasure also. There are those who have +used all their arts to persuade me to undertake the support of some +poor family in the town; and if I had nothing to do,—for the devil +finds employment for the idle,—I might try my hand at some such pastime +as that. However, when I have thought to indulge myself in this +respect, and lay their Heaven under an obligation by maintaining +certain poor persons in all respects as comfortably as I maintain +myself, and have even ventured so far as to make them the offer, they +have one and all unhesitatingly preferred to remain poor. While my +townsmen and women are devoted in so many ways to the good of their +fellows, I trust that one at least may be spared to other and less +humane pursuits. You must have a genius for charity as well as for any +thing else. As for Doing-good, that is one of the professions which are +full. Moreover, I have tried it fairly, and, strange as it may seem, am +satisfied that it does not agree with my constitution. Probably I +should not consciously and deliberately forsake my particular calling +to do the good which society demands of me, to save the universe from +annihilation; and I believe that a like but infinitely greater +steadfastness elsewhere is all that now preserves it. But I would not +stand between any man and his genius; and to him who does this work, +which I decline, with his whole heart and soul and life, I would say, +Persevere, even if the world call it doing evil, as it is most likely +they will. + +I am far from supposing that my case is a peculiar one; no doubt many +of my readers would make a similar defence. At doing something,—I will +not engage that my neighbors shall pronounce it good,—I do not hesitate +to say that I should be a capital fellow to hire; but what that is, it +is for my employer to find out. What _good_ I do, in the common sense +of that word, must be aside from my main path, and for the most part +wholly unintended. Men say, practically, Begin where you are and such +as you are, without aiming mainly to become of more worth, and with +kindness aforethought go about doing good. If I were to preach at all +in this strain, I should say rather, Set about being good. As if the +sun should stop when he had kindled his fires up to the splendor of a +moon or a star of the sixth magnitude, and go about like a Robin +Goodfellow, peeping in at every cottage window, inspiring lunatics, and +tainting meats, and making darkness visible, instead of steadily +increasing his genial heat and beneficence till he is of such +brightness that no mortal can look him in the face, and then, and in +the mean while too, going about the world in his own orbit, doing it +good, or rather, as a truer philosophy has discovered, the world going +about him getting good. When Phaeton, wishing to prove his heavenly +birth by his beneficence, had the sun’s chariot but one day, and drove +out of the beaten track, he burned several blocks of houses in the +lower streets of heaven, and scorched the surface of the earth, and +dried up every spring, and made the great desert of Sahara, till at +length Jupiter hurled him headlong to the earth with a thunderbolt, and +the sun, through grief at his death, did not shine for a year. + +There is no odor so bad as that which arises from goodness tainted. It +is human, it is divine, carrion. If I knew for a certainty that a man +was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I +should run for my life, as from that dry and parching wind of the +African deserts called the simoom, which fills the mouth and nose and +ears and eyes with dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should +get some of his good done to me,—some of its virus mingled with my +blood. No,—in this case I would rather suffer evil the natural way. A +man is not a good _man_ to me because he will feed me if I should be +starving, or warm me if I should be freezing, or pull me out of a ditch +if I should ever fall into one. I can find you a Newfoundland dog that +will do as much. Philanthropy is not love for one’s fellow-man in the +broadest sense. Howard was no doubt an exceedingly kind and worthy man +in his way, and has his reward; but, comparatively speaking, what are a +hundred Howards to _us_, if their philanthropy do not help _us_ in our +best estate, when we are most worthy to be helped? I never heard of a +philanthropic meeting in which it was sincerely proposed to do any good +to me, or the like of me. + +The Jesuits were quite balked by those Indians who, being burned at the +stake, suggested new modes of torture to their tormentors. Being +superior to physical suffering, it sometimes chanced that they were +superior to any consolation which the missionaries could offer; and the +law to do as you would be done by fell with less persuasiveness on the +ears of those who, for their part, did not care how they were done by, +who loved their enemies after a new fashion, and came very near freely +forgiving them all they did. + +Be sure that you give the poor the aid they most need, though it be +your example which leaves them far behind. If you give money, spend +yourself with it, and do not merely abandon it to them. We make curious +mistakes sometimes. Often the poor man is not so cold and hungry as he +is dirty and ragged and gross. It is partly his taste, and not merely +his misfortune. If you give him money, he will perhaps buy more rags +with it. I was wont to pity the clumsy Irish laborers who cut ice on +the pond, in such mean and ragged clothes, while I shivered in my more +tidy and somewhat more fashionable garments, till, one bitter cold day, +one who had slipped into the water came to my house to warm him, and I +saw him strip off three pairs of pants and two pairs of stockings ere +he got down to the skin, though they were dirty and ragged enough, it +is true, and that he could afford to refuse the _extra_ garments which +I offered him, he had so many _intra_ ones. This ducking was the very +thing he needed. Then I began to pity myself, and I saw that it would +be a greater charity to bestow on me a flannel shirt than a whole +slop-shop on him. There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil +to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who bestows +the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing the most by +his mode of life to produce that misery which he strives in vain to +relieve. It is the pious slave-breeder devoting the proceeds of every +tenth slave to buy a Sunday’s liberty for the rest. Some show their +kindness to the poor by employing them in their kitchens. Would they +not be kinder if they employed themselves there? You boast of spending +a tenth part of your income in charity; maybe you should spend the nine +tenths so, and done with it. Society recovers only a tenth part of the +property then. Is this owing to the generosity of him in whose +possession it is found, or to the remissness of the officers of +justice? + +Philanthropy is almost the only virtue which is sufficiently +appreciated by mankind. Nay, it is greatly overrated; and it is our +selfishness which overrates it. A robust poor man, one sunny day here +in Concord, praised a fellow-townsman to me, because, as he said, he +was kind to the poor; meaning himself. The kind uncles and aunts of the +race are more esteemed than its true spiritual fathers and mothers. I +once heard a reverend lecturer on England, a man of learning and +intelligence, after enumerating her scientific, literary, and political +worthies, Shakespeare, Bacon, Cromwell, Milton, Newton, and others, +speak next of her Christian heroes, whom, as if his profession required +it of him, he elevated to a place far above all the rest, as the +greatest of the great. They were Penn, Howard, and Mrs. Fry. Every one +must feel the falsehood and cant of this. The last were not England’s +best men and women; only, perhaps, her best philanthropists. + +I would not subtract any thing from the praise that is due to +philanthropy, but merely demand justice for all who by their lives and +works are a blessing to mankind. I do not value chiefly a man’s +uprightness and benevolence, which are, as it were, his stem and +leaves. Those plants of whose greenness withered we make herb tea for +the sick, serve but a humble use, and are most employed by quacks. I +want the flower and fruit of a man; that some fragrance be wafted over +from him to me, and some ripeness flavor our intercourse. His goodness +must not be a partial and transitory act, but a constant superfluity, +which costs him nothing and of which he is unconscious. This is a +charity that hides a multitude of sins. The philanthropist too often +surrounds mankind with the remembrance of his own cast-off griefs as an +atmosphere, and calls it sympathy. We should impart our courage, and +not our despair, our health and ease, and not our disease, and take +care that this does not spread by contagion. From what southern plains +comes up the voice of wailing? Under what latitudes reside the heathen +to whom we would send light? Who is that intemperate and brutal man +whom we would redeem? If any thing ail a man, so that he does not +perform his functions, if he have a pain in his bowels even,—for that +is the seat of sympathy,—he forthwith sets about reforming—the world. +Being a microcosm himself, he discovers, and it is a true discovery, +and he is the man to make it,—that the world has been eating green +apples; to his eyes, in fact, the globe itself is a great green apple, +which there is danger awful to think of that the children of men will +nibble before it is ripe; and straightway his drastic philanthropy +seeks out the Esquimaux and the Patagonian, and embraces the populous +Indian and Chinese villages; and thus, by a few years of philanthropic +activity, the powers in the mean while using him for their own ends, no +doubt, he cures himself of his dyspepsia, the globe acquires a faint +blush on one or both of its cheeks, as if it were beginning to be ripe, +and life loses its crudity and is once more sweet and wholesome to +live. I never dreamed of any enormity greater than I have committed. I +never knew, and never shall know, a worse man than myself. + +I believe that what so saddens the reformer is not his sympathy with +his fellows in distress, but, though he be the holiest son of God, is +his private ail. Let this be righted, let the spring come to him, the +morning rise over his couch, and he will forsake his generous +companions without apology. My excuse for not lecturing against the use +of tobacco is, that I never chewed it; that is a penalty which reformed +tobacco-chewers have to pay; though there are things enough I have +chewed, which I could lecture against. If you should ever be betrayed +into any of these philanthropies, do not let your left hand know what +your right hand does, for it is not worth knowing. Rescue the drowning +and tie your shoe-strings. Take your time, and set about some free +labor. + +Our manners have been corrupted by communication with the saints. Our +hymn-books resound with a melodious cursing of God and enduring him +forever. One would say that even the prophets and redeemers had rather +consoled the fears than confirmed the hopes of man. There is nowhere +recorded a simple and irrepressible satisfaction with the gift of life, +any memorable praise of God. All health and success does me good, +however far off and withdrawn it may appear; all disease and failure +helps to make me sad and does me evil, however much sympathy it may +have with me or I with it. If, then, we would indeed restore mankind by +truly Indian, botanic, magnetic, or natural means, let us first be as +simple and well as Nature ourselves, dispel the clouds which hang over +our own brows, and take up a little life into our pores. Do not stay to +be an overseer of the poor, but endeavor to become one of the worthies +of the world. + +I read in the Gulistan, or Flower Garden, of Sheik Sadi of Shiraz, that +“They asked a wise man, saying; Of the many celebrated trees which the +Most High God has created lofty and umbrageous, they call none azad, or +free, excepting the cypress, which bears no fruit; what mystery is +there in this? He replied; Each has its appropriate produce, and +appointed season, during the continuance of which it is fresh and +blooming, and during their absence dry and withered; to neither of +which states is the cypress exposed, being always flourishing; and of +this nature are the azads, or religious independents.—Fix not thy heart +on that which is transitory; for the Dijlah, or Tigris, will continue +to flow through Bagdad after the race of caliphs is extinct: if thy +hand has plenty, be liberal as the date tree; but if it affords nothing +to give away, be an azad, or free man, like the cypress.” + + COMPLEMENTAL VERSES + + The Pretensions of Poverty + + “Thou dost presume too much, poor needy wretch, + To claim a station in the firmament + Because thy humble cottage, or thy tub, + Nurses some lazy or pedantic virtue + In the cheap sunshine or by shady springs, + With roots and pot-herbs; where thy right hand, + Tearing those humane passions from the mind, + Upon whose stocks fair blooming virtues flourish, + Degradeth nature, and benumbeth sense, + And, Gorgon-like, turns active men to stone. + We not require the dull society + Of your necessitated temperance, + Or that unnatural stupidity + That knows nor joy nor sorrow; nor your forc’d + Falsely exalted passive fortitude + Above the active. This low abject brood, + That fix their seats in mediocrity, + Become your servile minds; but we advance + Such virtues only as admit excess, + Brave, bounteous acts, regal magnificence, + All-seeing prudence, magnanimity + That knows no bound, and that heroic virtue + For which antiquity hath left no name, + But patterns only, such as Hercules, + Achilles, Theseus. Back to thy loath’d cell; + And when thou seest the new enlightened sphere, + Study to know but what those worthies were.” + T. CAREW + + +Where I Lived, and What I Lived For + +At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every +spot as the possible site of a house. I have thus surveyed the country +on every side within a dozen miles of where I live. In imagination I +have bought all the farms in succession, for all were to be bought, and +I knew their price. I walked over each farmer’s premises, tasted his +wild apples, discoursed on husbandry with him, took his farm at his +price, at any price, mortgaging it to him in my mind; even put a higher +price on it,—took everything but a deed of it,—took his word for his +deed, for I dearly love to talk,—cultivated it, and him too to some +extent, I trust, and withdrew when I had enjoyed it long enough, +leaving him to carry it on. This experience entitled me to be regarded +as a sort of real-estate broker by my friends. Wherever I sat, there I +might live, and the landscape radiated from me accordingly. What is a +house but a _sedes_, a seat?—better if a country seat. I discovered +many a site for a house not likely to be soon improved, which some +might have thought too far from the village, but to my eyes the village +was too far from it. Well, there I might live, I said; and there I did +live, for an hour, a summer and a winter life; saw how I could let the +years run off, buffet the winter through, and see the spring come in. +The future inhabitants of this region, wherever they may place their +houses, may be sure that they have been anticipated. An afternoon +sufficed to lay out the land into orchard, woodlot, and pasture, and to +decide what fine oaks or pines should be left to stand before the door, +and whence each blasted tree could be seen to the best advantage; and +then I let it lie, fallow perchance, for a man is rich in proportion to +the number of things which he can afford to let alone. + +My imagination carried me so far that I even had the refusal of several +farms,—the refusal was all I wanted,—but I never got my fingers burned +by actual possession. The nearest that I came to actual possession was +when I bought the Hollowell place, and had begun to sort my seeds, and +collected materials with which to make a wheelbarrow to carry it on or +off with; but before the owner gave me a deed of it, his wife—every man +has such a wife—changed her mind and wished to keep it, and he offered +me ten dollars to release him. Now, to speak the truth, I had but ten +cents in the world, and it surpassed my arithmetic to tell, if I was +that man who had ten cents, or who had a farm, or ten dollars, or all +together. However, I let him keep the ten dollars and the farm too, for +I had carried it far enough; or rather, to be generous, I sold him the +farm for just what I gave for it, and, as he was not a rich man, made +him a present of ten dollars, and still had my ten cents, and seeds, +and materials for a wheelbarrow left. I found thus that I had been a +rich man without any damage to my poverty. But I retained the +landscape, and I have since annually carried off what it yielded +without a wheelbarrow. With respect to landscapes,— + + “I am monarch of all I _survey_, + My right there is none to dispute.” + +I have frequently seen a poet withdraw, having enjoyed the most +valuable part of a farm, while the crusty farmer supposed that he had +got a few wild apples only. Why, the owner does not know it for many +years when a poet has put his farm in rhyme, the most admirable kind of +invisible fence, has fairly impounded it, milked it, skimmed it, and +got all the cream, and left the farmer only the skimmed milk. + +The real attractions of the Hollowell farm, to me, were; its complete +retirement, being, about two miles from the village, half a mile from +the nearest neighbor, and separated from the highway by a broad field; +its bounding on the river, which the owner said protected it by its +fogs from frosts in the spring, though that was nothing to me; the gray +color and ruinous state of the house and barn, and the dilapidated +fences, which put such an interval between me and the last occupant; +the hollow and lichen-covered apple trees, gnawed by rabbits, showing +what kind of neighbors I should have; but above all, the recollection I +had of it from my earliest voyages up the river, when the house was +concealed behind a dense grove of red maples, through which I heard the +house-dog bark. I was in haste to buy it, before the proprietor +finished getting out some rocks, cutting down the hollow apple trees, +and grubbing up some young birches which had sprung up in the pasture, +or, in short, had made any more of his improvements. To enjoy these +advantages I was ready to carry it on; like Atlas, to take the world on +my shoulders,—I never heard what compensation he received for that,—and +do all those things which had no other motive or excuse but that I +might pay for it and be unmolested in my possession of it; for I knew +all the while that it would yield the most abundant crop of the kind I +wanted if I could only afford to let it alone. But it turned out as I +have said. + +All that I could say, then, with respect to farming on a large scale, +(I have always cultivated a garden,) was, that I had had my seeds +ready. Many think that seeds improve with age. I have no doubt that +time discriminates between the good and the bad; and when at last I +shall plant, I shall be less likely to be disappointed. But I would say +to my fellows, once for all, As long as possible live free and +uncommitted. It makes but little difference whether you are committed +to a farm or the county jail. + +Old Cato, whose “De Re Rusticâ” is my “Cultivator,” says, and the only +translation I have seen makes sheer nonsense of the passage, “When you +think of getting a farm, turn it thus in your mind, not to buy +greedily; nor spare your pains to look at it, and do not think it +enough to go round it once. The oftener you go there the more it will +please you, if it is good.” I think I shall not buy greedily, but go +round and round it as long as I live, and be buried in it first, that +it may please me the more at last. + + + +The present was my next experiment of this kind, which I purpose to +describe more at length; for convenience, putting the experience of two +years into one. As I have said, I do not propose to write an ode to +dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, +standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up. + +When first I took up my abode in the woods, that is, began to spend my +nights as well as days there, which, by accident, was on Independence +Day, or the Fourth of July, 1845, my house was not finished for winter, +but was merely a defence against the rain, without plastering or +chimney, the walls being of rough, weather-stained boards, with wide +chinks, which made it cool at night. The upright white hewn studs and +freshly planed door and window casings gave it a clean and airy look, +especially in the morning, when its timbers were saturated with dew, so +that I fancied that by noon some sweet gum would exude from them. To my +imagination it retained throughout the day more or less of this auroral +character, reminding me of a certain house on a mountain which I had +visited the year before. This was an airy and unplastered cabin, fit to +entertain a travelling god, and where a goddess might trail her +garments. The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep +over the ridges of mountains, bearing the broken strains, or celestial +parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning wind forever blows, the +poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears that hear it. +Olympus is but the outside of the earth every where. + +The only house I had been the owner of before, if I except a boat, was +a tent, which I used occasionally when making excursions in the summer, +and this is still rolled up in my garret; but the boat, after passing +from hand to hand, has gone down the stream of time. With this more +substantial shelter about me, I had made some progress toward settling +in the world. This frame, so slightly clad, was a sort of +crystallization around me, and reacted on the builder. It was +suggestive somewhat as a picture in outlines. I did not need to go +outdoors to take the air, for the atmosphere within had lost none of +its freshness. It was not so much within doors as behind a door where I +sat, even in the rainiest weather. The Harivansa says, “An abode +without birds is like a meat without seasoning.” Such was not my abode, +for I found myself suddenly neighbor to the birds; not by having +imprisoned one, but having caged myself near them. I was not only +nearer to some of those which commonly frequent the garden and the +orchard, but to those wilder and more thrilling songsters of the forest +which never, or rarely, serenade a villager,—the wood-thrush, the +veery, the scarlet tanager, the field-sparrow, the whippoorwill, and +many others. + +I was seated by the shore of a small pond, about a mile and a half +south of the village of Concord and somewhat higher than it, in the +midst of an extensive wood between that town and Lincoln, and about two +miles south of that our only field known to fame, Concord Battle +Ground; but I was so low in the woods that the opposite shore, half a +mile off, like the rest, covered with wood, was my most distant +horizon. For the first week, whenever I looked out on the pond it +impressed me like a tarn high up on the side of a mountain, its bottom +far above the surface of other lakes, and, as the sun arose, I saw it +throwing off its nightly clothing of mist, and here and there, by +degrees, its soft ripples or its smooth reflecting surface was +revealed, while the mists, like ghosts, were stealthily withdrawing in +every direction into the woods, as at the breaking up of some nocturnal +conventicle. The very dew seemed to hang upon the trees later into the +day than usual, as on the sides of mountains. + +This small lake was of most value as a neighbor in the intervals of a +gentle rain storm in August, when, both air and water being perfectly +still, but the sky overcast, mid-afternoon had all the serenity of +evening, and the wood-thrush sang around, and was heard from shore to +shore. A lake like this is never smoother than at such a time; and the +clear portion of the air above it being shallow and darkened by clouds, +the water, full of light and reflections, becomes a lower heaven itself +so much the more important. From a hill top near by, where the wood had +been recently cut off, there was a pleasing vista southward across the +pond, through a wide indentation in the hills which form the shore +there, where their opposite sides sloping toward each other suggested a +stream flowing out in that direction through a wooded valley, but +stream there was none. That way I looked between and over the near +green hills to some distant and higher ones in the horizon, tinged with +blue. Indeed, by standing on tiptoe I could catch a glimpse of some of +the peaks of the still bluer and more distant mountain ranges in the +north-west, those true-blue coins from heaven’s own mint, and also of +some portion of the village. But in other directions, even from this +point, I could not see over or beyond the woods which surrounded me. It +is well to have some water in your neighborhood, to give buoyancy to +and float the earth. One value even of the smallest well is, that when +you look into it you see that earth is not continent but insular. This +is as important as that it keeps butter cool. When I looked across the +pond from this peak toward the Sudbury meadows, which in time of flood +I distinguished elevated perhaps by a mirage in their seething valley, +like a coin in a basin, all the earth beyond the pond appeared like a +thin crust insulated and floated even by this small sheet of +interverting water, and I was reminded that this on which I dwelt was +but _dry land_. + +Though the view from my door was still more contracted, I did not feel +crowded or confined in the least. There was pasture enough for my +imagination. The low shrub-oak plateau to which the opposite shore +arose, stretched away toward the prairies of the West and the steppes +of Tartary, affording ample room for all the roving families of men. +“There are none happy in the world but beings who enjoy freely a vast +horizon,”—said Damodara, when his herds required new and larger +pastures. + +Both place and time were changed, and I dwelt nearer to those parts of +the universe and to those eras in history which had most attracted me. +Where I lived was as far off as many a region viewed nightly by +astronomers. We are wont to imagine rare and delectable places in some +remote and more celestial corner of the system, behind the +constellation of Cassiopeia’s Chair, far from noise and disturbance. I +discovered that my house actually had its site in such a withdrawn, but +forever new and unprofaned, part of the universe. If it were worth the +while to settle in those parts near to the Pleiades or the Hyades, to +Aldebaran or Altair, then I was really there, or at an equal remoteness +from the life which I had left behind, dwindled and twinkling with as +fine a ray to my nearest neighbor, and to be seen only in moonless +nights by him. Such was that part of creation where I had squatted;— + + “There was a shepherd that did live, + And held his thoughts as high + As were the mounts whereon his flocks + Did hourly feed him by.” + +What should we think of the shepherd’s life if his flocks always +wandered to higher pastures than his thoughts? + +Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal +simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself. I have been +as sincere a worshipper of Aurora as the Greeks. I got up early and +bathed in the pond; that was a religious exercise, and one of the best +things which I did. They say that characters were engraven on the +bathing tub of king Tching-thang to this effect: “Renew thyself +completely each day; do it again, and again, and forever again.” I can +understand that. Morning brings back the heroic ages. I was as much +affected by the faint hum of a mosquito making its invisible and +unimaginable tour through my apartment at earliest dawn, when I was +sitting with door and windows open, as I could be by any trumpet that +ever sang of fame. It was Homer’s requiem; itself an Iliad and Odyssey +in the air, singing its own wrath and wanderings. There was something +cosmical about it; a standing advertisement, till forbidden, of the +everlasting vigor and fertility of the world. The morning, which is the +most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is +least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us +awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to +be expected of that day, if it can be called a day, to which we are not +awakened by our Genius, but by the mechanical nudgings of some +servitor, are not awakened by our own newly-acquired force and +aspirations from within, accompanied by the undulations of celestial +music, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air—to a +higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the darkness bear its +fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less than the light. That man +who does not believe that each day contains an earlier, more sacred, +and auroral hour than he has yet profaned, has despaired of life, and +is pursuing a descending and darkening way. After a partial cessation +of his sensuous life, the soul of man, or its organs rather, are +reinvigorated each day, and his Genius tries again what noble life it +can make. All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time +and in a morning atmosphere. The Vedas say, “All intelligences awake +with the morning.” Poetry and art, and the fairest and most memorable +of the actions of men, date from such an hour. All poets and heroes, +like Memnon, are the children of Aurora, and emit their music at +sunrise. To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the +sun, the day is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks say +or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and +there is a dawn in me. Moral reform is the effort to throw off sleep. +Why is it that men give so poor an account of their day if they have +not been slumbering? They are not such poor calculators. If they had +not been overcome with drowsiness, they would have performed something. +The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a +million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one +in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be +alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have +looked him in the face? + +We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical +aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not +forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact +than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a +conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular +picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; +but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and +medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the +quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to +make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his +most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such +paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us +how this might be done. + +I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front +only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it +had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not +lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor +did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I +wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so +sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to +cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and +reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then +to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness +to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be +able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, +it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is +of the devil or of God, and have _somewhat hastily_ concluded that it +is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.” + +Still we live meanly, like ants; though the fable tells us that we were +long ago changed into men; like pygmies we fight with cranes; it is +error upon error, and clout upon clout, and our best virtue has for its +occasion a superfluous and evitable wretchedness. Our life is frittered +away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his +ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the +rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as +two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million +count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb nail. In the +midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and +storms and quicksands and thousand-and-one items to be allowed for, +that a man has to live, if he would not founder and go to the bottom +and not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, and he must be a great +calculator indeed who succeeds. Simplify, simplify. Instead of three +meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred +dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion. Our life is like a +German Confederacy, made up of petty states, with its boundary forever +fluctuating, so that even a German cannot tell you how it is bounded at +any moment. The nation itself, with all its so called internal +improvements, which, by the way are all external and superficial, is +just such an unwieldy and overgrown establishment, cluttered with +furniture and tripped up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and +heedless expense, by want of calculation and a worthy aim, as the +million households in the land; and the only cure for it as for them is +in a rigid economy, a stern and more than Spartan simplicity of life +and elevation of purpose. It lives too fast. Men think that it is +essential that the _Nation_ have commerce, and export ice, and talk +through a telegraph, and ride thirty miles an hour, without a doubt, +whether _they_ do or not; but whether we should live like baboons or +like men, is a little uncertain. If we do not get out sleepers, and +forge rails, and devote days and nights to the work, but go to +tinkering upon our _lives_ to improve _them_, who will build railroads? +And if railroads are not built, how shall we get to heaven in season? +But if we stay at home and mind our business, who will want railroads? +We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. Did you ever think +what those sleepers are that underlie the railroad? Each one is a man, +an Irish-man, or a Yankee man. The rails are laid on them, and they are +covered with sand, and the cars run smoothly over them. They are sound +sleepers, I assure you. And every few years a new lot is laid down and +run over; so that, if some have the pleasure of riding on a rail, +others have the misfortune to be ridden upon. And when they run over a +man that is walking in his sleep, a supernumerary sleeper in the wrong +position, and wake him up, they suddenly stop the cars, and make a hue +and cry about it, as if this were an exception. I am glad to know that +it takes a gang of men for every five miles to keep the sleepers down +and level in their beds as it is, for this is a sign that they may +sometime get up again. + +Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined +to be starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves +nine, and so they take a thousand stitches to-day to save nine +to-morrow. As for _work_, we haven’t any of any consequence. We have +the Saint Vitus’ dance, and cannot possibly keep our heads still. If I +should only give a few pulls at the parish bell-rope, as for a fire, +that is, without setting the bell, there is hardly a man on his farm in +the outskirts of Concord, notwithstanding that press of engagements +which was his excuse so many times this morning, nor a boy, nor a +woman, I might almost say, but would forsake all and follow that sound, +not mainly to save property from the flames, but, if we will confess +the truth, much more to see it burn, since burn it must, and we, be it +known, did not set it on fire,—or to see it put out, and have a hand in +it, if that is done as handsomely; yes, even if it were the parish +church itself. Hardly a man takes a half hour’s nap after dinner, but +when he wakes he holds up his head and asks, “What’s the news?” as if +the rest of mankind had stood his sentinels. Some give directions to be +waked every half hour, doubtless for no other purpose; and then, to pay +for it, they tell what they have dreamed. After a night’s sleep the +news is as indispensable as the breakfast. “Pray tell me any thing new +that has happened to a man any where on this globe,”—and he reads it +over his coffee and rolls, that a man has had his eyes gouged out this +morning on the Wachito River; never dreaming the while that he lives in +the dark unfathomed mammoth cave of this world, and has but the +rudiment of an eye himself. + +For my part, I could easily do without the post-office. I think that +there are very few important communications made through it. To speak +critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life—I +wrote this some years ago—that were worth the postage. The penny-post +is, commonly, an institution through which you seriously offer a man +that penny for his thoughts which is so often safely offered in jest. +And I am sure that I never read any memorable news in a newspaper. If +we read of one man robbed, or murdered, or killed by accident, or one +house burned, or one vessel wrecked, or one steamboat blown up, or one +cow run over on the Western Railroad, or one mad dog killed, or one lot +of grasshoppers in the winter,—we never need read of another. One is +enough. If you are acquainted with the principle, what do you care for +a myriad instances and applications? To a philosopher all _news_, as it +is called, is gossip, and they who edit and read it are old women over +their tea. Yet not a few are greedy after this gossip. There was such a +rush, as I hear, the other day at one of the offices to learn the +foreign news by the last arrival, that several large squares of plate +glass belonging to the establishment were broken by the pressure,—news +which I seriously think a ready wit might write a twelve-month, or +twelve years, beforehand with sufficient accuracy. As for Spain, for +instance, if you know how to throw in Don Carlos and the Infanta, and +Don Pedro and Seville and Granada, from time to time in the right +proportions,—they may have changed the names a little since I saw the +papers,—and serve up a bull-fight when other entertainments fail, it +will be true to the letter, and give us as good an idea of the exact +state or ruin of things in Spain as the most succinct and lucid reports +under this head in the newspapers: and as for England, almost the last +significant scrap of news from that quarter was the revolution of 1649; +and if you have learned the history of her crops for an average year, +you never need attend to that thing again, unless your speculations are +of a merely pecuniary character. If one may judge who rarely looks into +the newspapers, nothing new does ever happen in foreign parts, a French +revolution not excepted. + +What news! how much more important to know what that is which was never +old! “Kieou-he-yu (great dignitary of the state of Wei) sent a man to +Khoung-tseu to know his news. Khoung-tseu caused the messenger to be +seated near him, and questioned him in these terms: What is your master +doing? The messenger answered with respect: My master desires to +diminish the number of his faults, but he cannot come to the end of +them. The messenger being gone, the philosopher remarked: What a worthy +messenger! What a worthy messenger!” The preacher, instead of vexing +the ears of drowsy farmers on their day of rest at the end of the +week,—for Sunday is the fit conclusion of an ill-spent week, and not +the fresh and brave beginning of a new one,—with this one other +draggle-tail of a sermon, should shout with thundering voice, “Pause! +Avast! Why so seeming fast, but deadly slow?” + +Shams and delusions are esteemed for soundest truths, while reality is +fabulous. If men would steadily observe realities only, and not allow +themselves to be deluded, life, to compare it with such things as we +know, would be like a fairy tale and the Arabian Nights’ +Entertainments. If we respected only what is inevitable and has a right +to be, music and poetry would resound along the streets. When we are +unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have +any permanent and absolute existence,—that petty fears and petty +pleasures are but the shadow of the reality. This is always +exhilarating and sublime. By closing the eyes and slumbering, and +consenting to be deceived by shows, men establish and confirm their +daily life of routine and habit everywhere, which still is built on +purely illusory foundations. Children, who play life, discern its true +law and relations more clearly than men, who fail to live it worthily, +but who think that they are wiser by experience, that is, by failure. I +have read in a Hindoo book, that “there was a king’s son, who, being +expelled in infancy from his native city, was brought up by a forester, +and, growing up to maturity in that state, imagined himself to belong +to the barbarous race with which he lived. One of his father’s +ministers having discovered him, revealed to him what he was, and the +misconception of his character was removed, and he knew himself to be a +prince. So soul,” continues the Hindoo philosopher, “from the +circumstances in which it is placed, mistakes its own character, until +the truth is revealed to it by some holy teacher, and then it knows +itself to be _Brahme_.” I perceive that we inhabitants of New England +live this mean life that we do because our vision does not penetrate +the surface of things. We think that that _is_ which _appears_ to be. +If a man should walk through this town and see only the reality, where, +think you, would the “Mill-dam” go to? If he should give us an account +of the realities he beheld there, we should not recognize the place in +his description. Look at a meeting-house, or a court-house, or a jail, +or a shop, or a dwelling-house, and say what that thing really is +before a true gaze, and they would all go to pieces in your account of +them. Men esteem truth remote, in the outskirts of the system, behind +the farthest star, before Adam and after the last man. In eternity +there is indeed something true and sublime. But all these times and +places and occasions are now and here. God himself culminates in the +present moment, and will never be more divine in the lapse of all the +ages. And we are enabled to apprehend at all what is sublime and noble +only by the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that +surrounds us. The universe constantly and obediently answers to our +conceptions; whether we travel fast or slow, the track is laid for us. +Let us spend our lives in conceiving then. The poet or the artist never +yet had so fair and noble a design but some of his posterity at least +could accomplish it. + +Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off +the track by every nutshell and mosquito’s wing that falls on the +rails. Let us rise early and fast, or break fast, gently and without +perturbation; let company come and let company go, let the bells ring +and the children cry,—determined to make a day of it. Why should we +knock under and go with the stream? Let us not be upset and overwhelmed +in that terrible rapid and whirlpool called a dinner, situated in the +meridian shallows. Weather this danger and you are safe, for the rest +of the way is down hill. With unrelaxed nerves, with morning vigor, +sail by it, looking another way, tied to the mast like Ulysses. If the +engine whistles, let it whistle till it is hoarse for its pains. If the +bell rings, why should we run? We will consider what kind of music they +are like. Let us settle ourselves, and work and wedge our feet downward +through the mud and slush of opinion, and prejudice, and tradition, and +delusion, and appearance, that alluvion which covers the globe, through +Paris and London, through New York and Boston and Concord, through +church and state, through poetry and philosophy and religion, till we +come to a hard bottom and rocks in place, which we can call _reality_, +and say, This is, and no mistake; and then begin, having a _point +d’appui_, below freshet and frost and fire, a place where you might +found a wall or a state, or set a lamp-post safely, or perhaps a gauge, +not a Nilometer, but a Realometer, that future ages might know how deep +a freshet of shams and appearances had gathered from time to time. If +you stand right fronting and face to face to a fact, you will see the +sun glimmer on both its surfaces, as if it were a cimeter, and feel its +sweet edge dividing you through the heart and marrow, and so you will +happily conclude your mortal career. Be it life or death, we crave only +reality. If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats +and feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our +business. + +Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I +drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin +current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish +in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars. I cannot count one. I +know not the first letter of the alphabet. I have always been +regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The intellect +is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things. +I do not wish to be any more busy with my hands than is necessary. My +head is hands and feet. I feel all my best faculties concentrated in +it. My instinct tells me that my head is an organ for burrowing, as +some creatures use their snout and fore-paws, and with it I would mine +and burrow my way through these hills. I think that the richest vein is +somewhere hereabouts; so by the divining-rod and thin rising vapors I +judge; and here I will begin to mine. + + +Reading + +With a little more deliberation in the choice of their pursuits, all +men would perhaps become essentially students and observers, for +certainly their nature and destiny are interesting to all alike. In +accumulating property for ourselves or our posterity, in founding a +family or a state, or acquiring fame even, we are mortal; but in +dealing with truth we are immortal, and need fear no change nor +accident. The oldest Egyptian or Hindoo philosopher raised a corner of +the veil from the statue of the divinity; and still the trembling robe +remains raised, and I gaze upon as fresh a glory as he did, since it +was I in him that was then so bold, and it is he in me that now reviews +the vision. No dust has settled on that robe; no time has elapsed since +that divinity was revealed. That time which we really improve, or which +is improvable, is neither past, present, nor future. + +My residence was more favorable, not only to thought, but to serious +reading, than a university; and though I was beyond the range of the +ordinary circulating library, I had more than ever come within the +influence of those books which circulate round the world, whose +sentences were first written on bark, and are now merely copied from +time to time on to linen paper. Says the poet Mîr Camar Uddîn Mast, +“Being seated to run through the region of the spiritual world; I have +had this advantage in books. To be intoxicated by a single glass of +wine; I have experienced this pleasure when I have drunk the liquor of +the esoteric doctrines.” I kept Homer’s Iliad on my table through the +summer, though I looked at his page only now and then. Incessant labor +with my hands, at first, for I had my house to finish and my beans to +hoe at the same time, made more study impossible. Yet I sustained +myself by the prospect of such reading in future. I read one or two +shallow books of travel in the intervals of my work, till that +employment made me ashamed of myself, and I asked where it was then +that _I_ lived. + +The student may read Homer or Æschylus in the Greek without danger of +dissipation or luxuriousness, for it implies that he in some measure +emulate their heroes, and consecrate morning hours to their pages. The +heroic books, even if printed in the character of our mother tongue, +will always be in a language dead to degenerate times; and we must +laboriously seek the meaning of each word and line, conjecturing a +larger sense than common use permits out of what wisdom and valor and +generosity we have. The modern cheap and fertile press, with all its +translations, has done little to bring us nearer to the heroic writers +of antiquity. They seem as solitary, and the letter in which they are +printed as rare and curious, as ever. It is worth the expense of +youthful days and costly hours, if you learn only some words of an +ancient language, which are raised out of the trivialness of the +street, to be perpetual suggestions and provocations. It is not in vain +that the farmer remembers and repeats the few Latin words which he has +heard. Men sometimes speak as if the study of the classics would at +length make way for more modern and practical studies; but the +adventurous student will always study classics, in whatever language +they may be written and however ancient they may be. For what are the +classics but the noblest recorded thoughts of man? They are the only +oracles which are not decayed, and there are such answers to the most +modern inquiry in them as Delphi and Dodona never gave. We might as +well omit to study Nature because she is old. To read well, that is, to +read true books in a true spirit, is a noble exercise, and one that +will task the reader more than any exercise which the customs of the +day esteem. It requires a training such as the athletes underwent, the +steady intention almost of the whole life to this object. Books must be +read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written. It is not +enough even to be able to speak the language of that nation by which +they are written, for there is a memorable interval between the spoken +and the written language, the language heard and the language read. The +one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost +brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our +mothers. The other is the maturity and experience of that; if that is +our mother tongue, this is our father tongue, a reserved and select +expression, too significant to be heard by the ear, which we must be +born again in order to speak. The crowds of men who merely _spoke_ the +Greek and Latin tongues in the middle ages were not entitled by the +accident of birth to _read_ the works of genius written in those +languages; for these were not written in that Greek or Latin which they +knew, but in the select language of literature. They had not learned +the nobler dialects of Greece and Rome, but the very materials on which +they were written were waste paper to them, and they prized instead a +cheap contemporary literature. But when the several nations of Europe +had acquired distinct though rude written languages of their own, +sufficient for the purposes of their rising literatures, then first +learning revived, and scholars were enabled to discern from that +remoteness the treasures of antiquity. What the Roman and Grecian +multitude could not _hear_, after the lapse of ages a few scholars +_read_, and a few scholars only are still reading it. + +However much we may admire the orator’s occasional bursts of eloquence, +the noblest written words are commonly as far behind or above the +fleeting spoken language as the firmament with its stars is behind the +clouds. _There_ are the stars, and they who can may read them. The +astronomers forever comment on and observe them. They are not +exhalations like our daily colloquies and vaporous breath. What is +called eloquence in the forum is commonly found to be rhetoric in the +study. The orator yields to the inspiration of a transient occasion, +and speaks to the mob before him, to those who can _hear_ him; but the +writer, whose more equable life is his occasion, and who would be +distracted by the event and the crowd which inspire the orator, speaks +to the intellect and health of mankind, to all in any age who can +_understand_ him. + +No wonder that Alexander carried the Iliad with him on his expeditions +in a precious casket. A written word is the choicest of relics. It is +something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any +other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may +be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually +breathed from all human lips;—not be represented on canvas or in marble +only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself. The symbol of an +ancient man’s thought becomes a modern man’s speech. Two thousand +summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian literature, as to her +marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal tint, for they have carried +their own serene and celestial atmosphere into all lands to protect +them against the corrosion of time. Books are the treasured wealth of +the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Books, +the oldest and the best, stand naturally and rightfully on the shelves +of every cottage. They have no cause of their own to plead, but while +they enlighten and sustain the reader his common sense will not refuse +them. Their authors are a natural and irresistible aristocracy in every +society, and, more than kings or emperors, exert an influence on +mankind. When the illiterate and perhaps scornful trader has earned by +enterprise and industry his coveted leisure and independence, and is +admitted to the circles of wealth and fashion, he turns inevitably at +last to those still higher but yet inaccessible circles of intellect +and genius, and is sensible only of the imperfection of his culture and +the vanity and insufficiency of all his riches, and further proves his +good sense by the pains which he takes to secure for his children that +intellectual culture whose want he so keenly feels; and thus it is that +he becomes the founder of a family. + +Those who have not learned to read the ancient classics in the language +in which they were written must have a very imperfect knowledge of the +history of the human race; for it is remarkable that no transcript of +them has ever been made into any modern tongue, unless our civilization +itself may be regarded as such a transcript. Homer has never yet been +printed in English, nor Æschylus, nor Virgil even—works as refined, as +solidly done, and as beautiful almost as the morning itself; for later +writers, say what we will of their genius, have rarely, if ever, +equalled the elaborate beauty and finish and the lifelong and heroic +literary labors of the ancients. They only talk of forgetting them who +never knew them. It will be soon enough to forget them when we have the +learning and the genius which will enable us to attend to and +appreciate them. That age will be rich indeed when those relics which +we call Classics, and the still older and more than classic but even +less known Scriptures of the nations, shall have still further +accumulated, when the Vaticans shall be filled with Vedas and +Zendavestas and Bibles, with Homers and Dantes and Shakespeares, and +all the centuries to come shall have successively deposited their +trophies in the forum of the world. By such a pile we may hope to scale +heaven at last. + +The works of the great poets have never yet been read by mankind, for +only great poets can read them. They have only been read as the +multitude read the stars, at most astrologically, not astronomically. +Most men have learned to read to serve a paltry convenience, as they +have learned to cipher in order to keep accounts and not be cheated in +trade; but of reading as a noble intellectual exercise they know little +or nothing; yet this only is reading, in a high sense, not that which +lulls us as a luxury and suffers the nobler faculties to sleep the +while, but what we have to stand on tip-toe to read and devote our most +alert and wakeful hours to. + +I think that having learned our letters we should read the best that is +in literature, and not be forever repeating our a b abs, and words of +one syllable, in the fourth or fifth classes, sitting on the lowest and +foremost form all our lives. Most men are satisfied if they read or +hear read, and perchance have been convicted by the wisdom of one good +book, the Bible, and for the rest of their lives vegetate and dissipate +their faculties in what is called easy reading. There is a work in +several volumes in our Circulating Library entitled Little Reading, +which I thought referred to a town of that name which I had not been +to. There are those who, like cormorants and ostriches, can digest all +sorts of this, even after the fullest dinner of meats and vegetables, +for they suffer nothing to be wasted. If others are the machines to +provide this provender, they are the machines to read it. They read the +nine thousandth tale about Zebulon and Sephronia, and how they loved as +none had ever loved before, and neither did the course of their true +love run smooth,—at any rate, how it did run and stumble, and get up +again and go on! how some poor unfortunate got up on to a steeple, who +had better never have gone up as far as the belfry; and then, having +needlessly got him up there, the happy novelist rings the bell for all +the world to come together and hear, O dear! how he did get down again! +For my part, I think that they had better metamorphose all such +aspiring heroes of universal noveldom into man weathercocks, as they +used to put heroes among the constellations, and let them swing round +there till they are rusty, and not come down at all to bother honest +men with their pranks. The next time the novelist rings the bell I will +not stir though the meeting-house burn down. “The Skip of the +Tip-Toe-Hop, a Romance of the Middle Ages, by the celebrated author of +‘Tittle-Tol-Tan,’ to appear in monthly parts; a great rush; don’t all +come together.” All this they read with saucer eyes, and erect and +primitive curiosity, and with unwearied gizzard, whose corrugations +even yet need no sharpening, just as some little four-year-old bencher +his two-cent gilt-covered edition of Cinderella,—without any +improvement, that I can see, in the pronunciation, or accent, or +emphasis, or any more skill in extracting or inserting the moral. The +result is dulness of sight, a stagnation of the vital circulations, and +a general deliquium and sloughing off of all the intellectual +faculties. This sort of gingerbread is baked daily and more sedulously +than pure wheat or rye-and-Indian in almost every oven, and finds a +surer market. + +The best books are not read even by those who are called good readers. +What does our Concord culture amount to? There is in this town, with a +very few exceptions, no taste for the best or for very good books even +in English literature, whose words all can read and spell. Even the +college-bred and so called liberally educated men here and elsewhere +have really little or no acquaintance with the English classics; and as +for the recorded wisdom of mankind, the ancient classics and Bibles, +which are accessible to all who will know of them, there are the +feeblest efforts any where made to become acquainted with them. I know +a woodchopper, of middle age, who takes a French paper, not for news as +he says, for he is above that, but to “keep himself in practice,” he +being a Canadian by birth; and when I ask him what he considers the +best thing he can do in this world, he says, beside this, to keep up +and add to his English. This is about as much as the college bred +generally do or aspire to do, and they take an English paper for the +purpose. One who has just come from reading perhaps one of the best +English books will find how many with whom he can converse about it? Or +suppose he comes from reading a Greek or Latin classic in the original, +whose praises are familiar even to the so called illiterate; he will +find nobody at all to speak to, but must keep silence about it. Indeed, +there is hardly the professor in our colleges, who, if he has mastered +the difficulties of the language, has proportionally mastered the +difficulties of the wit and poetry of a Greek poet, and has any +sympathy to impart to the alert and heroic reader; and as for the +sacred Scriptures, or Bibles of mankind, who in this town can tell me +even their titles? Most men do not know that any nation but the Hebrews +have had a scripture. A man, any man, will go considerably out of his +way to pick up a silver dollar; but here are golden words, which the +wisest men of antiquity have uttered, and whose worth the wise of every +succeeding age have assured us of;—and yet we learn to read only as far +as Easy Reading, the primers and class-books, and when we leave school, +the “Little Reading,” and story books, which are for boys and +beginners; and our reading, our conversation and thinking, are all on a +very low level, worthy only of pygmies and manikins. + +I aspire to be acquainted with wiser men than this our Concord soil has +produced, whose names are hardly known here. Or shall I hear the name +of Plato and never read his book? As if Plato were my townsman and I +never saw him,—my next neighbor and I never heard him speak or attended +to the wisdom of his words. But how actually is it? His Dialogues, +which contain what was immortal in him, lie on the next shelf, and yet +I never read them. We are underbred and low-lived and illiterate; and +in this respect I confess I do not make any very broad distinction +between the illiterateness of my townsman who cannot read at all, and +the illiterateness of him who has learned to read only what is for +children and feeble intellects. We should be as good as the worthies of +antiquity, but partly by first knowing how good they were. We are a +race of tit-men, and soar but little higher in our intellectual flights +than the columns of the daily paper. + +It is not all books that are as dull as their readers. There are +probably words addressed to our condition exactly, which, if we could +really hear and understand, would be more salutary than the morning or +the spring to our lives, and possibly put a new aspect on the face of +things for us. How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the +reading of a book. The book exists for us perchance which will explain +our miracles and reveal new ones. The at present unutterable things we +may find somewhere uttered. These same questions that disturb and +puzzle and confound us have in their turn occurred to all the wise men; +not one has been omitted; and each has answered them, according to his +ability, by his words and his life. Moreover, with wisdom we shall +learn liberality. The solitary hired man on a farm in the outskirts of +Concord, who has had his second birth and peculiar religious +experience, and is driven as he believes into the silent gravity and +exclusiveness by his faith, may think it is not true; but Zoroaster, +thousands of years ago, travelled the same road and had the same +experience; but he, being wise, knew it to be universal, and treated +his neighbors accordingly, and is even said to have invented and +established worship among men. Let him humbly commune with Zoroaster +then, and through the liberalizing influence of all the worthies, with +Jesus Christ himself, and let “our church” go by the board. + +We boast that we belong to the nineteenth century and are making the +most rapid strides of any nation. But consider how little this village +does for its own culture. I do not wish to flatter my townsmen, nor to +be flattered by them, for that will not advance either of us. We need +to be provoked,—goaded like oxen, as we are, into a trot. We have a +comparatively decent system of common schools, schools for infants +only; but excepting the half-starved Lyceum in the winter, and latterly +the puny beginning of a library suggested by the state, no school for +ourselves. We spend more on almost any article of bodily aliment or +ailment than on our mental aliment. It is time that we had uncommon +schools, that we did not leave off our education when we begin to be +men and women. It is time that villages were universities, and their +elder inhabitants the fellows of universities, with leisure—if they are +indeed so well off—to pursue liberal studies the rest of their lives. +Shall the world be confined to one Paris or one Oxford forever? Cannot +students be boarded here and get a liberal education under the skies of +Concord? Can we not hire some Abelard to lecture to us? Alas! what with +foddering the cattle and tending the store, we are kept from school too +long, and our education is sadly neglected. In this country, the +village should in some respects take the place of the nobleman of +Europe. It should be the patron of the fine arts. It is rich enough. It +wants only the magnanimity and refinement. It can spend money enough on +such things as farmers and traders value, but it is thought Utopian to +propose spending money for things which more intelligent men know to be +of far more worth. This town has spent seventeen thousand dollars on a +town-house, thank fortune or politics, but probably it will not spend +so much on living wit, the true meat to put into that shell, in a +hundred years. The one hundred and twenty-five dollars annually +subscribed for a Lyceum in the winter is better spent than any other +equal sum raised in the town. If we live in the nineteenth century, why +should we not enjoy the advantages which the nineteenth century offers? +Why should our life be in any respect provincial? If we will read +newspapers, why not skip the gossip of Boston and take the best +newspaper in the world at once?—not be sucking the pap of “neutral +family” papers, or browsing “Olive-Branches” here in New England. Let +the reports of all the learned societies come to us, and we will see if +they know any thing. Why should we leave it to Harper & Brothers and +Redding & Co. to select our reading? As the nobleman of cultivated +taste surrounds himself with whatever conduces to his +culture,—genius—learning—wit—books—paintings—statuary—music— +philosophical instruments, and the like; so let the village do,—not +stop short at a pedagogue, a parson, a sexton, a parish library, and +three selectmen, because our pilgrim forefathers got through a cold +winter once on a bleak rock with these. To act collectively is +according to the spirit of our institutions; and I am confident that, +as our circumstances are more flourishing, our means are greater than +the nobleman’s. New England can hire all the wise men in the world to +come and teach her, and board them round the while, and not be +provincial at all. That is the _uncommon_ school we want. Instead of +noblemen, let us have noble villages of men. If it is necessary, omit +one bridge over the river, go round a little there, and throw one arch +at least over the darker gulf of ignorance which surrounds us. + + +Sounds + +But while we are confined to books, though the most select and classic, +and read only particular written languages, which are themselves but +dialects and provincial, we are in danger of forgetting the language +which all things and events speak without metaphor, which alone is +copious and standard. Much is published, but little printed. The rays +which stream through the shutter will be no longer remembered when the +shutter is wholly removed. No method nor discipline can supersede the +necessity of being forever on the alert. What is a course of history, +or philosophy, or poetry, no matter how well selected, or the best +society, or the most admirable routine of life, compared with the +discipline of looking always at what is to be seen? Will you be a +reader, a student merely, or a seer? Read your fate, see what is before +you, and walk on into futurity. + +I did not read books the first summer; I hoed beans. Nay, I often did +better than this. There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice +the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or +hands. I love a broad margin to my life. Sometimes, in a summer +morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway +from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and +hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the +birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the +sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s +wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I +grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better +than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time +subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance. +I realized what the Orientals mean by contemplation and the forsaking +of works. For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. The day +advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now +it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished. Instead of +singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune. +As the sparrow had its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so +had I my chuckle or suppressed warble which he might hear out of my +nest. My days were not days of the week, bearing the stamp of any +heathen deity, nor were they minced into hours and fretted by the +ticking of a clock; for I lived like the Puri Indians, of whom it is +said that “for yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow they have only one +word, and they express the variety of meaning by pointing backward for +yesterday, forward for to-morrow, and overhead for the passing day.” +This was sheer idleness to my fellow-townsmen, no doubt; but if the +birds and flowers had tried me by their standard, I should not have +been found wanting. A man must find his occasions in himself, it is +true. The natural day is very calm, and will hardly reprove his +indolence. + +I had this advantage, at least, in my mode of life, over those who were +obliged to look abroad for amusement, to society and the theatre, that +my life itself was become my amusement and never ceased to be novel. It +was a drama of many scenes and without an end. If we were always indeed +getting our living, and regulating our lives according to the last and +best mode we had learned, we should never be troubled with ennui. +Follow your genius closely enough, and it will not fail to show you a +fresh prospect every hour. Housework was a pleasant pastime. When my +floor was dirty, I rose early, and, setting all my furniture out of +doors on the grass, bed and bedstead making but one budget, dashed +water on the floor, and sprinkled white sand from the pond on it, and +then with a broom scrubbed it clean and white; and by the time the +villagers had broken their fast the morning sun had dried my house +sufficiently to allow me to move in again, and my meditations were +almost uninterupted. It was pleasant to see my whole household effects +out on the grass, making a little pile like a gypsy’s pack, and my +three-legged table, from which I did not remove the books and pen and +ink, standing amid the pines and hickories. They seemed glad to get out +themselves, and as if unwilling to be brought in. I was sometimes +tempted to stretch an awning over them and take my seat there. It was +worth the while to see the sun shine on these things, and hear the free +wind blow on them; so much more interesting most familiar objects look +out of doors than in the house. A bird sits on the next bough, +life-everlasting grows under the table, and blackberry vines run round +its legs; pine cones, chestnut burs, and strawberry leaves are strewn +about. It looked as if this was the way these forms came to be +transferred to our furniture, to tables, chairs, and bedsteads,—because +they once stood in their midst. + +My house was on the side of a hill, immediately on the edge of the +larger wood, in the midst of a young forest of pitch pines and +hickories, and half a dozen rods from the pond, to which a narrow +footpath led down the hill. In my front yard grew the strawberry, +blackberry, and life-everlasting, johnswort and goldenrod, shrub-oaks +and sand-cherry, blueberry and groundnut. Near the end of May, the +sand-cherry (_Cerasus pumila_,) adorned the sides of the path with its +delicate flowers arranged in umbels cylindrically about its short +stems, which last, in the fall, weighed down with good sized and +handsome cherries, fell over in wreaths like rays on every side. I +tasted them out of compliment to Nature, though they were scarcely +palatable. The sumach (_Rhus glabra_,) grew luxuriantly about the +house, pushing up through the embankment which I had made, and growing +five or six feet the first season. Its broad pinnate tropical leaf was +pleasant though strange to look on. The large buds, suddenly pushing +out late in the spring from dry sticks which had seemed to be dead, +developed themselves as by magic into graceful green and tender boughs, +an inch in diameter; and sometimes, as I sat at my window, so +heedlessly did they grow and tax their weak joints, I heard a fresh and +tender bough suddenly fall like a fan to the ground, when there was not +a breath of air stirring, broken off by its own weight. In August, the +large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild +bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their +weight again bent down and broke the tender limbs. + + + +As I sit at my window this summer afternoon, hawks are circling about +my clearing; the tantivy of wild pigeons, flying by twos and threes +athwart my view, or perching restless on the white-pine boughs behind +my house, gives a voice to the air; a fishhawk dimples the glassy +surface of the pond and brings up a fish; a mink steals out of the +marsh before my door and seizes a frog by the shore; the sedge is +bending under the weight of the reed-birds flitting hither and thither; +and for the last half hour I have heard the rattle of railroad cars, +now dying away and then reviving like the beat of a partridge, +conveying travellers from Boston to the country. For I did not live so +out of the world as that boy who, as I hear, was put out to a farmer in +the east part of the town, but ere long ran away and came home again, +quite down at the heel and homesick. He had never seen such a dull and +out-of-the-way place; the folks were all gone off; why, you couldn’t +even hear the whistle! I doubt if there is such a place in +Massachusetts now:— + + “In truth, our village has become a butt + For one of those fleet railroad shafts, and o’er + Our peaceful plain its soothing sound is—Concord.” + +The Fitchburg Railroad touches the pond about a hundred rods south of +where I dwell. I usually go to the village along its causeway, and am, +as it were, related to society by this link. The men on the freight +trains, who go over the whole length of the road, bow to me as to an +old acquaintance, they pass me so often, and apparently they take me +for an employee; and so I am. I too would fain be a track-repairer +somewhere in the orbit of the earth. + +The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, +sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmer’s yard, +informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the +circle of the town, or adventurous country traders from the other side. +As they come under one horizon, they shout their warning to get off the +track to the other, heard sometimes through the circles of two towns. +Here come your groceries, country; your rations, countrymen! Nor is +there any man so independent on his farm that he can say them nay. And +here’s your pay for them! screams the countryman’s whistle; timber like +long battering rams going twenty miles an hour against the city’s +walls, and chairs enough to seat all the weary and heavy laden that +dwell within them. With such huge and lumbering civility the country +hands a chair to the city. All the Indian huckleberry hills are +stripped, all the cranberry meadows are raked into the city. Up comes +the cotton, down goes the woven cloth; up comes the silk, down goes the +woollen; up come the books, but down goes the wit that writes them. + +When I meet the engine with its train of cars moving off with planetary +motion,—or, rather, like a comet, for the beholder knows not if with +that velocity and with that direction it will ever revisit this system, +since its orbit does not look like a returning curve,—with its steam +cloud like a banner streaming behind in golden and silver wreaths, like +many a downy cloud which I have seen, high in the heavens, unfolding +its masses to the light,—as if this travelling demigod, this +cloud-compeller, would ere long take the sunset sky for the livery of +his train; when I hear the iron horse make the hills echo with his +snort like thunder, shaking the earth with his feet, and breathing fire +and smoke from his nostrils, (what kind of winged horse or fiery dragon +they will put into the new Mythology I don’t know), it seems as if the +earth had got a race now worthy to inhabit it. If all were as it seems, +and men made the elements their servants for noble ends! If the cloud +that hangs over the engine were the perspiration of heroic deeds, or as +beneficent as that which floats over the farmer’s fields, then the +elements and Nature herself would cheerfully accompany men on their +errands and be their escort. + +I watch the passage of the morning cars with the same feeling that I do +the rising of the sun, which is hardly more regular. Their train of +clouds stretching far behind and rising higher and higher, going to +heaven while the cars are going to Boston, conceals the sun for a +minute and casts my distant field into the shade, a celestial train +beside which the petty train of cars which hugs the earth is but the +barb of the spear. The stabler of the iron horse was up early this +winter morning by the light of the stars amid the mountains, to fodder +and harness his steed. Fire, too, was awakened thus early to put the +vital heat in him and get him off. If the enterprise were as innocent +as it is early! If the snow lies deep, they strap on his snow-shoes, +and with the giant plow, plow a furrow from the mountains to the +seaboard, in which the cars, like a following drill-barrow, sprinkle +all the restless men and floating merchandise in the country for seed. +All day the fire-steed flies over the country, stopping only that his +master may rest, and I am awakened by his tramp and defiant snort at +midnight, when in some remote glen in the woods he fronts the elements +incased in ice and snow; and he will reach his stall only with the +morning star, to start once more on his travels without rest or +slumber. Or perchance, at evening, I hear him in his stable blowing off +the superfluous energy of the day, that he may calm his nerves and cool +his liver and brain for a few hours of iron slumber. If the enterprise +were as heroic and commanding as it is protracted and unwearied! + +Far through unfrequented woods on the confines of towns, where once +only the hunter penetrated by day, in the darkest night dart these +bright saloons without the knowledge of their inhabitants; this moment +stopping at some brilliant station-house in town or city, where a +social crowd is gathered, the next in the Dismal Swamp, scaring the owl +and fox. The startings and arrivals of the cars are now the epochs in +the village day. They go and come with such regularity and precision, +and their whistle can be heard so far, that the farmers set their +clocks by them, and thus one well conducted institution regulates a +whole country. Have not men improved somewhat in punctuality since the +railroad was invented? Do they not talk and think faster in the depot +than they did in the stage-office? There is something electrifying in +the atmosphere of the former place. I have been astonished at the +miracles it has wrought; that some of my neighbors, who, I should have +prophesied, once for all, would never get to Boston by so prompt a +conveyance, are on hand when the bell rings. To do things “railroad +fashion” is now the by-word; and it is worth the while to be warned so +often and so sincerely by any power to get off its track. There is no +stopping to read the riot act, no firing over the heads of the mob, in +this case. We have constructed a fate, an _Atropos_, that never turns +aside. (Let that be the name of your engine.) Men are advertised that +at a certain hour and minute these bolts will be shot toward particular +points of the compass; yet it interferes with no man’s business, and +the children go to school on the other track. We live the steadier for +it. We are all educated thus to be sons of Tell. The air is full of +invisible bolts. Every path but your own is the path of fate. Keep on +your own track, then. + +What recommends commerce to me is its enterprise and bravery. It does +not clasp its hands and pray to Jupiter. I see these men every day go +about their business with more or less courage and content, doing more +even than they suspect, and perchance better employed than they could +have consciously devised. I am less affected by their heroism who stood +up for half an hour in the front line at Buena Vista, than by the +steady and cheerful valor of the men who inhabit the snow-plough for +their winter quarters; who have not merely the three-o’-clock in the +morning courage, which Bonaparte thought was the rarest, but whose +courage does not go to rest so early, who go to sleep only when the +storm sleeps or the sinews of their iron steed are frozen. On this +morning of the Great Snow, perchance, which is still raging and +chilling men’s blood, I hear the muffled tone of their engine bell from +out the fog bank of their chilled breath, which announces that the cars +_are coming_, without long delay, notwithstanding the veto of a New +England north-east snow storm, and I behold the ploughmen covered with +snow and rime, their heads peering, above the mould-board which is +turning down other than daisies and the nests of field-mice, like +bowlders of the Sierra Nevada, that occupy an outside place in the +universe. + +Commerce is unexpectedly confident and serene, alert, adventurous, and +unwearied. It is very natural in its methods withal, far more so than +many fantastic enterprises and sentimental experiments, and hence its +singular success. I am refreshed and expanded when the freight train +rattles past me, and I smell the stores which go dispensing their odors +all the way from Long Wharf to Lake Champlain, reminding me of foreign +parts, of coral reefs, and Indian oceans, and tropical climes, and the +extent of the globe. I feel more like a citizen of the world at the +sight of the palm-leaf which will cover so many flaxen New England +heads the next summer, the Manilla hemp and cocoa-nut husks, the old +junk, gunny bags, scrap iron, and rusty nails. This car-load of torn +sails is more legible and interesting now than if they should be +wrought into paper and printed books. Who can write so graphically the +history of the storms they have weathered as these rents have done? +They are proof-sheets which need no correction. Here goes lumber from +the Maine woods, which did not go out to sea in the last freshet, risen +four dollars on the thousand because of what did go out or was split +up; pine, spruce, cedar,—first, second, third, and fourth qualities, so +lately all of one quality, to wave over the bear, and moose, and +caribou. Next rolls Thomaston lime, a prime lot, which will get far +among the hills before it gets slacked. These rags in bales, of all +hues and qualities, the lowest condition to which cotton and linen +descend, the final result of dress,—of patterns which are now no longer +cried up, unless it be in Milwaukie, as those splendid articles, +English, French, or American prints, ginghams, muslins, &c., gathered +from all quarters both of fashion and poverty, going to become paper of +one color or a few shades only, on which forsooth will be written tales +of real life, high and low, and founded on fact! This closed car smells +of salt fish, the strong New England and commercial scent, reminding me +of the Grand Banks and the fisheries. Who has not seen a salt fish, +thoroughly cured for this world, so that nothing can spoil it, and +putting the perseverance of the saints to the blush? with which you may +sweep or pave the streets, and split your kindlings, and the teamster +shelter himself and his lading against sun wind and rain behind it,—and +the trader, as a Concord trader once did, hang it up by his door for a +sign when he commences business, until at last his oldest customer +cannot tell surely whether it be animal, vegetable, or mineral, and yet +it shall be as pure as a snowflake, and if it be put into a pot and +boiled, will come out an excellent dun fish for a Saturday’s dinner. +Next Spanish hides, with the tails still preserving their twist and the +angle of elevation they had when the oxen that wore them were careering +over the pampas of the Spanish main,—a type of all obstinacy, and +evincing how almost hopeless and incurable are all constitutional +vices. I confess, that practically speaking, when I have learned a +man’s real disposition, I have no hopes of changing it for the better +or worse in this state of existence. As the Orientals say, “A cur’s +tail may be warmed, and pressed, and bound round with ligatures, and +after a twelve years’ labor bestowed upon it, still it will retain its +natural form.” The only effectual cure for such inveteracies as these +tails exhibit is to make glue of them, which I believe is what is +usually done with them, and then they will stay put and stick. Here is +a hogshead of molasses or of brandy directed to John Smith, +Cuttingsville, Vermont, some trader among the Green Mountains, who +imports for the farmers near his clearing, and now perchance stands +over his bulk-head and thinks of the last arrivals on the coast, how +they may affect the price for him, telling his customers this moment, +as he has told them twenty times before this morning, that he expects +some by the next train of prime quality. It is advertised in the +Cuttingsville Times. + +While these things go up other things come down. Warned by the whizzing +sound, I look up from my book and see some tall pine, hewn on far +northern hills, which has winged its way over the Green Mountains and +the Connecticut, shot like an arrow through the township within ten +minutes, and scarce another eye beholds it; going + + “to be the mast + Of some great ammiral.” + +And hark! here comes the cattle-train bearing the cattle of a thousand +hills, sheepcots, stables, and cow-yards in the air, drovers with their +sticks, and shepherd boys in the midst of their flocks, all but the +mountain pastures, whirled along like leaves blown from the mountains +by the September gales. The air is filled with the bleating of calves +and sheep, and the hustling of oxen, as if a pastoral valley were going +by. When the old bell-wether at the head rattles his bell, the +mountains do indeed skip like rams and the little hills like lambs. A +car-load of drovers, too, in the midst, on a level with their droves +now, their vocation gone, but still clinging to their useless sticks as +their badge of office. But their dogs, where are they? It is a stampede +to them; they are quite thrown out; they have lost the scent. Methinks +I hear them barking behind the Peterboro’ Hills, or panting up the +western slope of the Green Mountains. They will not be in at the death. +Their vocation, too, is gone. Their fidelity and sagacity are below par +now. They will slink back to their kennels in disgrace, or perchance +run wild and strike a league with the wolf and the fox. So is your +pastoral life whirled past and away. But the bell rings, and I must get +off the track and let the cars go by;— + + What’s the railroad to me? + I never go to see + Where it ends. + It fills a few hollows, + And makes banks for the swallows, + It sets the sand a-blowing, + And the blackberries a-growing, + +but I cross it like a cart-path in the woods. I will not have my eyes +put out and my ears spoiled by its smoke and steam and hissing. + + + +Now that the cars are gone by and all the restless world with them, and +the fishes in the pond no longer feel their rumbling, I am more alone +than ever. For the rest of the long afternoon, perhaps, my meditations +are interrupted only by the faint rattle of a carriage or team along +the distant highway. + +Sometimes, on Sundays, I heard the bells, the Lincoln, Acton, Bedford, +or Concord bell, when the wind was favorable, a faint, sweet, and, as +it were, natural melody, worth importing into the wilderness. At a +sufficient distance over the woods this sound acquires a certain +vibratory hum, as if the pine needles in the horizon were the strings +of a harp which it swept. All sound heard at the greatest possible +distance produces one and the same effect, a vibration of the universal +lyre, just as the intervening atmosphere makes a distant ridge of earth +interesting to our eyes by the azure tint it imparts to it. There came +to me in this case a melody which the air had strained, and which had +conversed with every leaf and needle of the wood, that portion of the +sound which the elements had taken up and modulated and echoed from +vale to vale. The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and +therein is the magic and charm of it. It is not merely a repetition of +what was worth repeating in the bell, but partly the voice of the wood; +the same trivial words and notes sung by a wood-nymph. + +At evening, the distant lowing of some cow in the horizon beyond the +woods sounded sweet and melodious, and at first I would mistake it for +the voices of certain minstrels by whom I was sometimes serenaded, who +might be straying over hill and dale; but soon I was not unpleasantly +disappointed when it was prolonged into the cheap and natural music of +the cow. I do not mean to be satirical, but to express my appreciation +of those youths’ singing, when I state that I perceived clearly that it +was akin to the music of the cow, and they were at length one +articulation of Nature. + +Regularly at half past seven, in one part of the summer, after the +evening train had gone by, the whippoorwills chanted their vespers for +half an hour, sitting on a stump by my door, or upon the ridge pole of +the house. They would begin to sing almost with as much precision as a +clock, within five minutes of a particular time, referred to the +setting of the sun, every evening. I had a rare opportunity to become +acquainted with their habits. Sometimes I heard four or five at once in +different parts of the wood, by accident one a bar behind another, and +so near me that I distinguished not only the cluck after each note, but +often that singular buzzing sound like a fly in a spider’s web, only +proportionally louder. Sometimes one would circle round and round me in +the woods a few feet distant as if tethered by a string, when probably +I was near its eggs. They sang at intervals throughout the night, and +were again as musical as ever just before and about dawn. + +When other birds are still the screech owls take up the strain, like +mourning women their ancient u-lu-lu. Their dismal scream is truly Ben +Jonsonian. Wise midnight hags! It is no honest and blunt tu-whit tu-who +of the poets, but, without jesting, a most solemn graveyard ditty, the +mutual consolations of suicide lovers remembering the pangs and the +delights of supernal love in the infernal groves. Yet I love to hear +their wailing, their doleful responses, trilled along the wood-side; +reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds; as if it were the +dark and tearful side of music, the regrets and sighs that would fain +be sung. They are the spirits, the low spirits and melancholy +forebodings, of fallen souls that once in human shape night-walked the +earth and did the deeds of darkness, now expiating their sins with +their wailing hymns or threnodies in the scenery of their +transgressions. They give me a new sense of the variety and capacity of +that nature which is our common dwelling. _Oh-o-o-o-o that I never had +been bor-r-r-r-n!_ sighs one on this side of the pond, and circles with +the restlessness of despair to some new perch on the gray oaks. +Then—_that I never had been bor-r-r-r-n!_ echoes another on the farther +side with tremulous sincerity, and—_bor-r-r-r-n!_ comes faintly from +far in the Lincoln woods. + +I was also serenaded by a hooting owl. Near at hand you could fancy it +the most melancholy sound in Nature, as if she meant by this to +stereotype and make permanent in her choir the dying moans of a human +being,—some poor weak relic of mortality who has left hope behind, and +howls like an animal, yet with human sobs, on entering the dark valley, +made more awful by a certain gurgling melodiousness,—I find myself +beginning with the letters gl when I try to imitate it,—expressive of a +mind which has reached the gelatinous mildewy stage in the +mortification of all healthy and courageous thought. It reminded me of +ghouls and idiots and insane howlings. But now one answers from far +woods in a strain made really melodious by distance,—_Hoo hoo hoo, +hoorer hoo_; and indeed for the most part it suggested only pleasing +associations, whether heard by day or night, summer or winter. + +I rejoice that there are owls. Let them do the idiotic and maniacal +hooting for men. It is a sound admirably suited to swamps and twilight +woods which no day illustrates, suggesting a vast and undeveloped +nature which men have not recognized. They represent the stark twilight +and unsatisfied thoughts which all have. All day the sun has shone on +the surface of some savage swamp, where the single spruce stands hung +with usnea lichens, and small hawks circulate above, and the chickadee +lisps amid the evergreens, and the partridge and rabbit skulk beneath; +but now a more dismal and fitting day dawns, and a different race of +creatures awakes to express the meaning of Nature there. + +Late in the evening I heard the distant rumbling of wagons over +bridges,—a sound heard farther than almost any other at night,—the +baying of dogs, and sometimes again the lowing of some disconsolate cow +in a distant barn-yard. In the mean while all the shore rang with the +trump of bullfrogs, the sturdy spirits of ancient wine-bibbers and +wassailers, still unrepentant, trying to sing a catch in their Stygian +lake,—if the Walden nymphs will pardon the comparison, for though there +are almost no weeds, there are frogs there,—who would fain keep up the +hilarious rules of their old festal tables, though their voices have +waxed hoarse and solemnly grave, mocking at mirth, and the wine has +lost its flavor, and become only liquor to distend their paunches, and +sweet intoxication never comes to drown the memory of the past, but +mere saturation and waterloggedness and distention. The most +aldermanic, with his chin upon a heart-leaf, which serves for a napkin +to his drooling chaps, under this northern shore quaffs a deep draught +of the once scorned water, and passes round the cup with the +ejaculation _tr-r-r-oonk, tr-r-r-oonk, tr-r-r-oonk!_ and straightway +comes over the water from some distant cove the same password repeated, +where the next in seniority and girth has gulped down to his mark; and +when this observance has made the circuit of the shores, then +ejaculates the master of ceremonies, with satisfaction, _tr-r-r-oonk!_ +and each in his turn repeats the same down to the least distended, +leakiest, and flabbiest paunched, that there be no mistake; and then +the bowl goes round again and again, until the sun disperses the +morning mist, and only the patriarch is not under the pond, but vainly +bellowing _troonk_ from time to time, and pausing for a reply. + +I am not sure that I ever heard the sound of cock-crowing from my +clearing, and I thought that it might be worth the while to keep a +cockerel for his music merely, as a singing bird. The note of this once +wild Indian pheasant is certainly the most remarkable of any bird’s, +and if they could be naturalized without being domesticated, it would +soon become the most famous sound in our woods, surpassing the clangor +of the goose and the hooting of the owl; and then imagine the cackling +of the hens to fill the pauses when their lords’ clarions rested! No +wonder that man added this bird to his tame stock,—to say nothing of +the eggs and drumsticks. To walk in a winter morning in a wood where +these birds abounded, their native woods, and hear the wild cockerels +crow on the trees, clear and shrill for miles over the resounding +earth, drowning the feebler notes of other birds,—think of it! It would +put nations on the alert. Who would not be early to rise, and rise +earlier and earlier every successive day of his life, till he became +unspeakably healthy, wealthy, and wise? This foreign bird’s note is +celebrated by the poets of all countries along with the notes of their +native songsters. All climates agree with brave Chanticleer. He is more +indigenous even than the natives. His health is ever good, his lungs +are sound, his spirits never flag. Even the sailor on the Atlantic and +Pacific is awakened by his voice; but its shrill sound never roused me +from my slumbers. I kept neither dog, cat, cow, pig, nor hens, so that +you would have said there was a deficiency of domestic sounds; neither +the churn, nor the spinning wheel, nor even the singing of the kettle, +nor the hissing of the urn, nor children crying, to comfort one. An +old-fashioned man would have lost his senses or died of ennui before +this. Not even rats in the wall, for they were starved out, or rather +were never baited in,—only squirrels on the roof and under the floor, a +whippoorwill on the ridge pole, a blue-jay screaming beneath the +window, a hare or woodchuck under the house, a screech-owl or a cat-owl +behind it, a flock of wild geese or a laughing loon on the pond, and a +fox to bark in the night. Not even a lark or an oriole, those mild +plantation birds, ever visited my clearing. No cockerels to crow nor +hens to cackle in the yard. No yard! but unfenced Nature reaching up to +your very sills. A young forest growing up under your meadows, and wild +sumachs and blackberry vines breaking through into your cellar; sturdy +pitch pines rubbing and creaking against the shingles for want of room, +their roots reaching quite under the house. Instead of a scuttle or a +blind blown off in the gale,—a pine tree snapped off or torn up by the +roots behind your house for fuel. Instead of no path to the front-yard +gate in the Great Snow,—no gate,—no front-yard,—and no path to the +civilized world! + + +Solitude + +This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and +imbibes delight through every pore. I go and come with a strange +liberty in Nature, a part of herself. As I walk along the stony shore +of the pond in my shirt sleeves, though it is cool as well as cloudy +and windy, and I see nothing special to attract me, all the elements +are unusually congenial to me. The bullfrogs trump to usher in the +night, and the note of the whippoorwill is borne on the rippling wind +from over the water. Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar +leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, like the lake, my serenity is +rippled but not ruffled. These small waves raised by the evening wind +are as remote from storm as the smooth reflecting surface. Though it is +now dark, the wind still blows and roars in the wood, the waves still +dash, and some creatures lull the rest with their notes. The repose is +never complete. The wildest animals do not repose, but seek their prey +now; the fox, and skunk, and rabbit, now roam the fields and woods +without fear. They are Nature’s watchmen,—links which connect the days +of animated life. + +When I return to my house I find that visitors have been there and left +their cards, either a bunch of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a +name in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or a chip. They who come rarely +to the woods take some little piece of the forest into their hands to +play with by the way, which they leave, either intentionally or +accidentally. One has peeled a willow wand, woven it into a ring, and +dropped it on my table. I could always tell if visitors had called in +my absence, either by the bended twigs or grass, or the print of their +shoes, and generally of what sex or age or quality they were by some +slight trace left, as a flower dropped, or a bunch of grass plucked and +thrown away, even as far off as the railroad, half a mile distant, or +by the lingering odor of a cigar or pipe. Nay, I was frequently +notified of the passage of a traveller along the highway sixty rods off +by the scent of his pipe. + +There is commonly sufficient space about us. Our horizon is never quite +at our elbows. The thick wood is not just at our door, nor the pond, +but somewhat is always clearing, familiar and worn by us, appropriated +and fenced in some way, and reclaimed from Nature. For what reason have +I this vast range and circuit, some square miles of unfrequented +forest, for my privacy, abandoned to me by men? My nearest neighbor is +a mile distant, and no house is visible from any place but the +hill-tops within half a mile of my own. I have my horizon bounded by +woods all to myself; a distant view of the railroad where it touches +the pond on the one hand, and of the fence which skirts the woodland +road on the other. But for the most part it is as solitary where I live +as on the prairies. It is as much Asia or Africa as New England. I +have, as it were, my own sun and moon and stars, and a little world all +to myself. At night there was never a traveller passed my house, or +knocked at my door, more than if I were the first or last man; unless +it were in the spring, when at long intervals some came from the +village to fish for pouts,—they plainly fished much more in the Walden +Pond of their own natures, and baited their hooks with darkness,—but +they soon retreated, usually with light baskets, and left “the world to +darkness and to me,” and the black kernel of the night was never +profaned by any human neighborhood. I believe that men are generally +still a little afraid of the dark, though the witches are all hung, and +Christianity and candles have been introduced. + +Yet I experienced sometimes that the most sweet and tender, the most +innocent and encouraging society may be found in any natural object, +even for the poor misanthrope and most melancholy man. There can be no +very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has +his senses still. There was never yet such a storm but it was Æolian +music to a healthy and innocent ear. Nothing can rightly compel a +simple and brave man to a vulgar sadness. While I enjoy the friendship +of the seasons I trust that nothing can make life a burden to me. The +gentle rain which waters my beans and keeps me in the house to-day is +not drear and melancholy, but good for me too. Though it prevents my +hoeing them, it is of far more worth than my hoeing. If it should +continue so long as to cause the seeds to rot in the ground and destroy +the potatoes in the low lands, it would still be good for the grass on +the uplands, and, being good for the grass, it would be good for me. +Sometimes, when I compare myself with other men, it seems as if I were +more favored by the gods than they, beyond any deserts that I am +conscious of; as if I had a warrant and surety at their hands which my +fellows have not, and were especially guided and guarded. I do not +flatter myself, but if it be possible they flatter me. I have never +felt lonesome, or in the least oppressed by a sense of solitude, but +once, and that was a few weeks after I came to the woods, when, for an +hour, I doubted if the near neighborhood of man was not essential to a +serene and healthy life. To be alone was something unpleasant. But I +was at the same time conscious of a slight insanity in my mood, and +seemed to foresee my recovery. In the midst of a gentle rain while +these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and +beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattering of the drops, and +in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable +friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the +fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have +never thought of them since. Every little pine needle expanded and +swelled with sympathy and befriended me. I was so distinctly made aware +of the presence of something kindred to me, even in scenes which we are +accustomed to call wild and dreary, and also that the nearest of blood +to me and humanest was not a person nor a villager, that I thought no +place could ever be strange to me again.— + + “Mourning untimely consumes the sad; + Few are their days in the land of the living, + Beautiful daughter of Toscar.” + +Some of my pleasantest hours were during the long rain storms in the +spring or fall, which confined me to the house for the afternoon as +well as the forenoon, soothed by their ceaseless roar and pelting; when +an early twilight ushered in a long evening in which many thoughts had +time to take root and unfold themselves. In those driving north-east +rains which tried the village houses so, when the maids stood ready +with mop and pail in front entries to keep the deluge out, I sat behind +my door in my little house, which was all entry, and thoroughly enjoyed +its protection. In one heavy thunder shower the lightning struck a +large pitch-pine across the pond, making a very conspicuous and +perfectly regular spiral groove from top to bottom, an inch or more +deep, and four or five inches wide, as you would groove a +walking-stick. I passed it again the other day, and was struck with awe +on looking up and beholding that mark, now more distinct than ever, +where a terrific and resistless bolt came down out of the harmless sky +eight years ago. Men frequently say to me, “I should think you would +feel lonesome down there, and want to be nearer to folks, rainy and +snowy days and nights especially.” I am tempted to reply to such,—This +whole earth which we inhabit is but a point in space. How far apart, +think you, dwell the two most distant inhabitants of yonder star, the +breadth of whose disk cannot be appreciated by our instruments? Why +should I feel lonely? is not our planet in the Milky Way? This which +you put seems to me not to be the most important question. What sort of +space is that which separates a man from his fellows and makes him +solitary? I have found that no exertion of the legs can bring two minds +much nearer to one another. What do we want most to dwell near to? Not +to many men surely, the depot, the post-office, the bar-room, the +meeting-house, the school-house, the grocery, Beacon Hill, or the Five +Points, where men most congregate, but to the perennial source of our +life, whence in all our experience we have found that to issue, as the +willow stands near the water and sends out its roots in that direction. +This will vary with different natures, but this is the place where a +wise man will dig his cellar.... I one evening overtook one of my +townsmen, who has accumulated what is called “a handsome +property,”—though I never got a _fair_ view of it,—on the Walden road, +driving a pair of cattle to market, who inquired of me how I could +bring my mind to give up so many of the comforts of life. I answered +that I was very sure I liked it passably well; I was not joking. And so +I went home to my bed, and left him to pick his way through the +darkness and the mud to Brighton,—or Bright-town,—which place he would +reach some time in the morning. + +Any prospect of awakening or coming to life to a dead man makes +indifferent all times and places. The place where that may occur is +always the same, and indescribably pleasant to all our senses. For the +most part we allow only outlying and transient circumstances to make +our occasions. They are, in fact, the cause of our distraction. Nearest +to all things is that power which fashions their being. _Next_ to us +the grandest laws are continually being executed. _Next_ to us is not +the workman whom we have hired, with whom we love so well to talk, but +the workman whose work we are. + +“How vast and profound is the influence of the subtile powers of Heaven +and of Earth!” + +“We seek to perceive them, and we do not see them; we seek to hear +them, and we do not hear them; identified with the substance of things, +they cannot be separated from them.” + +“They cause that in all the universe men purify and sanctify their +hearts, and clothe themselves in their holiday garments to offer +sacrifices and oblations to their ancestors. It is an ocean of subtile +intelligences. They are every where, above us, on our left, on our +right; they environ us on all sides.” + +We are the subjects of an experiment which is not a little interesting +to me. Can we not do without the society of our gossips a little while +under these circumstances,—have our own thoughts to cheer us? Confucius +says truly, “Virtue does not remain as an abandoned orphan; it must of +necessity have neighbors.” + +With thinking we may be beside ourselves in a sane sense. By a +conscious effort of the mind we can stand aloof from actions and their +consequences; and all things, good and bad, go by us like a torrent. We +are not wholly involved in Nature. I may be either the drift-wood in +the stream, or Indra in the sky looking down on it. I _may_ be affected +by a theatrical exhibition; on the other hand, I _may not_ be affected +by an actual event which appears to concern me much more. I only know +myself as a human entity; the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and +affections; and am sensible of a certain doubleness by which I can +stand as remote from myself as from another. However intense my +experience, I am conscious of the presence and criticism of a part of +me, which, as it were, is not a part of me, but spectator, sharing no +experience, but taking note of it; and that is no more I than it is +you. When the play, it may be the tragedy, of life is over, the +spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the +imagination only, so far as he was concerned. This doubleness may +easily make us poor neighbors and friends sometimes. + +I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in +company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love +to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as +solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among +men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working is +always alone, let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the +miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really +diligent student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as +solitary as a dervish in the desert. The farmer can work alone in the +field or the woods all day, hoeing or chopping, and not feel lonesome, +because he is employed; but when he comes home at night he cannot sit +down in a room alone, at the mercy of his thoughts, but must be where +he can “see the folks,” and recreate, and as he thinks remunerate +himself for his day’s solitude; and hence he wonders how the student +can sit alone in the house all night and most of the day without ennui +and “the blues;” but he does not realize that the student, though in +the house, is still at work in _his_ field, and chopping in _his_ +woods, as the farmer in his, and in turn seeks the same recreation and +society that the latter does, though it may be a more condensed form of +it. + +Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not +having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at +meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old +musty cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of +rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting +tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the +post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; +we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one +another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. +Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty +communications. Consider the girls in a factory,—never alone, hardly in +their dreams. It would be better if there were but one inhabitant to a +square mile, as where I live. The value of a man is not in his skin, +that we should touch him. + +I have heard of a man lost in the woods and dying of famine and +exhaustion at the foot of a tree, whose loneliness was relieved by the +grotesque visions with which, owing to bodily weakness, his diseased +imagination surrounded him, and which he believed to be real. So also, +owing to bodily and mental health and strength, we may be continually +cheered by a like but more normal and natural society, and come to know +that we are never alone. + +I have a great deal of company in my house; especially in the morning, +when nobody calls. Let me suggest a few comparisons, that some one may +convey an idea of my situation. I am no more lonely than the loon in +the pond that laughs so loud, or than Walden Pond itself. What company +has that lonely lake, I pray? And yet it has not the blue devils, but +the blue angels in it, in the azure tint of its waters. The sun is +alone, except in thick weather, when there sometimes appear to be two, +but one is a mock sun. God is alone,—but the devil, he is far from +being alone; he sees a great deal of company; he is legion. I am no +more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean +leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumble-bee. I am no more lonely +than the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the north star, or the south +wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a +new house. + +I have occasional visits in the long winter evenings, when the snow +falls fast and the wind howls in the wood, from an old settler and +original proprietor, who is reported to have dug Walden Pond, and +stoned it, and fringed it with pine woods; who tells me stories of old +time and of new eternity; and between us we manage to pass a cheerful +evening with social mirth and pleasant views of things, even without +apples or cider,—a most wise and humorous friend, whom I love much, who +keeps himself more secret than ever did Goffe or Whalley; and though he +is thought to be dead, none can show where he is buried. An elderly +dame, too, dwells in my neighborhood, invisible to most persons, in +whose odorous herb garden I love to stroll sometimes, gathering simples +and listening to her fables; for she has a genius of unequalled +fertility, and her memory runs back farther than mythology, and she can +tell me the original of every fable, and on what fact every one is +founded, for the incidents occurred when she was young. A ruddy and +lusty old dame, who delights in all weathers and seasons, and is likely +to outlive all her children yet. + +The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature,—of sun and wind +and rain, of summer and winter,—such health, such cheer, they afford +forever! and such sympathy have they ever with our race, that all +Nature would be affected, and the sun’s brightness fade, and the winds +would sigh humanely, and the clouds rain tears, and the woods shed +their leaves and put on mourning in midsummer, if any man should ever +for a just cause grieve. Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? +Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? + +What is the pill which will keep us well, serene, contented? Not my or +thy great-grandfather’s, but our great-grandmother Nature’s universal, +vegetable, botanic medicines, by which she has kept herself young +always, outlived so many old Parrs in her day, and fed her health with +their decaying fatness. For my panacea, instead of one of those quack +vials of a mixture dipped from Acheron and the Dead Sea, which come out +of those long shallow black-schooner looking wagons which we sometimes +see made to carry bottles, let me have a draught of undiluted morning +air. Morning air! If men will not drink of this at the fountain-head of +the day, why, then, we must even bottle up some and sell it in the +shops, for the benefit of those who have lost their subscription ticket +to morning time in this world. But remember, it will not keep quite +till noon-day even in the coolest cellar, but drive out the stopples +long ere that and follow westward the steps of Aurora. I am no +worshipper of Hygeia, who was the daughter of that old herb-doctor +Æsculapius, and who is represented on monuments holding a serpent in +one hand, and in the other a cup out of which the serpent sometimes +drinks; but rather of Hebe, cupbearer to Jupiter, who was the daughter +of Juno and wild lettuce, and who had the power of restoring gods and +men to the vigor of youth. She was probably the only thoroughly +sound-conditioned, healthy, and robust young lady that ever walked the +globe, and wherever she came it was spring. + + +Visitors + +I think that I love society as much as most, and am ready enough to +fasten myself like a bloodsucker for the time to any full-blooded man +that comes in my way. I am naturally no hermit, but might possibly sit +out the sturdiest frequenter of the bar-room, if my business called me +thither. + +I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, +three for society. When visitors came in larger and unexpected numbers +there was but the third chair for them all, but they generally +economized the room by standing up. It is surprising how many great men +and women a small house will contain. I have had twenty-five or thirty +souls, with their bodies, at once under my roof, and yet we often +parted without being aware that we had come very near to one another. +Many of our houses, both public and private, with their almost +innumerable apartments, their huge halls and their cellars for the +storage of wines and other munitions of peace, appear to me +extravagantly large for their inhabitants. They are so vast and +magnificent that the latter seem to be only vermin which infest them. I +am surprised when the herald blows his summons before some Tremont or +Astor or Middlesex House, to see come creeping out over the piazza for +all inhabitants a ridiculous mouse, which soon again slinks into some +hole in the pavement. + +One inconvenience I sometimes experienced in so small a house, the +difficulty of getting to a sufficient distance from my guest when we +began to utter the big thoughts in big words. You want room for your +thoughts to get into sailing trim and run a course or two before they +make their port. The bullet of your thought must have overcome its +lateral and ricochet motion and fallen into its last and steady course +before it reaches the ear of the hearer, else it may plough out again +through the side of his head. Also, our sentences wanted room to unfold +and form their columns in the interval. Individuals, like nations, must +have suitable broad and natural boundaries, even a considerable neutral +ground, between them. I have found it a singular luxury to talk across +the pond to a companion on the opposite side. In my house we were so +near that we could not begin to hear,—we could not speak low enough to +be heard; as when you throw two stones into calm water so near that +they break each other’s undulations. If we are merely loquacious and +loud talkers, then we can afford to stand very near together, cheek by +jowl, and feel each other’s breath; but if we speak reservedly and +thoughtfully, we want to be farther apart, that all animal heat and +moisture may have a chance to evaporate. If we would enjoy the most +intimate society with that in each of us which is without, or above, +being spoken to, we must not only be silent, but commonly so far apart +bodily that we cannot possibly hear each other’s voice in any case. +Referred to this standard, speech is for the convenience of those who +are hard of hearing; but there are many fine things which we cannot say +if we have to shout. As the conversation began to assume a loftier and +grander tone, we gradually shoved our chairs farther apart till they +touched the wall in opposite corners, and then commonly there was not +room enough. + +My “best” room, however, my withdrawing room, always ready for company, +on whose carpet the sun rarely fell, was the pine wood behind my house. +Thither in summer days, when distinguished guests came, I took them, +and a priceless domestic swept the floor and dusted the furniture and +kept the things in order. + +If one guest came he sometimes partook of my frugal meal, and it was no +interruption to conversation to be stirring a hasty-pudding, or +watching the rising and maturing of a loaf of bread in the ashes, in +the mean while. But if twenty came and sat in my house there was +nothing said about dinner, though there might be bread enough for two, +more than if eating were a forsaken habit; but we naturally practised +abstinence; and this was never felt to be an offence against +hospitality, but the most proper and considerate course. The waste and +decay of physical life, which so often needs repair, seemed +miraculously retarded in such a case, and the vital vigor stood its +ground. I could entertain thus a thousand as well as twenty; and if any +ever went away disappointed or hungry from my house when they found me +at home, they may depend upon it that I sympathized with them at least. +So easy is it, though many housekeepers doubt it, to establish new and +better customs in the place of the old. You need not rest your +reputation on the dinners you give. For my own part, I was never so +effectually deterred from frequenting a man’s house, by any kind of +Cerberus whatever, as by the parade one made about dining me, which I +took to be a very polite and roundabout hint never to trouble him so +again. I think I shall never revisit those scenes. I should be proud to +have for the motto of my cabin those lines of Spenser which one of my +visitors inscribed on a yellow walnut leaf for a card:— + + “Arrivéd there, the little house they fill, + Ne looke for entertainment where none was; + Rest is their feast, and all things at their will: + The noblest mind the best contentment has.” + +When Winslow, afterward governor of the Plymouth Colony, went with a +companion on a visit of ceremony to Massasoit on foot through the +woods, and arrived tired and hungry at his lodge, they were well +received by the king, but nothing was said about eating that day. When +the night arrived, to quote their own words,—“He laid us on the bed +with himself and his wife, they at the one end and we at the other, it +being only planks laid a foot from the ground, and a thin mat upon +them. Two more of his chief men, for want of room, pressed by and upon +us; so that we were worse weary of our lodging than of our journey.” At +one o’clock the next day Massasoit “brought two fishes that he had +shot,” about thrice as big as a bream; “these being boiled, there were +at least forty looked for a share in them. The most ate of them. This +meal only we had in two nights and a day; and had not one of us bought +a partridge, we had taken our journey fasting.” Fearing that they would +be light-headed for want of food and also sleep, owing to “the savages’ +barbarous singing, (for they used to sing themselves asleep,)” and that +they might get home while they had strength to travel, they departed. +As for lodging, it is true they were but poorly entertained, though +what they found an inconvenience was no doubt intended for an honor; +but as far as eating was concerned, I do not see how the Indians could +have done better. They had nothing to eat themselves, and they were +wiser than to think that apologies could supply the place of food to +their guests; so they drew their belts tighter and said nothing about +it. Another time when Winslow visited them, it being a season of plenty +with them, there was no deficiency in this respect. + +As for men, they will hardly fail one any where. I had more visitors +while I lived in the woods than at any other period in my life; I mean +that I had some. I met several there under more favorable circumstances +than I could any where else. But fewer came to see me on trivial +business. In this respect, my company was winnowed by my mere distance +from town. I had withdrawn so far within the great ocean of solitude, +into which the rivers of society empty, that for the most part, so far +as my needs were concerned, only the finest sediment was deposited +around me. Beside, there were wafted to me evidences of unexplored and +uncultivated continents on the other side. + +Who should come to my lodge this morning but a true Homeric or +Paphlagonian man,—he had so suitable and poetic a name that I am sorry +I cannot print it here,—a Canadian, a woodchopper and post-maker, who +can hole fifty posts in a day, who made his last supper on a woodchuck +which his dog caught. He, too, has heard of Homer, and, “if it were not +for books,” would “not know what to do rainy days,” though perhaps he +has not read one wholly through for many rainy seasons. Some priest who +could pronounce the Greek itself taught him to read his verse in the +testament in his native parish far away; and now I must translate to +him, while he holds the book, Achilles’ reproof to Patroclus for his +sad countenance.—“Why are you in tears, Patroclus, like a young girl?”— + + “Or have you alone heard some news from Phthia? + They say that Menœtius lives yet, son of Actor, + And Peleus lives, son of Æacus, among the Myrmidons, + Either of whom having died, we should greatly grieve.” + +He says, “That’s good.” He has a great bundle of white-oak bark under +his arm for a sick man, gathered this Sunday morning. “I suppose +there’s no harm in going after such a thing to-day,” says he. To him +Homer was a great writer, though what his writing was about he did not +know. A more simple and natural man it would be hard to find. Vice and +disease, which cast such a sombre moral hue over the world, seemed to +have hardly any existence for him. He was about twenty-eight years old, +and had left Canada and his father’s house a dozen years before to work +in the States, and earn money to buy a farm with at last, perhaps in +his native country. He was cast in the coarsest mould; a stout but +sluggish body, yet gracefully carried, with a thick sunburnt neck, dark +bushy hair, and dull sleepy blue eyes, which were occasionally lit up +with expression. He wore a flat gray cloth cap, a dingy wool-colored +greatcoat, and cowhide boots. He was a great consumer of meat, usually +carrying his dinner to his work a couple of miles past my house,—for he +chopped all summer,—in a tin pail; cold meats, often cold woodchucks, +and coffee in a stone bottle which dangled by a string from his belt; +and sometimes he offered me a drink. He came along early, crossing my +bean-field, though without anxiety or haste to get to his work, such as +Yankees exhibit. He wasn’t a-going to hurt himself. He didn’t care if +he only earned his board. Frequently he would leave his dinner in the +bushes, when his dog had caught a woodchuck by the way, and go back a +mile and a half to dress it and leave it in the cellar of the house +where he boarded, after deliberating first for half an hour whether he +could not sink it in the pond safely till nightfall,—loving to dwell +long upon these themes. He would say, as he went by in the morning, +“How thick the pigeons are! If working every day were not my trade, I +could get all the meat I should want by hunting,—pigeons, woodchucks, +rabbits, partridges,—by gosh! I could get all I should want for a week +in one day.” + +He was a skilful chopper, and indulged in some flourishes and ornaments +in his art. He cut his trees level and close to the ground, that the +sprouts which came up afterward might be more vigorous and a sled might +slide over the stumps; and instead of leaving a whole tree to support +his corded wood, he would pare it away to a slender stake or splinter +which you could break off with your hand at last. + +He interested me because he was so quiet and solitary and so happy +withal; a well of good humor and contentment which overflowed at his +eyes. His mirth was without alloy. Sometimes I saw him at his work in +the woods, felling trees, and he would greet me with a laugh of +inexpressible satisfaction, and a salutation in Canadian French, though +he spoke English as well. When I approached him he would suspend his +work, and with half-suppressed mirth lie along the trunk of a pine +which he had felled, and, peeling off the inner bark, roll it up into a +ball and chew it while he laughed and talked. Such an exuberance of +animal spirits had he that he sometimes tumbled down and rolled on the +ground with laughter at any thing which made him think and tickled him. +Looking round upon the trees he would exclaim,—“By George! I can enjoy +myself well enough here chopping; I want no better sport.” Sometimes, +when at leisure, he amused himself all day in the woods with a pocket +pistol, firing salutes to himself at regular intervals as he walked. In +the winter he had a fire by which at noon he warmed his coffee in a +kettle; and as he sat on a log to eat his dinner the chickadees would +sometimes come round and alight on his arm and peck at the potato in +his fingers; and he said that he “liked to have the little _fellers_ +about him.” + +In him the animal man chiefly was developed. In physical endurance and +contentment he was cousin to the pine and the rock. I asked him once if +he was not sometimes tired at night, after working all day; and he +answered, with a sincere and serious look, “Gorrappit, I never was +tired in my life.” But the intellectual and what is called spiritual +man in him were slumbering as in an infant. He had been instructed only +in that innocent and ineffectual way in which the Catholic priests +teach the aborigines, by which the pupil is never educated to the +degree of consciousness, but only to the degree of trust and reverence, +and a child is not made a man, but kept a child. When Nature made him, +she gave him a strong body and contentment for his portion, and propped +him on every side with reverence and reliance, that he might live out +his threescore years and ten a child. He was so genuine and +unsophisticated that no introduction would serve to introduce him, more +than if you introduced a woodchuck to your neighbor. He had got to find +him out as you did. He would not play any part. Men paid him wages for +work, and so helped to feed and clothe him; but he never exchanged +opinions with them. He was so simply and naturally humble—if he can be +called humble who never aspires—that humility was no distinct quality +in him, nor could he conceive of it. Wiser men were demigods to him. If +you told him that such a one was coming, he did as if he thought that +any thing so grand would expect nothing of himself, but take all the +responsibility on itself, and let him be forgotten still. He never +heard the sound of praise. He particularly reverenced the writer and +the preacher. Their performances were miracles. When I told him that I +wrote considerably, he thought for a long time that it was merely the +handwriting which I meant, for he could write a remarkably good hand +himself. I sometimes found the name of his native parish handsomely +written in the snow by the highway, with the proper French accent, and +knew that he had passed. I asked him if he ever wished to write his +thoughts. He said that he had read and written letters for those who +could not, but he never tried to write thoughts,—no, he could not, he +could not tell what to put first, it would kill him, and then there was +spelling to be attended to at the same time! + +I heard that a distinguished wise man and reformer asked him if he did +not want the world to be changed; but he answered with a chuckle of +surprise in his Canadian accent, not knowing that the question had ever +been entertained before, “No, I like it well enough.” It would have +suggested many things to a philosopher to have dealings with him. To a +stranger he appeared to know nothing of things in general; yet I +sometimes saw in him a man whom I had not seen before, and I did not +know whether he was as wise as Shakespeare or as simply ignorant as a +child, whether to suspect him of a fine poetic consciousness or of +stupidity. A townsman told me that when he met him sauntering through +the village in his small close-fitting cap, and whistling to himself, +he reminded him of a prince in disguise. + +His only books were an almanac and an arithmetic, in which last he was +considerably expert. The former was a sort of cyclopædia to him, which +he supposed to contain an abstract of human knowledge, as indeed it +does to a considerable extent. I loved to sound him on the various +reforms of the day, and he never failed to look at them in the most +simple and practical light. He had never heard of such things before. +Could he do without factories? I asked. He had worn the home-made +Vermont gray, he said, and that was good. Could he dispense with tea +and coffee? Did this country afford any beverage beside water? He had +soaked hemlock leaves in water and drank it, and thought that was +better than water in warm weather. When I asked him if he could do +without money, he showed the convenience of money in such a way as to +suggest and coincide with the most philosophical accounts of the origin +of this institution, and the very derivation of the word _pecunia_. If +an ox were his property, and he wished to get needles and thread at the +store, he thought it would be inconvenient and impossible soon to go on +mortgaging some portion of the creature each time to that amount. He +could defend many institutions better than any philosopher, because, in +describing them as they concerned him, he gave the true reason for +their prevalence, and speculation had not suggested to him any other. +At another time, hearing Plato’s definition of a man,—a biped without +feathers,—and that one exhibited a cock plucked and called it Plato’s +man, he thought it an important difference that the _knees_ bent the +wrong way. He would sometimes exclaim, “How I love to talk! By George, +I could talk all day!” I asked him once, when I had not seen him for +many months, if he had got a new idea this summer. “Good Lord,” said +he, “a man that has to work as I do, if he does not forget the ideas he +has had, he will do well. May be the man you hoe with is inclined to +race; then, by gorry, your mind must be there; you think of weeds.” He +would sometimes ask me first on such occasions, if I had made any +improvement. One winter day I asked him if he was always satisfied with +himself, wishing to suggest a substitute within him for the priest +without, and some higher motive for living. “Satisfied!” said he; “some +men are satisfied with one thing, and some with another. One man, +perhaps, if he has got enough, will be satisfied to sit all day with +his back to the fire and his belly to the table, by George!” Yet I +never, by any manœuvring, could get him to take the spiritual view of +things; the highest that he appeared to conceive of was a simple +expediency, such as you might expect an animal to appreciate; and this, +practically, is true of most men. If I suggested any improvement in his +mode of life, he merely answered, without expressing any regret, that +it was too late. Yet he thoroughly believed in honesty and the like +virtues. + +There was a certain positive originality, however slight, to be +detected in him, and I occasionally observed that he was thinking for +himself and expressing his own opinion, a phenomenon so rare that I +would any day walk ten miles to observe it, and it amounted to the +re-origination of many of the institutions of society. Though he +hesitated, and perhaps failed to express himself distinctly, he always +had a presentable thought behind. Yet his thinking was so primitive and +immersed in his animal life, that, though more promising than a merely +learned man’s, it rarely ripened to any thing which can be reported. He +suggested that there might be men of genius in the lowest grades of +life, however permanently humble and illiterate, who take their own +view always, or do not pretend to see at all; who are as bottomless +even as Walden Pond was thought to be, though they may be dark and +muddy. + + + +Many a traveller came out of his way to see me and the inside of my +house, and, as an excuse for calling, asked for a glass of water. I +told them that I drank at the pond, and pointed thither, offering to +lend them a dipper. Far off as I lived, I was not exempted from the +annual visitation which occurs, methinks, about the first of April, +when every body is on the move; and I had my share of good luck, though +there were some curious specimens among my visitors. Half-witted men +from the almshouse and elsewhere came to see me; but I endeavored to +make them exercise all the wit they had, and make their confessions to +me; in such cases making wit the theme of our conversation; and so was +compensated. Indeed, I found some of them to be wiser than the so +called _overseers_ of the poor and selectmen of the town, and thought +it was time that the tables were turned. With respect to wit, I learned +that there was not much difference between the half and the whole. One +day, in particular, an inoffensive, simple-minded pauper, whom with +others I had often seen used as fencing stuff, standing or sitting on a +bushel in the fields to keep cattle and himself from straying, visited +me, and expressed a wish to live as I did. He told me, with the utmost +simplicity and truth, quite superior, or rather _inferior_, to any +thing that is called humility, that he was “deficient in intellect.” +These were his words. The Lord had made him so, yet he supposed the +Lord cared as much for him as for another. “I have always been so,” +said he, “from my childhood; I never had much mind; I was not like +other children; I am weak in the head. It was the Lord’s will, I +suppose.” And there he was to prove the truth of his words. He was a +metaphysical puzzle to me. I have rarely met a fellow-man on such +promising ground,—it was so simple and sincere and so true all that he +said. And, true enough, in proportion as he appeared to humble himself +was he exalted. I did not know at first but it was the result of a wise +policy. It seemed that from such a basis of truth and frankness as the +poor weak-headed pauper had laid, our intercourse might go forward to +something better than the intercourse of sages. + +I had some guests from those not reckoned commonly among the town’s +poor, but who should be; who are among the world’s poor, at any rate; +guests who appeal, not to your hospitality, but to your +_hospitalality_; who earnestly wish to be helped, and preface their +appeal with the information that they are resolved, for one thing, +never to help themselves. I require of a visitor that he be not +actually starving, though he may have the very best appetite in the +world, however he got it. Objects of charity are not guests. Men who +did not know when their visit had terminated, though I went about my +business again, answering them from greater and greater remoteness. Men +of almost every degree of wit called on me in the migrating season. +Some who had more wits than they knew what to do with; runaway slaves +with plantation manners, who listened from time to time, like the fox +in the fable, as if they heard the hounds a-baying on their track, and +looked at me beseechingly, as much as to say,— + + “O Christian, will you send me back?” + +One real runaway slave, among the rest, whom I helped to forward toward +the northstar. Men of one idea, like a hen with one chicken, and that a +duckling; men of a thousand ideas, and unkempt heads, like those hens +which are made to take charge of a hundred chickens, all in pursuit of +one bug, a score of them lost in every morning’s dew,—and become +frizzled and mangy in consequence; men of ideas instead of legs, a sort +of intellectual centipede that made you crawl all over. One man +proposed a book in which visitors should write their names, as at the +White Mountains; but, alas! I have too good a memory to make that +necessary. + +I could not but notice some of the peculiarities of my visitors. Girls +and boys and young women generally seemed glad to be in the woods. They +looked in the pond and at the flowers, and improved their time. Men of +business, even farmers, thought only of solitude and employment, and of +the great distance at which I dwelt from something or other; and though +they said that they loved a ramble in the woods occasionally, it was +obvious that they did not. Restless committed men, whose time was all +taken up in getting a living or keeping it; ministers who spoke of God +as if they enjoyed a monopoly of the subject, who could not bear all +kinds of opinions; doctors, lawyers, uneasy housekeepers who pried into +my cupboard and bed when I was out,—how came Mrs. —— to know that my +sheets were not as clean as hers?—young men who had ceased to be young, +and had concluded that it was safest to follow the beaten track of the +professions,—all these generally said that it was not possible to do so +much good in my position. Ay! there was the rub. The old and infirm and +the timid, of whatever age or sex, thought most of sickness, and sudden +accident and death; to them life seemed full of danger,—what danger is +there if you don’t think of any?—and they thought that a prudent man +would carefully select the safest position, where Dr. B. might be on +hand at a moment’s warning. To them the village was literally a +_com-munity_, a league for mutual defence, and you would suppose that +they would not go a-huckleberrying without a medicine chest. The amount +of it is, if a man is alive, there is always _danger_ that he may die, +though the danger must be allowed to be less in proportion as he is +dead-and-alive to begin with. A man sits as many risks as he runs. +Finally, there were the self-styled reformers, the greatest bores of +all, who thought that I was forever singing,— + + This is the house that I built; + This is the man that lives in the house that I built; + +but they did not know that the third line was,— + + These are the folks that worry the man + That lives in the house that I built. + +I did not fear the hen-harriers, for I kept no chickens; but I feared +the men-harriers rather. + +I had more cheering visitors than the last. Children come a-berrying, +railroad men taking a Sunday morning walk in clean shirts, fishermen +and hunters, poets and philosophers; in short, all honest pilgrims, who +came out to the woods for freedom’s sake, and really left the village +behind, I was ready to greet with,—“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, +Englishmen!” for I had had communication with that race. + + +The Bean-Field + +Meanwhile my beans, the length of whose rows, added together, was seven +miles already planted, were impatient to be hoed, for the earliest had +grown considerably before the latest were in the ground; indeed they +were not easily to be put off. What was the meaning of this so steady +and self-respecting, this small Herculean labor, I knew not. I came to +love my rows, my beans, though so many more than I wanted. They +attached me to the earth, and so I got strength like Antæus. But why +should I raise them? Only Heaven knows. This was my curious labor all +summer,—to make this portion of the earth’s surface, which had yielded +only cinquefoil, blackberries, johnswort, and the like, before, sweet +wild fruits and pleasant flowers, produce instead this pulse. What +shall I learn of beans or beans of me? I cherish them, I hoe them, +early and late I have an eye to them; and this is my day’s work. It is +a fine broad leaf to look on. My auxiliaries are the dews and rains +which water this dry soil, and what fertility is in the soil itself, +which for the most part is lean and effete. My enemies are worms, cool +days, and most of all woodchucks. The last have nibbled for me a +quarter of an acre clean. But what right had I to oust johnswort and +the rest, and break up their ancient herb garden? Soon, however, the +remaining beans will be too tough for them, and go forward to meet new +foes. + +When I was four years old, as I well remember, I was brought from +Boston to this my native town, through these very woods and this field, +to the pond. It is one of the oldest scenes stamped on my memory. And +now to-night my flute has waked the echoes over that very water. The +pines still stand here older than I; or, if some have fallen, I have +cooked my supper with their stumps, and a new growth is rising all +around, preparing another aspect for new infant eyes. Almost the same +johnswort springs from the same perennial root in this pasture, and +even I have at length helped to clothe that fabulous landscape of my +infant dreams, and one of the results of my presence and influence is +seen in these bean leaves, corn blades, and potato vines. + +I planted about two acres and a half of upland; and as it was only +about fifteen years since the land was cleared, and I myself had got +out two or three cords of stumps, I did not give it any manure; but in +the course of the summer it appeared by the arrowheads which I turned +up in hoeing, that an extinct nation had anciently dwelt here and +planted corn and beans ere white men came to clear the land, and so, to +some extent, had exhausted the soil for this very crop. + +Before yet any woodchuck or squirrel had run across the road, or the +sun had got above the shrub oaks, while all the dew was on, though the +farmers warned me against it,—I would advise you to do all your work if +possible while the dew is on,—I began to level the ranks of haughty +weeds in my bean-field and throw dust upon their heads. Early in the +morning I worked barefooted, dabbling like a plastic artist in the dewy +and crumbling sand, but later in the day the sun blistered my feet. +There the sun lighted me to hoe beans, pacing slowly backward and +forward over that yellow gravelly upland, between the long green rows, +fifteen rods, the one end terminating in a shrub oak copse where I +could rest in the shade, the other in a blackberry field where the +green berries deepened their tints by the time I had made another bout. +Removing the weeds, putting fresh soil about the bean stems, and +encouraging this weed which I had sown, making the yellow soil express +its summer thought in bean leaves and blossoms rather than in wormwood +and piper and millet grass, making the earth say beans instead of +grass,—this was my daily work. As I had little aid from horses or +cattle, or hired men or boys, or improved implements of husbandry, I +was much slower, and became much more intimate with my beans than +usual. But labor of the hands, even when pursued to the verge of +drudgery, is perhaps never the worst form of idleness. It has a +constant and imperishable moral, and to the scholar it yields a classic +result. A very _agricola laboriosus_ was I to travellers bound westward +through Lincoln and Wayland to nobody knows where; they sitting at +their ease in gigs, with elbows on knees, and reins loosely hanging in +festoons; I the home-staying, laborious native of the soil. But soon my +homestead was out of their sight and thought. It was the only open and +cultivated field for a great distance on either side of the road; so +they made the most of it; and sometimes the man in the field heard more +of travellers’ gossip and comment than was meant for his ear: “Beans so +late! peas so late!”—for I continued to plant when others had begun to +hoe,—the ministerial husbandman had not suspected it. “Corn, my boy, +for fodder; corn for fodder.” “Does he _live_ there?” asks the black +bonnet of the gray coat; and the hard-featured farmer reins up his +grateful dobbin to inquire what you are doing where he sees no manure +in the furrow, and recommends a little chip dirt, or any little waste +stuff, or it may be ashes or plaster. But here were two acres and a +half of furrows, and only a hoe for cart and two hands to draw +it,—there being an aversion to other carts and horses,—and chip dirt +far away. Fellow-travellers as they rattled by compared it aloud with +the fields which they had passed, so that I came to know how I stood in +the agricultural world. This was one field not in Mr. Coleman’s report. +And, by the way, who estimates the value of the crop which nature +yields in the still wilder fields unimproved by man? The crop of +_English_ hay is carefully weighed, the moisture calculated, the +silicates and the potash; but in all dells and pond holes in the woods +and pastures and swamps grows a rich and various crop only unreaped by +man. Mine was, as it were, the connecting link between wild and +cultivated fields; as some states are civilized, and others +half-civilized, and others savage or barbarous, so my field was, though +not in a bad sense, a half-cultivated field. They were beans cheerfully +returning to their wild and primitive state that I cultivated, and my +hoe played the _Ranz des Vaches_ for them. + +Near at hand, upon the topmost spray of a birch, sings the +brown-thrasher—or red mavis, as some love to call him—all the morning, +glad of your society, that would find out another farmer’s field if +yours were not here. While you are planting the seed, he cries,—“Drop +it, drop it,—cover it up, cover it up,—pull it up, pull it up, pull it +up.” But this was not corn, and so it was safe from such enemies as he. +You may wonder what his rigmarole, his amateur Paganini performances on +one string or on twenty, have to do with your planting, and yet prefer +it to leached ashes or plaster. It was a cheap sort of top dressing in +which I had entire faith. + +As I drew a still fresher soil about the rows with my hoe, I disturbed +the ashes of unchronicled nations who in primeval years lived under +these heavens, and their small implements of war and hunting were +brought to the light of this modern day. They lay mingled with other +natural stones, some of which bore the marks of having been burned by +Indian fires, and some by the sun, and also bits of pottery and glass +brought hither by the recent cultivators of the soil. When my hoe +tinkled against the stones, that music echoed to the woods and the sky, +and was an accompaniment to my labor which yielded an instant and +immeasurable crop. It was no longer beans that I hoed, nor I that hoed +beans; and I remembered with as much pity as pride, if I remembered at +all, my acquaintances who had gone to the city to attend the oratorios. +The night-hawk circled overhead in the sunny afternoons—for I sometimes +made a day of it—like a mote in the eye, or in heaven’s eye, falling +from time to time with a swoop and a sound as if the heavens were rent, +torn at last to very rags and tatters, and yet a seamless cope +remained; small imps that fill the air and lay their eggs on the ground +on bare sand or rocks on the tops of hills, where few have found them; +graceful and slender like ripples caught up from the pond, as leaves +are raised by the wind to float in the heavens; such kindredship is in +Nature. The hawk is aerial brother of the wave which he sails over and +surveys, those his perfect air-inflated wings answering to the +elemental unfledged pinions of the sea. Or sometimes I watched a pair +of hen-hawks circling high in the sky, alternately soaring and +descending, approaching, and leaving one another, as if they were the +embodiment of my own thoughts. Or I was attracted by the passage of +wild pigeons from this wood to that, with a slight quivering winnowing +sound and carrier haste; or from under a rotten stump my hoe turned up +a sluggish portentous and outlandish spotted salamander, a trace of +Egypt and the Nile, yet our contemporary. When I paused to lean on my +hoe, these sounds and sights I heard and saw anywhere in the row, a +part of the inexhaustible entertainment which the country offers. + +On gala days the town fires its great guns, which echo like popguns to +these woods, and some waifs of martial music occasionally penetrate +thus far. To me, away there in my bean-field at the other end of the +town, the big guns sounded as if a puffball had burst; and when there +was a military turnout of which I was ignorant, I have sometimes had a +vague sense all the day of some sort of itching and disease in the +horizon, as if some eruption would break out there soon, either +scarlatina or canker-rash, until at length some more favorable puff of +wind, making haste over the fields and up the Wayland road, brought me +information of the “trainers.” It seemed by the distant hum as if +somebody’s bees had swarmed, and that the neighbors, according to +Virgil’s advice, by a faint _tintinnabulum_ upon the most sonorous of +their domestic utensils, were endeavoring to call them down into the +hive again. And when the sound died quite away, and the hum had ceased, +and the most favorable breezes told no tale, I knew that they had got +the last drone of them all safely into the Middlesex hive, and that now +their minds were bent on the honey with which it was smeared. + +I felt proud to know that the liberties of Massachusetts and of our +fatherland were in such safe keeping; and as I turned to my hoeing +again I was filled with an inexpressible confidence, and pursued my +labor cheerfully with a calm trust in the future. + +When there were several bands of musicians, it sounded as if all the +village was a vast bellows, and all the buildings expanded and +collapsed alternately with a din. But sometimes it was a really noble +and inspiring strain that reached these woods, and the trumpet that +sings of fame, and I felt as if I could spit a Mexican with a good +relish,—for why should we always stand for trifles?—and looked round +for a woodchuck or a skunk to exercise my chivalry upon. These martial +strains seemed as far away as Palestine, and reminded me of a march of +crusaders in the horizon, with a slight tantivy and tremulous motion of +the elm-tree tops which overhang the village. This was one of the +_great_ days; though the sky had from my clearing only the same +everlastingly great look that it wears daily, and I saw no difference +in it. + +It was a singular experience that long acquaintance which I cultivated +with beans, what with planting, and hoeing, and harvesting, and +threshing, and picking over and selling them,—the last was the hardest +of all,—I might add eating, for I did taste. I was determined to know +beans. When they were growing, I used to hoe from five o’clock in the +morning till noon, and commonly spent the rest of the day about other +affairs. Consider the intimate and curious acquaintance one makes with +various kinds of weeds,—it will bear some iteration in the account, for +there was no little iteration in the labor,—disturbing their delicate +organizations so ruthlessly, and making such invidious distinctions +with his hoe, levelling whole ranks of one species, and sedulously +cultivating another. That’s Roman wormwood,—that’s pigweed,—that’s +sorrel,—that’s piper-grass,—have at him, chop him up, turn his roots +upward to the sun, don’t let him have a fibre in the shade, if you do +he’ll turn himself t’other side up and be as green as a leek in two +days. A long war, not with cranes, but with weeds, those Trojans who +had sun and rain and dews on their side. Daily the beans saw me come to +their rescue armed with a hoe, and thin the ranks of their enemies, +filling up the trenches with weedy dead. Many a lusty crest-waving +Hector, that towered a whole foot above his crowding comrades, fell +before my weapon and rolled in the dust. + +Those summer days which some of my contemporaries devoted to the fine +arts in Boston or Rome, and others to contemplation in India, and +others to trade in London or New York, I thus, with the other farmers +of New England, devoted to husbandry. Not that I wanted beans to eat, +for I am by nature a Pythagorean, so far as beans are concerned, +whether they mean porridge or voting, and exchanged them for rice; but, +perchance, as some must work in fields if only for the sake of tropes +and expression, to serve a parable-maker one day. It was on the whole a +rare amusement, which, continued too long, might have become a +dissipation. Though I gave them no manure, and did not hoe them all +once, I hoed them unusually well as far as I went, and was paid for it +in the end, “there being in truth,” as Evelyn says, “no compost or +lætation whatsoever comparable to this continual motion, repastination, +and turning of the mould with the spade.” “The earth,” he adds +elsewhere, “especially if fresh, has a certain magnetism in it, by +which it attracts the salt, power, or virtue (call it either) which +gives it life, and is the logic of all the labor and stir we keep about +it, to sustain us; all dungings and other sordid temperings being but +the vicars succedaneous to this improvement.” Moreover, this being one +of those “worn-out and exhausted lay fields which enjoy their sabbath,” +had perchance, as Sir Kenelm Digby thinks likely, attracted “vital +spirits” from the air. I harvested twelve bushels of beans. + +But to be more particular, for it is complained that Mr. Coleman has +reported chiefly the expensive experiments of gentlemen farmers, my +outgoes were,— + + + For a hoe,.................................. $ 0.54 + Ploughing, harrowing, and furrowing,......... 7.50 Too much. + Beans for seed,.............................. 3.12½ + Potatoes for seed,........................... 1.33 + Peas for seed,............................... 0.40 + Turnip seed,................................. 0.06 + White line for crow fence,................... 0.02 + Horse cultivator and boy three hours,........ 1.00 + Horse and cart to get crop,.................. 0.75 + ———— + In all,................................. $14.72½ + +My income was (patrem familias vendacem, non emacem esse oportet), +from + + Nine bushels and twelve quarts of beans sold,. $16.94 + Five " large potatoes,.................... 2.50 + Nine " small,............................. 2.25 + Grass,.......................................... 1.00 + Stalks,......................................... 0.75 + ———— + In all,................................... $23.44 + Leaving a pecuniary profit, + as I have elsewhere said, of.............. $8.71½. + +This is the result of my experience in raising beans. Plant the common +small white bush bean about the first of June, in rows three feet by +eighteen inches apart, being careful to select fresh round and unmixed +seed. First look out for worms, and supply vacancies by planting anew. +Then look out for woodchucks, if it is an exposed place, for they will +nibble off the earliest tender leaves almost clean as they go; and +again, when the young tendrils make their appearance, they have notice +of it, and will shear them off with both buds and young pods, sitting +erect like a squirrel. But above all harvest as early as possible, if +you would escape frosts and have a fair and salable crop; you may save +much loss by this means. + +This further experience also I gained. I said to myself, I will not +plant beans and corn with so much industry another summer, but such +seeds, if the seed is not lost, as sincerity, truth, simplicity, faith, +innocence, and the like, and see if they will not grow in this soil, +even with less toil and manurance, and sustain me, for surely it has +not been exhausted for these crops. Alas! I said this to myself; but +now another summer is gone, and another, and another, and I am obliged +to say to you, Reader, that the seeds which I planted, if indeed they +_were_ the seeds of those virtues, were wormeaten or had lost their +vitality, and so did not come up. Commonly men will only be brave as +their fathers were brave, or timid. This generation is very sure to +plant corn and beans each new year precisely as the Indians did +centuries ago and taught the first settlers to do, as if there were a +fate in it. I saw an old man the other day, to my astonishment, making +the holes with a hoe for the seventieth time at least, and not for +himself to lie down in! But why should not the New Englander try new +adventures, and not lay so much stress on his grain, his potato and +grass crop, and his orchards,—raise other crops than these? Why concern +ourselves so much about our beans for seed, and not be concerned at all +about a new generation of men? We should really be fed and cheered if +when we met a man we were sure to see that some of the qualities which +I have named, which we all prize more than those other productions, but +which are for the most part broadcast and floating in the air, had +taken root and grown in him. Here comes such a subtile and ineffable +quality, for instance, as truth or justice, though the slightest amount +or new variety of it, along the road. Our ambassadors should be +instructed to send home such seeds as these, and Congress help to +distribute them over all the land. We should never stand upon ceremony +with sincerity. We should never cheat and insult and banish one another +by our meanness, if there were present the kernel of worth and +friendliness. We should not meet thus in haste. Most men I do not meet +at all, for they seem not to have time; they are busy about their +beans. We would not deal with a man thus plodding ever, leaning on a +hoe or a spade as a staff between his work, not as a mushroom, but +partially risen out of the earth, something more than erect, like +swallows alighted and walking on the ground:— + + “And as he spake, his wings would now and then + Spread, as he meant to fly, then close again,” + +so that we should suspect that we might be conversing with an angel. +Bread may not always nourish us; but it always does us good, it even +takes stiffness out of our joints, and makes us supple and buoyant, +when we knew not what ailed us, to recognize any generosity in man or +Nature, to share any unmixed and heroic joy. + +Ancient poetry and mythology suggest, at least, that husbandry was once +a sacred art; but it is pursued with irreverent haste and heedlessness +by us, our object being to have large farms and large crops merely. We +have no festival, nor procession, nor ceremony, not excepting our +Cattle-shows and so called Thanksgivings, by which the farmer expresses +a sense of the sacredness of his calling, or is reminded of its sacred +origin. It is the premium and the feast which tempt him. He sacrifices +not to Ceres and the Terrestrial Jove, but to the infernal Plutus +rather. By avarice and selfishness, and a grovelling habit, from which +none of us is free, of regarding the soil as property, or the means of +acquiring property chiefly, the landscape is deformed, husbandry is +degraded with us, and the farmer leads the meanest of lives. He knows +Nature but as a robber. Cato says that the profits of agriculture are +particularly pious or just, (_maximeque pius quæstus_), and according +to Varro the old Romans “called the same earth Mother and Ceres, and +thought that they who cultivated it led a pious and useful life, and +that they alone were left of the race of King Saturn.” + +We are wont to forget that the sun looks on our cultivated fields and +on the prairies and forests without distinction. They all reflect and +absorb his rays alike, and the former make but a small part of the +glorious picture which he beholds in his daily course. In his view the +earth is all equally cultivated like a garden. Therefore we should +receive the benefit of his light and heat with a corresponding trust +and magnanimity. What though I value the seed of these beans, and +harvest that in the fall of the year? This broad field which I have +looked at so long looks not to me as the principal cultivator, but away +from me to influences more genial to it, which water and make it green. +These beans have results which are not harvested by me. Do they not +grow for woodchucks partly? The ear of wheat (in Latin _spica_, +obsoletely _speca_, from _spe_, hope) should not be the only hope of +the husbandman; its kernel or grain (_granum_ from _gerendo_, bearing) +is not all that it bears. How, then, can our harvest fail? Shall I not +rejoice also at the abundance of the weeds whose seeds are the granary +of the birds? It matters little comparatively whether the fields fill +the farmer’s barns. The true husbandman will cease from anxiety, as the +squirrels manifest no concern whether the woods will bear chestnuts +this year or not, and finish his labor with every day, relinquishing +all claim to the produce of his fields, and sacrificing in his mind not +only his first but his last fruits also. + + +The Village + +After hoeing, or perhaps reading and writing, in the forenoon, I +usually bathed again in the pond, swimming across one of its coves for +a stint, and washed the dust of labor from my person, or smoothed out +the last wrinkle which study had made, and for the afternoon was +absolutely free. Every day or two I strolled to the village to hear +some of the gossip which is incessantly going on there, circulating +either from mouth to mouth, or from newspaper to newspaper, and which, +taken in homœopathic doses, was really as refreshing in its way as the +rustle of leaves and the peeping of frogs. As I walked in the woods to +see the birds and squirrels, so I walked in the village to see the men +and boys; instead of the wind among the pines I heard the carts rattle. +In one direction from my house there was a colony of muskrats in the +river meadows; under the grove of elms and buttonwoods in the other +horizon was a village of busy men, as curious to me as if they had been +prairie dogs, each sitting at the mouth of its burrow, or running over +to a neighbor’s to gossip. I went there frequently to observe their +habits. The village appeared to me a great news room; and on one side, +to support it, as once at Redding & Company’s on State Street, they +kept nuts and raisins, or salt and meal and other groceries. Some have +such a vast appetite for the former commodity, that is, the news, and +such sound digestive organs, that they can sit forever in public +avenues without stirring, and let it simmer and whisper through them +like the Etesian winds, or as if inhaling ether, it only producing +numbness and insensibility to pain,—otherwise it would often be painful +to hear,—without affecting the consciousness. I hardly ever failed, +when I rambled through the village, to see a row of such worthies, +either sitting on a ladder sunning themselves, with their bodies +inclined forward and their eyes glancing along the line this way and +that, from time to time, with a voluptuous expression, or else leaning +against a barn with their hands in their pockets, like caryatides, as +if to prop it up. They, being commonly out of doors, heard whatever was +in the wind. These are the coarsest mills, in which all gossip is first +rudely digested or cracked up before it is emptied into finer and more +delicate hoppers within doors. I observed that the vitals of the +village were the grocery, the bar-room, the post-office, and the bank; +and, as a necessary part of the machinery, they kept a bell, a big gun, +and a fire-engine, at convenient places; and the houses were so +arranged as to make the most of mankind, in lanes and fronting one +another, so that every traveller had to run the gantlet, and every man, +woman, and child might get a lick at him. Of course, those who were +stationed nearest to the head of the line, where they could most see +and be seen, and have the first blow at him, paid the highest prices +for their places; and the few straggling inhabitants in the outskirts, +where long gaps in the line began to occur, and the traveller could get +over walls or turn aside into cow paths, and so escape, paid a very +slight ground or window tax. Signs were hung out on all sides to allure +him; some to catch him by the appetite, as the tavern and victualling +cellar; some by the fancy, as the dry goods store and the jeweller’s; +and others by the hair or the feet or the skirts, as the barber, the +shoemaker, or the tailor. Besides, there was a still more terrible +standing invitation to call at every one of these houses, and company +expected about these times. For the most part I escaped wonderfully +from these dangers, either by proceeding at once boldly and without +deliberation to the goal, as is recommended to those who run the +gantlet, or by keeping my thoughts on high things, like Orpheus, who, +“loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre, drowned the voices +of the Sirens, and kept out of danger.” Sometimes I bolted suddenly, +and nobody could tell my whereabouts, for I did not stand much about +gracefulness, and never hesitated at a gap in a fence. I was even +accustomed to make an irruption into some houses, where I was well +entertained, and after learning the kernels and very last sieve-ful of +news, what had subsided, the prospects of war and peace, and whether +the world was likely to hold together much longer, I was let out +through the rear avenues, and so escaped to the woods again. + +It was very pleasant, when I stayed late in town, to launch myself into +the night, especially if it was dark and tempestuous, and set sail from +some bright village parlor or lecture room, with a bag of rye or Indian +meal upon my shoulder, for my snug harbor in the woods, having made all +tight without and withdrawn under hatches with a merry crew of +thoughts, leaving only my outer man at the helm, or even tying up the +helm when it was plain sailing. I had many a genial thought by the +cabin fire “as I sailed.” I was never cast away nor distressed in any +weather, though I encountered some severe storms. It is darker in the +woods, even in common nights, than most suppose. I frequently had to +look up at the opening between the trees above the path in order to +learn my route, and, where there was no cart-path, to feel with my feet +the faint track which I had worn, or steer by the known relation of +particular trees which I felt with my hands, passing between two pines +for instance, not more than eighteen inches apart, in the midst of the +woods, invariably, in the darkest night. Sometimes, after coming home +thus late in a dark and muggy night, when my feet felt the path which +my eyes could not see, dreaming and absent-minded all the way, until I +was aroused by having to raise my hand to lift the latch, I have not +been able to recall a single step of my walk, and I have thought that +perhaps my body would find its way home if its master should forsake +it, as the hand finds its way to the mouth without assistance. Several +times, when a visitor chanced to stay into evening, and it proved a +dark night, I was obliged to conduct him to the cart-path in the rear +of the house, and then point out to him the direction he was to pursue, +and in keeping which he was to be guided rather by his feet than his +eyes. One very dark night I directed thus on their way two young men +who had been fishing in the pond. They lived about a mile off through +the woods, and were quite used to the route. A day or two after one of +them told me that they wandered about the greater part of the night, +close by their own premises, and did not get home till toward morning, +by which time, as there had been several heavy showers in the mean +while, and the leaves were very wet, they were drenched to their skins. +I have heard of many going astray even in the village streets, when the +darkness was so thick that you could cut it with a knife, as the saying +is. Some who live in the outskirts, having come to town a-shopping in +their wagons, have been obliged to put up for the night; and gentlemen +and ladies making a call have gone half a mile out of their way, +feeling the sidewalk only with their feet, and not knowing when they +turned. It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable +experience, to be lost in the woods any time. Often in a snow storm, +even by day, one will come out upon a well-known road and yet find it +impossible to tell which way leads to the village. Though he knows that +he has travelled it a thousand times, he cannot recognize a feature in +it, but it is as strange to him as if it were a road in Siberia. By +night, of course, the perplexity is infinitely greater. In our most +trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like +pilots by certain well-known beacons and headlands, and if we go beyond +our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some +neighboring cape; and not till we are completely lost, or turned +round,—for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut +in this world to be lost,—do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness +of Nature. Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often +as he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not till we are +lost, in other words not till we have lost the world, do we begin to +find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our +relations. + +One afternoon, near the end of the first summer, when I went to the +village to get a shoe from the cobbler’s, I was seized and put into +jail, because, as I have elsewhere related, I did not pay a tax to, or +recognize the authority of, the state which buys and sells men, women, +and children, like cattle at the door of its senate-house. I had gone +down to the woods for other purposes. But, wherever a man goes, men +will pursue and paw him with their dirty institutions, and, if they +can, constrain him to belong to their desperate odd-fellow society. It +is true, I might have resisted forcibly with more or less effect, might +have run “amok” against society; but I preferred that society should +run “amok” against me, it being the desperate party. However, I was +released the next day, obtained my mended shoe, and returned to the +woods in season to get my dinner of huckleberries on Fair-Haven Hill. I +was never molested by any person but those who represented the state. I +had no lock nor bolt but for the desk which held my papers, not even a +nail to put over my latch or windows. I never fastened my door night or +day, though I was to be absent several days; not even when the next +fall I spent a fortnight in the woods of Maine. And yet my house was +more respected than if it had been surrounded by a file of soldiers. +The tired rambler could rest and warm himself by my fire, the literary +amuse himself with the few books on my table, or the curious, by +opening my closet door, see what was left of my dinner, and what +prospect I had of a supper. Yet, though many people of every class came +this way to the pond, I suffered no serious inconvenience from these +sources, and I never missed anything but one small book, a volume of +Homer, which perhaps was improperly gilded, and this I trust a soldier +of our camp has found by this time. I am convinced, that if all men +were to live as simply as I then did, thieving and robbery would be +unknown. These take place only in communities where some have got more +than is sufficient while others have not enough. The Pope’s Homers +would soon get properly distributed.— + + “Nec bella fuerunt, + Faginus astabat dum scyphus ante dapes.” + + “Nor wars did men molest, + When only beechen bowls were in request.” + +“You who govern public affairs, what need have you to employ +punishments? Love virtue, and the people will be virtuous. The virtues +of a superior man are like the wind; the virtues of a common man are +like the grass; the grass, when the wind passes over it, bends.” + + +The Ponds + +Sometimes, having had a surfeit of human society and gossip, and worn +out all my village friends, I rambled still farther westward than I +habitually dwell, into yet more unfrequented parts of the town, “to +fresh woods and pastures new,” or, while the sun was setting, made my +supper of huckleberries and blueberries on Fair Haven Hill, and laid up +a store for several days. The fruits do not yield their true flavor to +the purchaser of them, nor to him who raises them for the market. There +is but one way to obtain it, yet few take that way. If you would know +the flavor of huckleberries, ask the cow-boy or the partridge. It is a +vulgar error to suppose that you have tasted huckleberries who never +plucked them. A huckleberry never reaches Boston; they have not been +known there since they grew on her three hills. The ambrosial and +essential part of the fruit is lost with the bloom which is rubbed off +in the market cart, and they become mere provender. As long as Eternal +Justice reigns, not one innocent huckleberry can be transported thither +from the country’s hills. + +Occasionally, after my hoeing was done for the day, I joined some +impatient companion who had been fishing on the pond since morning, as +silent and motionless as a duck or a floating leaf, and, after +practising various kinds of philosophy, had concluded commonly, by the +time I arrived, that he belonged to the ancient sect of Cœnobites. +There was one older man, an excellent fisher and skilled in all kinds +of woodcraft, who was pleased to look upon my house as a building +erected for the convenience of fishermen; and I was equally pleased +when he sat in my doorway to arrange his lines. Once in a while we sat +together on the pond, he at one end of the boat, and I at the other; +but not many words passed between us, for he had grown deaf in his +later years, but he occasionally hummed a psalm, which harmonized well +enough with my philosophy. Our intercourse was thus altogether one of +unbroken harmony, far more pleasing to remember than if it had been +carried on by speech. When, as was commonly the case, I had none to +commune with, I used to raise the echoes by striking with a paddle on +the side of my boat, filling the surrounding woods with circling and +dilating sound, stirring them up as the keeper of a menagerie his wild +beasts, until I elicited a growl from every wooded vale and hill-side. + +In warm evenings I frequently sat in the boat playing the flute, and +saw the perch, which I seemed to have charmed, hovering around me, and +the moon travelling over the ribbed bottom, which was strewed with the +wrecks of the forest. Formerly I had come to this pond adventurously, +from time to time, in dark summer nights, with a companion, and making +a fire close to the water’s edge, which we thought attracted the +fishes, we caught pouts with a bunch of worms strung on a thread; and +when we had done, far in the night, threw the burning brands high into +the air like skyrockets, which, coming down into the pond, were +quenched with a loud hissing, and we were suddenly groping in total +darkness. Through this, whistling a tune, we took our way to the haunts +of men again. But now I had made my home by the shore. + +Sometimes, after staying in a village parlor till the family had all +retired, I have returned to the woods, and, partly with a view to the +next day’s dinner, spent the hours of midnight fishing from a boat by +moonlight, serenaded by owls and foxes, and hearing, from time to time, +the creaking note of some unknown bird close at hand. These experiences +were very memorable and valuable to me,—anchored in forty feet of +water, and twenty or thirty rods from the shore, surrounded sometimes +by thousands of small perch and shiners, dimpling the surface with +their tails in the moonlight, and communicating by a long flaxen line +with mysterious nocturnal fishes which had their dwelling forty feet +below, or sometimes dragging sixty feet of line about the pond as I +drifted in the gentle night breeze, now and then feeling a slight +vibration along it, indicative of some life prowling about its +extremity, of dull uncertain blundering purpose there, and slow to make +up its mind. At length you slowly raise, pulling hand over hand, some +horned pout squeaking and squirming to the upper air. It was very +queer, especially in dark nights, when your thoughts had wandered to +vast and cosmogonal themes in other spheres, to feel this faint jerk, +which came to interrupt your dreams and link you to Nature again. It +seemed as if I might next cast my line upward into the air, as well as +downward into this element, which was scarcely more dense. Thus I +caught two fishes as it were with one hook. + + + +The scenery of Walden is on a humble scale, and, though very beautiful, +does not approach to grandeur, nor can it much concern one who has not +long frequented it or lived by its shore; yet this pond is so +remarkable for its depth and purity as to merit a particular +description. It is a clear and deep green well, half a mile long and a +mile and three quarters in circumference, and contains about sixty-one +and a half acres; a perennial spring in the midst of pine and oak +woods, without any visible inlet or outlet except by the clouds and +evaporation. The surrounding hills rise abruptly from the water to the +height of forty to eighty feet, though on the south-east and east they +attain to about one hundred and one hundred and fifty feet +respectively, within a quarter and a third of a mile. They are +exclusively woodland. All our Concord waters have two colors at least; +one when viewed at a distance, and another, more proper, close at hand. +The first depends more on the light, and follows the sky. In clear +weather, in summer, they appear blue at a little distance, especially +if agitated, and at a great distance all appear alike. In stormy +weather they are sometimes of a dark slate color. The sea, however, is +said to be blue one day and green another without any perceptible +change in the atmosphere. I have seen our river, when, the landscape +being covered with snow, both water and ice were almost as green as +grass. Some consider blue “to be the color of pure water, whether +liquid or solid.” But, looking directly down into our waters from a +boat, they are seen to be of very different colors. Walden is blue at +one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying +between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both. +Viewed from a hill-top it reflects the color of the sky; but near at +hand it is of a yellowish tint next the shore where you can see the +sand, then a light green, which gradually deepens to a uniform dark +green in the body of the pond. In some lights, viewed even from a +hill-top, it is of a vivid green next the shore. Some have referred +this to the reflection of the verdure; but it is equally green there +against the railroad sand-bank, and in the spring, before the leaves +are expanded, and it may be simply the result of the prevailing blue +mixed with the yellow of the sand. Such is the color of its iris. This +is that portion, also, where in the spring, the ice being warmed by the +heat of the sun reflected from the bottom, and also transmitted through +the earth, melts first and forms a narrow canal about the still frozen +middle. Like the rest of our waters, when much agitated, in clear +weather, so that the surface of the waves may reflect the sky at the +right angle, or because there is more light mixed with it, it appears +at a little distance of a darker blue than the sky itself; and at such +a time, being on its surface, and looking with divided vision, so as to +see the reflection, I have discerned a matchless and indescribable +light blue, such as watered or changeable silks and sword blades +suggest, more cerulean than the sky itself, alternating with the +original dark green on the opposite sides of the waves, which last +appeared but muddy in comparison. It is a vitreous greenish blue, as I +remember it, like those patches of the winter sky seen through cloud +vistas in the west before sundown. Yet a single glass of its water held +up to the light is as colorless as an equal quantity of air. It is well +known that a large plate of glass will have a green tint, owing, as the +makers say, to its “body,” but a small piece of the same will be +colorless. How large a body of Walden water would be required to +reflect a green tint I have never proved. The water of our river is +black or a very dark brown to one looking directly down on it, and, +like that of most ponds, imparts to the body of one bathing in it a +yellowish tinge; but this water is of such crystalline purity that the +body of the bather appears of an alabaster whiteness, still more +unnatural, which, as the limbs are magnified and distorted withal, +produces a monstrous effect, making fit studies for a Michael Angelo. + +The water is so transparent that the bottom can easily be discerned at +the depth of twenty-five or thirty feet. Paddling over it, you may see, +many feet beneath the surface the schools of perch and shiners, perhaps +only an inch long, yet the former easily distinguished by their +transverse bars, and you think that they must be ascetic fish that find +a subsistence there. Once, in the winter, many years ago, when I had +been cutting holes through the ice in order to catch pickerel, as I +stepped ashore I tossed my axe back on to the ice, but, as if some evil +genius had directed it, it slid four or five rods directly into one of +the holes, where the water was twenty-five feet deep. Out of curiosity, +I lay down on the ice and looked through the hole, until I saw the axe +a little on one side, standing on its head, with its helve erect and +gently swaying to and fro with the pulse of the pond; and there it +might have stood erect and swaying till in the course of time the +handle rotted off, if I had not disturbed it. Making another hole +directly over it with an ice chisel which I had, and cutting down the +longest birch which I could find in the neighborhood with my knife, I +made a slip-noose, which I attached to its end, and, letting it down +carefully, passed it over the knob of the handle, and drew it by a line +along the birch, and so pulled the axe out again. + +The shore is composed of a belt of smooth rounded white stones like +paving stones, excepting one or two short sand beaches, and is so steep +that in many places a single leap will carry you into water over your +head; and were it not for its remarkable transparency, that would be +the last to be seen of its bottom till it rose on the opposite side. +Some think it is bottomless. It is nowhere muddy, and a casual observer +would say that there were no weeds at all in it; and of noticeable +plants, except in the little meadows recently overflowed, which do not +properly belong to it, a closer scrutiny does not detect a flag nor a +bulrush, nor even a lily, yellow or white, but only a few small +heart-leaves and potamogetons, and perhaps a water-target or two; all +which however a bather might not perceive; and these plants are clean +and bright like the element they grow in. The stones extend a rod or +two into the water, and then the bottom is pure sand, except in the +deepest parts, where there is usually a little sediment, probably from +the decay of the leaves which have been wafted on to it so many +successive falls, and a bright green weed is brought up on anchors even +in midwinter. + +We have one other pond just like this, White Pond, in Nine Acre Corner, +about two and a half miles westerly; but, though I am acquainted with +most of the ponds within a dozen miles of this centre I do not know a +third of this pure and well-like character. Successive nations +perchance have drank at, admired, and fathomed it, and passed away, and +still its water is green and pellucid as ever. Not an intermitting +spring! Perhaps on that spring morning when Adam and Eve were driven +out of Eden Walden Pond was already in existence, and even then +breaking up in a gentle spring rain accompanied with mist and a +southerly wind, and covered with myriads of ducks and geese, which had +not heard of the fall, when still such pure lakes sufficed them. Even +then it had commenced to rise and fall, and had clarified its waters +and colored them of the hue they now wear, and obtained a patent of +heaven to be the only Walden Pond in the world and distiller of +celestial dews. Who knows in how many unremembered nations’ literatures +this has been the Castalian Fountain? or what nymphs presided over it +in the Golden Age? It is a gem of the first water which Concord wears +in her coronet. + +Yet perchance the first who came to this well have left some trace of +their footsteps. I have been surprised to detect encircling the pond, +even where a thick wood has just been cut down on the shore, a narrow +shelf-like path in the steep hill-side, alternately rising and falling, +approaching and receding from the water’s edge, as old probably as the +race of man here, worn by the feet of aboriginal hunters, and still +from time to time unwittingly trodden by the present occupants of the +land. This is particularly distinct to one standing on the middle of +the pond in winter, just after a light snow has fallen, appearing as a +clear undulating white line, unobscured by weeds and twigs, and very +obvious a quarter of a mile off in many places where in summer it is +hardly distinguishable close at hand. The snow reprints it, as it were, +in clear white type alto-relievo. The ornamented grounds of villas +which will one day be built here may still preserve some trace of this. + +The pond rises and falls, but whether regularly or not, and within what +period, nobody knows, though, as usual, many pretend to know. It is +commonly higher in the winter and lower in the summer, though not +corresponding to the general wet and dryness. I can remember when it +was a foot or two lower, and also when it was at least five feet +higher, than when I lived by it. There is a narrow sand-bar running +into it, with very deep water on one side, on which I helped boil a +kettle of chowder, some six rods from the main shore, about the year +1824, which it has not been possible to do for twenty-five years; and +on the other hand, my friends used to listen with incredulity when I +told them, that a few years later I was accustomed to fish from a boat +in a secluded cove in the woods, fifteen rods from the only shore they +knew, which place was long since converted into a meadow. But the pond +has risen steadily for two years, and now, in the summer of ’52, is +just five feet higher than when I lived there, or as high as it was +thirty years ago, and fishing goes on again in the meadow. This makes a +difference of level, at the outside, of six or seven feet; and yet the +water shed by the surrounding hills is insignificant in amount, and +this overflow must be referred to causes which affect the deep springs. +This same summer the pond has begun to fall again. It is remarkable +that this fluctuation, whether periodical or not, appears thus to +require many years for its accomplishment. I have observed one rise and +a part of two falls, and I expect that a dozen or fifteen years hence +the water will again be as low as I have ever known it. Flint’s Pond, a +mile eastward, allowing for the disturbance occasioned by its inlets +and outlets, and the smaller intermediate ponds also, sympathize with +Walden, and recently attained their greatest height at the same time +with the latter. The same is true, as far as my observation goes, of +White Pond. + +This rise and fall of Walden at long intervals serves this use at +least; the water standing at this great height for a year or more, +though it makes it difficult to walk round it, kills the shrubs and +trees which have sprung up about its edge since the last rise, +pitch-pines, birches, alders, aspens, and others, and, falling again, +leaves an unobstructed shore; for, unlike many ponds and all waters +which are subject to a daily tide, its shore is cleanest when the water +is lowest. On the side of the pond next my house, a row of pitch pines +fifteen feet high has been killed and tipped over as if by a lever, and +thus a stop put to their encroachments; and their size indicates how +many years have elapsed since the last rise to this height. By this +fluctuation the pond asserts its title to a shore, and thus the _shore_ +is _shorn_, and the trees cannot hold it by right of possession. These +are the lips of the lake on which no beard grows. It licks its chaps +from time to time. When the water is at its height, the alders, +willows, and maples send forth a mass of fibrous red roots several feet +long from all sides of their stems in the water, and to the height of +three or four feet from the ground, in the effort to maintain +themselves; and I have known the high-blueberry bushes about the shore, +which commonly produce no fruit, bear an abundant crop under these +circumstances. + +Some have been puzzled to tell how the shore became so regularly paved. +My townsmen have all heard the tradition, the oldest people tell me +that they heard it in their youth, that anciently the Indians were +holding a pow-wow upon a hill here, which rose as high into the heavens +as the pond now sinks deep into the earth, and they used much +profanity, as the story goes, though this vice is one of which the +Indians were never guilty, and while they were thus engaged the hill +shook and suddenly sank, and only one old squaw, named Walden, escaped, +and from her the pond was named. It has been conjectured that when the +hill shook these stones rolled down its side and became the present +shore. It is very certain, at any rate, that once there was no pond +here, and now there is one; and this Indian fable does not in any +respect conflict with the account of that ancient settler whom I have +mentioned, who remembers so well when he first came here with his +divining rod, saw a thin vapor rising from the sward, and the hazel +pointed steadily downward, and he concluded to dig a well here. As for +the stones, many still think that they are hardly to be accounted for +by the action of the waves on these hills; but I observe that the +surrounding hills are remarkably full of the same kind of stones, so +that they have been obliged to pile them up in walls on both sides of +the railroad cut nearest the pond; and, moreover, there are most stones +where the shore is most abrupt; so that, unfortunately, it is no longer +a mystery to me. I detect the paver. If the name was not derived from +that of some English locality,—Saffron Walden, for instance,—one might +suppose that it was called originally _Walled-in_ Pond. + +The pond was my well ready dug. For four months in the year its water +is as cold as it is pure at all times; and I think that it is then as +good as any, if not the best, in the town. In the winter, all water +which is exposed to the air is colder than springs and wells which are +protected from it. The temperature of the pond water which had stood in +the room where I sat from five o’clock in the afternoon till noon the +next day, the sixth of March, 1846, the thermometer having been up to +65° or 70° some of the time, owing partly to the sun on the roof, was +42°, or one degree colder than the water of one of the coldest wells in +the village just drawn. The temperature of the Boiling Spring the same +day was 45°, or the warmest of any water tried, though it is the +coldest that I know of in summer, when, beside, shallow and stagnant +surface water is not mingled with it. Moreover, in summer, Walden never +becomes so warm as most water which is exposed to the sun, on account +of its depth. In the warmest weather I usually placed a pailful in my +cellar, where it became cool in the night, and remained so during the +day; though I also resorted to a spring in the neighborhood. It was as +good when a week old as the day it was dipped, and had no taste of the +pump. Whoever camps for a week in summer by the shore of a pond, needs +only bury a pail of water a few feet deep in the shade of his camp to +be independent of the luxury of ice. + +There have been caught in Walden pickerel, one weighing seven pounds, +to say nothing of another which carried off a reel with great velocity, +which the fisherman safely set down at eight pounds because he did not +see him, perch and pouts, some of each weighing over two pounds, +shiners, chivins or roach (_Leuciscus pulchellus_), a very few breams, +and a couple of eels, one weighing four pounds,—I am thus particular +because the weight of a fish is commonly its only title to fame, and +these are the only eels I have heard of here;—also, I have a faint +recollection of a little fish some five inches long, with silvery sides +and a greenish back, somewhat dace-like in its character, which I +mention here chiefly to link my facts to fable. Nevertheless, this pond +is not very fertile in fish. Its pickerel, though not abundant, are its +chief boast. I have seen at one time lying on the ice pickerel of at +least three different kinds; a long and shallow one, steel-colored, +most like those caught in the river; a bright golden kind, with +greenish reflections and remarkably deep, which is the most common +here; and another, golden-colored, and shaped like the last, but +peppered on the sides with small dark brown or black spots, intermixed +with a few faint blood-red ones, very much like a trout. The specific +name _reticulatus_ would not apply to this; it should be _guttatus_ +rather. These are all very firm fish, and weigh more than their size +promises. The shiners, pouts, and perch also, and indeed all the fishes +which inhabit this pond, are much cleaner, handsomer, and firmer +fleshed than those in the river and most other ponds, as the water is +purer, and they can easily be distinguished from them. Probably many +ichthyologists would make new varieties of some of them. There are also +a clean race of frogs and tortoises, and a few muscels in it; muskrats +and minks leave their traces about it, and occasionally a travelling +mud-turtle visits it. Sometimes, when I pushed off my boat in the +morning, I disturbed a great mud-turtle which had secreted himself +under the boat in the night. Ducks and geese frequent it in the spring +and fall, the white-bellied swallows (_Hirundo bicolor_) skim over it, +and the peetweets (_Totanus macularius_) “teter” along its stony shores +all summer. I have sometimes disturbed a fishhawk sitting on a +white-pine over the water; but I doubt if it is ever profaned by the +wing of a gull, like Fair Haven. At most, it tolerates one annual loon. +These are all the animals of consequence which frequent it now. + +You may see from a boat, in calm weather, near the sandy eastern shore, +where the water is eight or ten feet deep, and also in some other parts +of the pond, some circular heaps half a dozen feet in diameter by a +foot in height, consisting of small stones less than a hen’s egg in +size, where all around is bare sand. At first you wonder if the Indians +could have formed them on the ice for any purpose, and so, when the ice +melted, they sank to the bottom; but they are too regular and some of +them plainly too fresh for that. They are similar to those found in +rivers; but as there are no suckers nor lampreys here, I know not by +what fish they could be made. Perhaps they are the nests of the chivin. +These lend a pleasing mystery to the bottom. + +The shore is irregular enough not to be monotonous. I have in my mind’s +eye the western indented with deep bays, the bolder northern, and the +beautifully scalloped southern shore, where successive capes overlap +each other and suggest unexplored coves between. The forest has never +so good a setting, nor is so distinctly beautiful, as when seen from +the middle of a small lake amid hills which rise from the water’s edge; +for the water in which it is reflected not only makes the best +foreground in such a case, but, with its winding shore, the most +natural and agreeable boundary to it. There is no rawness nor +imperfection in its edge there, as where the axe has cleared a part, or +a cultivated field abuts on it. The trees have ample room to expand on +the water side, and each sends forth its most vigorous branch in that +direction. There Nature has woven a natural selvage, and the eye rises +by just gradations from the low shrubs of the shore to the highest +trees. There are few traces of man’s hand to be seen. The water laves +the shore as it did a thousand years ago. + +A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is +earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his +own nature. The fluviatile trees next the shore are the slender +eyelashes which fringe it, and the wooded hills and cliffs around are +its overhanging brows. + +Standing on the smooth sandy beach at the east end of the pond, in a +calm September afternoon, when a slight haze makes the opposite shore +line indistinct, I have seen whence came the expression, “the glassy +surface of a lake.” When you invert your head, it looks like a thread +of finest gossamer stretched across the valley, and gleaming against +the distant pine woods, separating one stratum of the atmosphere from +another. You would think that you could walk dry under it to the +opposite hills, and that the swallows which skim over might perch on +it. Indeed, they sometimes dive below this line, as it were by mistake, +and are undeceived. As you look over the pond westward you are obliged +to employ both your hands to defend your eyes against the reflected as +well as the true sun, for they are equally bright; and if, between the +two, you survey its surface critically, it is literally as smooth as +glass, except where the skater insects, at equal intervals scattered +over its whole extent, by their motions in the sun produce the finest +imaginable sparkle on it, or, perchance, a duck plumes itself, or, as I +have said, a swallow skims so low as to touch it. It may be that in the +distance a fish describes an arc of three or four feet in the air, and +there is one bright flash where it emerges, and another where it +strikes the water; sometimes the whole silvery arc is revealed; or here +and there, perhaps, is a thistle-down floating on its surface, which +the fishes dart at and so dimple it again. It is like molten glass +cooled but not congealed, and the few motes in it are pure and +beautiful like the imperfections in glass. You may often detect a yet +smoother and darker water, separated from the rest as if by an +invisible cobweb, boom of the water nymphs, resting on it. From a +hill-top you can see a fish leap in almost any part; for not a pickerel +or shiner picks an insect from this smooth surface but it manifestly +disturbs the equilibrium of the whole lake. It is wonderful with what +elaborateness this simple fact is advertised,—this piscine murder will +out,—and from my distant perch I distinguish the circling undulations +when they are half a dozen rods in diameter. You can even detect a +water-bug (_Gyrinus_) ceaselessly progressing over the smooth surface a +quarter of a mile off; for they furrow the water slightly, making a +conspicuous ripple bounded by two diverging lines, but the skaters +glide over it without rippling it perceptibly. When the surface is +considerably agitated there are no skaters nor water-bugs on it, but +apparently, in calm days, they leave their havens and adventurously +glide forth from the shore by short impulses till they completely cover +it. It is a soothing employment, on one of those fine days in the fall +when all the warmth of the sun is fully appreciated, to sit on a stump +on such a height as this, overlooking the pond, and study the dimpling +circles which are incessantly inscribed on its otherwise invisible +surface amid the reflected skies and trees. Over this great expanse +there is no disturbance but it is thus at once gently smoothed away and +assuaged, as, when a vase of water is jarred, the trembling circles +seek the shore and all is smooth again. Not a fish can leap or an +insect fall on the pond but it is thus reported in circling dimples, in +lines of beauty, as it were the constant welling up of its fountain, +the gentle pulsing of its life, the heaving of its breast. The thrills +of joy and thrills of pain are undistinguishable. How peaceful the +phenomena of the lake! Again the works of man shine as in the spring. +Ay, every leaf and twig and stone and cobweb sparkles now at +mid-afternoon as when covered with dew in a spring morning. Every +motion of an oar or an insect produces a flash of light; and if an oar +falls, how sweet the echo! + +In such a day, in September or October, Walden is a perfect forest +mirror, set round with stones as precious to my eye as if fewer or +rarer. Nothing so fair, so pure, and at the same time so large, as a +lake, perchance, lies on the surface of the earth. Sky water. It needs +no fence. Nations come and go without defiling it. It is a mirror which +no stone can crack, whose quicksilver will never wear off, whose +gilding Nature continually repairs; no storms, no dust, can dim its +surface ever fresh;—a mirror in which all impurity presented to it +sinks, swept and dusted by the sun’s hazy brush,—this the light +dust-cloth,—which retains no breath that is breathed on it, but sends +its own to float as clouds high above its surface, and be reflected in +its bosom still. + +A field of water betrays the spirit that is in the air. It is +continually receiving new life and motion from above. It is +intermediate in its nature between land and sky. On land only the grass +and trees wave, but the water itself is rippled by the wind. I see +where the breeze dashes across it by the streaks or flakes of light. It +is remarkable that we can look down on its surface. We shall, perhaps, +look down thus on the surface of air at length, and mark where a still +subtler spirit sweeps over it. + +The skaters and water-bugs finally disappear in the latter part of +October, when the severe frosts have come; and then and in November, +usually, in a calm day, there is absolutely nothing to ripple the +surface. One November afternoon, in the calm at the end of a rain storm +of several days’ duration, when the sky was still completely overcast +and the air was full of mist, I observed that the pond was remarkably +smooth, so that it was difficult to distinguish its surface; though it +no longer reflected the bright tints of October, but the sombre +November colors of the surrounding hills. Though I passed over it as +gently as possible, the slight undulations produced by my boat extended +almost as far as I could see, and gave a ribbed appearance to the +reflections. But, as I was looking over the surface, I saw here and +there at a distance a faint glimmer, as if some skater insects which +had escaped the frosts might be collected there, or, perchance, the +surface, being so smooth, betrayed where a spring welled up from the +bottom. Paddling gently to one of these places, I was surprised to find +myself surrounded by myriads of small perch, about five inches long, of +a rich bronze color in the green water, sporting there, and constantly +rising to the surface and dimpling it, sometimes leaving bubbles on it. +In such transparent and seemingly bottomless water, reflecting the +clouds, I seemed to be floating through the air as in a balloon, and +their swimming impressed me as a kind of flight or hovering, as if they +were a compact flock of birds passing just beneath my level on the +right or left, their fins, like sails, set all around them. There were +many such schools in the pond, apparently improving the short season +before winter would draw an icy shutter over their broad skylight, +sometimes giving to the surface an appearance as if a slight breeze +struck it, or a few rain-drops fell there. When I approached carelessly +and alarmed them, they made a sudden splash and rippling with their +tails, as if one had struck the water with a brushy bough, and +instantly took refuge in the depths. At length the wind rose, the mist +increased, and the waves began to run, and the perch leaped much higher +than before, half out of water, a hundred black points, three inches +long, at once above the surface. Even as late as the fifth of December, +one year, I saw some dimples on the surface, and thinking it was going +to rain hard immediately, the air being full of mist, I made haste to +take my place at the oars and row homeward; already the rain seemed +rapidly increasing, though I felt none on my cheek, and I anticipated a +thorough soaking. But suddenly the dimples ceased, for they were +produced by the perch, which the noise of my oars had seared into the +depths, and I saw their schools dimly disappearing; so I spent a dry +afternoon after all. + +An old man who used to frequent this pond nearly sixty years ago, when +it was dark with surrounding forests, tells me that in those days he +sometimes saw it all alive with ducks and other water fowl, and that +there were many eagles about it. He came here a-fishing, and used an +old log canoe which he found on the shore. It was made of two +white-pine logs dug out and pinned together, and was cut off square at +the ends. It was very clumsy, but lasted a great many years before it +became water-logged and perhaps sank to the bottom. He did not know +whose it was; it belonged to the pond. He used to make a cable for his +anchor of strips of hickory bark tied together. An old man, a potter, +who lived by the pond before the Revolution, told him once that there +was an iron chest at the bottom, and that he had seen it. Sometimes it +would come floating up to the shore; but when you went toward it, it +would go back into deep water and disappear. I was pleased to hear of +the old log canoe, which took the place of an Indian one of the same +material but more graceful construction, which perchance had first been +a tree on the bank, and then, as it were, fell into the water, to float +there for a generation, the most proper vessel for the lake. I remember +that when I first looked into these depths there were many large trunks +to be seen indistinctly lying on the bottom, which had either been +blown over formerly, or left on the ice at the last cutting, when wood +was cheaper; but now they have mostly disappeared. + +When I first paddled a boat on Walden, it was completely surrounded by +thick and lofty pine and oak woods, and in some of its coves grape +vines had run over the trees next the water and formed bowers under +which a boat could pass. The hills which form its shores are so steep, +and the woods on them were then so high, that, as you looked down from +the west end, it had the appearance of an amphitheatre for some kind of +sylvan spectacle. I have spent many an hour, when I was younger, +floating over its surface as the zephyr willed, having paddled my boat +to the middle, and lying on my back across the seats, in a summer +forenoon, dreaming awake, until I was aroused by the boat touching the +sand, and I arose to see what shore my fates had impelled me to; days +when idleness was the most attractive and productive industry. Many a +forenoon have I stolen away, preferring to spend thus the most valued +part of the day; for I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and +summer days, and spent them lavishly; nor do I regret that I did not +waste more of them in the workshop or the teacher’s desk. But since I +left those shores the woodchoppers have still further laid them waste, +and now for many a year there will be no more rambling through the +aisles of the wood, with occasional vistas through which you see the +water. My Muse may be excused if she is silent henceforth. How can you +expect the birds to sing when their groves are cut down? + +Now the trunks of trees on the bottom, and the old log canoe, and the +dark surrounding woods, are gone, and the villagers, who scarcely know +where it lies, instead of going to the pond to bathe or drink, are +thinking to bring its water, which should be as sacred as the Ganges at +least, to the village in a pipe, to wash their dishes with!—to earn +their Walden by the turning of a cock or drawing of a plug! That +devilish Iron Horse, whose ear-rending neigh is heard throughout the +town, has muddied the Boiling Spring with his foot, and he it is that +has browsed off all the woods on Walden shore, that Trojan horse, with +a thousand men in his belly, introduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is +the country’s champion, the Moore of Moore Hill, to meet him at the +Deep Cut and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated +pest? + +Nevertheless, of all the characters I have known, perhaps Walden wears +best, and best preserves its purity. Many men have been likened to it, +but few deserve that honor. Though the woodchoppers have laid bare +first this shore and then that, and the Irish have built their sties by +it, and the railroad has infringed on its border, and the ice-men have +skimmed it once, it is itself unchanged, the same water which my +youthful eyes fell on; all the change is in me. It has not acquired one +permanent wrinkle after all its ripples. It is perennially young, and I +may stand and see a swallow dip apparently to pick an insect from its +surface as of yore. It struck me again tonight, as if I had not seen it +almost daily for more than twenty years,—Why, here is Walden, the same +woodland lake that I discovered so many years ago; where a forest was +cut down last winter another is springing up by its shore as lustily as +ever; the same thought is welling up to its surface that was then; it +is the same liquid joy and happiness to itself and its Maker, ay, and +it _may_ be to me. It is the work of a brave man surely, in whom there +was no guile! He rounded this water with his hand, deepened and +clarified it in his thought, and in his will bequeathed it to Concord. +I see by its face that it is visited by the same reflection; and I can +almost say, Walden, is it you? + + It is no dream of mine, + To ornament a line; + I cannot come nearer to God and Heaven + Than I live to Walden even. + I am its stony shore, + And the breeze that passes o’er; + In the hollow of my hand + Are its water and its sand, + And its deepest resort + Lies high in my thought. + +The cars never pause to look at it; yet I fancy that the engineers and +firemen and brakemen, and those passengers who have a season ticket and +see it often, are better men for the sight. The engineer does not +forget at night, or his nature does not, that he has beheld this vision +of serenity and purity once at least during the day. Though seen but +once, it helps to wash out State-street and the engine’s soot. One +proposes that it be called “God’s Drop.” + +I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet, but it is on +the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint’s Pond, which is +more elevated, by a chain of small ponds coming from that quarter, and +on the other directly and manifestly to Concord River, which is lower, +by a similar chain of ponds through which in some other geological +period it may have flowed, and by a little digging, which God forbid, +it can be made to flow thither again. If by living thus reserved and +austere, like a hermit in the woods, so long, it has acquired such +wonderful purity, who would not regret that the comparatively impure +waters of Flint’s Pond should be mingled with it, or itself should ever +go to waste its sweetness in the ocean wave? + + + +Flint’s, or Sandy Pond, in Lincoln, our greatest lake and inland sea, +lies about a mile east of Walden. It is much larger, being said to +contain one hundred and ninety-seven acres, and is more fertile in +fish; but it is comparatively shallow, and not remarkably pure. A walk +through the woods thither was often my recreation. It was worth the +while, if only to feel the wind blow on your cheek freely, and see the +waves run, and remember the life of mariners. I went a-chestnutting +there in the fall, on windy days, when the nuts were dropping into the +water and were washed to my feet; and one day, as I crept along its +sedgy shore, the fresh spray blowing in my face, I came upon the +mouldering wreck of a boat, the sides gone, and hardly more than the +impression of its flat bottom left amid the rushes; yet its model was +sharply defined, as if it were a large decayed pad, with its veins. It +was as impressive a wreck as one could imagine on the sea-shore, and +had as good a moral. It is by this time mere vegetable mould and +undistinguishable pond shore, through which rushes and flags have +pushed up. I used to admire the ripple marks on the sandy bottom, at +the north end of this pond, made firm and hard to the feet of the wader +by the pressure of the water, and the rushes which grew in Indian file, +in waving lines, corresponding to these marks, rank behind rank, as if +the waves had planted them. There also I have found, in considerable +quantities, curious balls, composed apparently of fine grass or roots, +of pipewort perhaps, from half an inch to four inches in diameter, and +perfectly spherical. These wash back and forth in shallow water on a +sandy bottom, and are sometimes cast on the shore. They are either +solid grass, or have a little sand in the middle. At first you would +say that they were formed by the action of the waves, like a pebble; +yet the smallest are made of equally coarse materials, half an inch +long, and they are produced only at one season of the year. Moreover, +the waves, I suspect, do not so much construct as wear down a material +which has already acquired consistency. They preserve their form when +dry for an indefinite period. + +_Flint’s Pond!_ Such is the poverty of our nomenclature. What right had +the unclean and stupid farmer, whose farm abutted on this sky water, +whose shores he has ruthlessly laid bare, to give his name to it? Some +skin-flint, who loved better the reflecting surface of a dollar, or a +bright cent, in which he could see his own brazen face; who regarded +even the wild ducks which settled in it as trespassers; his fingers +grown into crooked and horny talons from the long habit of grasping +harpy-like;—so it is not named for me. I go not there to see him nor to +hear of him; who never _saw_ it, who never bathed in it, who never +loved it, who never protected it, who never spoke a good word for it, +nor thanked God that he had made it. Rather let it be named from the +fishes that swim in it, the wild fowl or quadrupeds which frequent it, +the wild flowers which grow by its shores, or some wild man or child +the thread of whose history is interwoven with its own; not from him +who could show no title to it but the deed which a like-minded neighbor +or legislature gave him,—him who thought only of its money value; whose +presence perchance cursed all the shore; who exhausted the land around +it, and would fain have exhausted the waters within it; who regretted +only that it was not English hay or cranberry meadow,—there was nothing +to redeem it, forsooth, in his eyes,—and would have drained and sold it +for the mud at its bottom. It did not turn his mill, and it was no +_privilege_ to him to behold it. I respect not his labors, his farm +where every thing has its price; who would carry the landscape, who +would carry his God, to market, if he could get any thing for him; who +goes to market _for_ his god as it is; on whose farm nothing grows +free, whose fields bear no crops, whose meadows no flowers, whose trees +no fruits, but dollars; who loves not the beauty of his fruits, whose +fruits are not ripe for him till they are turned to dollars. Give me +the poverty that enjoys true wealth. Farmers are respectable and +interesting to me in proportion as they are poor,—poor farmers. A model +farm! where the house stands like a fungus in a muck-heap, chambers for +men, horses, oxen, and swine, cleansed and uncleansed, all contiguous +to one another! Stocked with men! A great grease-spot, redolent of +manures and buttermilk! Under a high state of cultivation, being +manured with the hearts and brains of men! As if you were to raise your +potatoes in the church-yard! Such is a model farm. + +No, no; if the fairest features of the landscape are to be named after +men, let them be the noblest and worthiest men alone. Let our lakes +receive as true names at least as the Icarian Sea, where “still the +shore” a “brave attempt resounds.” + + + +Goose Pond, of small extent, is on my way to Flint’s; Fair-Haven, an +expansion of Concord River, said to contain some seventy acres, is a +mile south-west; and White Pond, of about forty acres, is a mile and a +half beyond Fair-Haven. This is my lake country. These, with Concord +River, are my water privileges; and night and day, year in year out, +they grind such grist as I carry to them. + +Since the woodcutters, and the railroad, and I myself have profaned +Walden, perhaps the most attractive, if not the most beautiful, of all +our lakes, the gem of the woods, is White Pond;—a poor name from its +commonness, whether derived from the remarkable purity of its waters or +the color of its sands. In these as in other respects, however, it is a +lesser twin of Walden. They are so much alike that you would say they +must be connected under ground. It has the same stony shore, and its +waters are of the same hue. As at Walden, in sultry dog-day weather, +looking down through the woods on some of its bays which are not so +deep but that the reflection from the bottom tinges them, its waters +are of a misty bluish-green or glaucous color. Many years since I used +to go there to collect the sand by cart-loads, to make sand-paper with, +and I have continued to visit it ever since. One who frequents it +proposes to call it Virid Lake. Perhaps it might be called Yellow-Pine +Lake, from the following circumstance. About fifteen years ago you +could see the top of a pitch-pine, of the kind called yellow-pine +hereabouts, though it is not a distinct species, projecting above the +surface in deep water, many rods from the shore. It was even supposed +by some that the pond had sunk, and this was one of the primitive +forest that formerly stood there. I find that even so long ago as 1792, +in a “Topographical Description of the Town of Concord,” by one of its +citizens, in the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society, +the author, after speaking of Walden and White Ponds, adds: “In the +middle of the latter may be seen, when the water is very low, a tree +which appears as if it grew in the place where it now stands, although +the roots are fifty feet below the surface of the water; the top of +this tree is broken off, and at that place measures fourteen inches in +diameter.” In the spring of ’49 I talked with the man who lives nearest +the pond in Sudbury, who told me that it was he who got out this tree +ten or fifteen years before. As near as he could remember, it stood +twelve or fifteen rods from the shore, where the water was thirty or +forty feet deep. It was in the winter, and he had been getting out ice +in the forenoon, and had resolved that in the afternoon, with the aid +of his neighbors, he would take out the old yellow-pine. He sawed a +channel in the ice toward the shore, and hauled it over and along and +out on to the ice with oxen; but, before he had gone far in his work, +he was surprised to find that it was wrong end upward, with the stumps +of the branches pointing down, and the small end firmly fastened in the +sandy bottom. It was about a foot in diameter at the big end, and he +had expected to get a good saw-log, but it was so rotten as to be fit +only for fuel, if for that. He had some of it in his shed then. There +were marks of an axe and of woodpeckers on the butt. He thought that it +might have been a dead tree on the shore, but was finally blown over +into the pond, and after the top had become waterlogged, while the +butt-end was still dry and light, had drifted out and sunk wrong end +up. His father, eighty years old, could not remember when it was not +there. Several pretty large logs may still be seen lying on the bottom, +where, owing to the undulation of the surface, they look like huge +water snakes in motion. + +This pond has rarely been profaned by a boat, for there is little in it +to tempt a fisherman. Instead of the white lily, which requires mud, or +the common sweet flag, the blue flag (_Iris versicolor_) grows thinly +in the pure water, rising from the stony bottom all around the shore, +where it is visited by humming birds in June; and the color both of its +bluish blades and its flowers, and especially their reflections, are in +singular harmony with the glaucous water. + +White Pond and Walden are great crystals on the surface of the earth, +Lakes of Light. If they were permanently congealed, and small enough to +be clutched, they would, perchance, be carried off by slaves, like +precious stones, to adorn the heads of emperors; but being liquid, and +ample, and secured to us and our successors forever, we disregard them, +and run after the diamond of Kohinoor. They are too pure to have a +market value; they contain no muck. How much more beautiful than our +lives, how much more transparent than our characters, are they! We +never learned meanness of them. How much fairer than the pool before +the farmer’s door, in which his ducks swim! Hither the clean wild ducks +come. Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. The birds +with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but +what youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of +Nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they +reside. Talk of heaven! ye disgrace earth. + + +Baker Farm + +Sometimes I rambled to pine groves, standing like temples, or like +fleets at sea, full-rigged, with wavy boughs, and rippling with light, +so soft and green and shady that the Druids would have forsaken their +oaks to worship in them; or to the cedar wood beyond Flint’s Pond, +where the trees, covered with hoary blue berries, spiring higher and +higher, are fit to stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper +covers the ground with wreaths full of fruit; or to swamps where the +usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white-spruce trees, and +toad-stools, round tables of the swamp gods, cover the ground, and more +beautiful fungi adorn the stumps, like butterflies or shells, vegetable +winkles; where the swamp-pink and dogwood grow, the red alder-berry +glows like eyes of imps, the waxwork grooves and crushes the hardest +woods in its folds, and the wild-holly berries make the beholder forget +his home with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by nameless +other wild forbidden fruits, too fair for mortal taste. Instead of +calling on some scholar, I paid many a visit to particular trees, of +kinds which are rare in this neighborhood, standing far away in the +middle of some pasture, or in the depths of a wood or swamp, or on a +hill-top; such as the black-birch, of which we have some handsome +specimens two feet in diameter; its cousin, the yellow birch, with its +loose golden vest, perfumed like the first; the beech, which has so +neat a bole and beautifully lichen-painted, perfect in all its details, +of which, excepting scattered specimens, I know but one small grove of +sizable trees left in the township, supposed by some to have been +planted by the pigeons that were once baited with beech nuts near by; +it is worth the while to see the silver grain sparkle when you split +this wood; the bass; the hornbeam; the _Celtis occidentalis_, or false +elm, of which we have but one well-grown; some taller mast of a pine, a +shingle tree, or a more perfect hemlock than usual, standing like a +pagoda in the midst of the woods; and many others I could mention. +These were the shrines I visited both summer and winter. + +Once it chanced that I stood in the very abutment of a rainbow’s arch, +which filled the lower stratum of the atmosphere, tinging the grass and +leaves around, and dazzling me as if I looked through colored crystal. +It was a lake of rainbow light, in which, for a short while, I lived +like a dolphin. If it had lasted longer it might have tinged my +employments and life. As I walked on the railroad causeway, I used to +wonder at the halo of light around my shadow, and would fain fancy +myself one of the elect. One who visited me declared that the shadows +of some Irishmen before him had no halo about them, that it was only +natives that were so distinguished. Benvenuto Cellini tells us in his +memoirs, that, after a certain terrible dream or vision which he had +during his confinement in the castle of St. Angelo, a resplendent light +appeared over the shadow of his head at morning and evening, whether he +was in Italy or France, and it was particularly conspicuous when the +grass was moist with dew. This was probably the same phenomenon to +which I have referred, which is especially observed in the morning, but +also at other times, and even by moonlight. Though a constant one, it +is not commonly noticed, and, in the case of an excitable imagination +like Cellini’s, it would be basis enough for superstition. Beside, he +tells us that he showed it to very few. But are they not indeed +distinguished who are conscious that they are regarded at all? + + + +I set out one afternoon to go a-fishing to Fair-Haven, through the +woods, to eke out my scanty fare of vegetables. My way led through +Pleasant Meadow, an adjunct of the Baker Farm, that retreat of which a +poet has since sung, beginning,— + + “Thy entry is a pleasant field, + Which some mossy fruit trees yield + Partly to a ruddy brook, + By gliding musquash undertook, + And mercurial trout, + Darting about.” + +I thought of living there before I went to Walden. I “hooked” the +apples, leaped the brook, and scared the musquash and the trout. It was +one of those afternoons which seem indefinitely long before one, in +which many events may happen, a large portion of our natural life, +though it was already half spent when I started. By the way there came +up a shower, which compelled me to stand half an hour under a pine, +piling boughs over my head, and wearing my handkerchief for a shed; and +when at length I had made one cast over the pickerel-weed, standing up +to my middle in water, I found myself suddenly in the shadow of a +cloud, and the thunder began to rumble with such emphasis that I could +do no more than listen to it. The gods must be proud, thought I, with +such forked flashes to rout a poor unarmed fisherman. So I made haste +for shelter to the nearest hut, which stood half a mile from any road, +but so much the nearer to the pond, and had long been uninhabited:— + + “And here a poet builded, + In the completed years, + For behold a trivial cabin + That to destruction steers.” + +So the Muse fables. But therein, as I found, dwelt now John Field, an +Irishman, and his wife, and several children, from the broad-faced boy +who assisted his father at his work, and now came running by his side +from the bog to escape the rain, to the wrinkled, sibyl-like, +cone-headed infant that sat upon its father’s knee as in the palaces of +nobles, and looked out from its home in the midst of wet and hunger +inquisitively upon the stranger, with the privilege of infancy, not +knowing but it was the last of a noble line, and the hope and cynosure +of the world, instead of John Field’s poor starveling brat. There we +sat together under that part of the roof which leaked the least, while +it showered and thundered without. I had sat there many times of old +before the ship was built that floated his family to America. An +honest, hard-working, but shiftless man plainly was John Field; and his +wife, she too was brave to cook so many successive dinners in the +recesses of that lofty stove; with round greasy face and bare breast, +still thinking to improve her condition one day; with the never absent +mop in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere. The +chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain, stalked +about the room like members of the family, too humanized methought to +roast well. They stood and looked in my eye or pecked at my shoe +significantly. Meanwhile my host told me his story, how hard he worked +“bogging” for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or +bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with +manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully +at his father’s side the while, not knowing how poor a bargain the +latter had made. I tried to help him with my experience, telling him +that he was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I too, who came +a-fishing here, and looked like a loafer, was getting my living like +himself; that I lived in a tight, light, and clean house, which hardly +cost more than the annual rent of such a ruin as his commonly amounts +to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two build himself a +palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor coffee, nor butter, nor +milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to get them; again, +as I did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard, and it cost me but +a trifle for my food; but as he began with tea, and coffee, and butter, +and milk, and beef, he had to work hard to pay for them, and when he +had worked hard he had to eat hard again to repair the waste of his +system,—and so it was as broad as it was long, indeed it was broader +than it was long, for he was discontented and wasted his life into the +bargain; and yet he had rated it as a gain in coming to America, that +here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day. But the only +true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a +mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state +does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and +other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the +use of such things. For I purposely talked to him as if he were a +philosopher, or desired to be one. I should be glad if all the meadows +on the earth were left in a wild state, if that were the consequence of +men’s beginning to redeem themselves. A man will not need to study +history to find out what is best for his own culture. But alas! the +culture of an Irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with a sort of +moral bog hoe. I told him, that as he worked so hard at bogging, he +required thick boots and stout clothing, which yet were soon soiled and +worn out, but I wore light shoes and thin clothing, which cost not half +so much, though he might think that I was dressed like a gentleman, +(which, however, was not the case,) and in an hour or two, without +labor, but as a recreation, I could, if I wished, catch as many fish as +I should want for two days, or earn enough money to support me a week. +If he and his family would live simply, they might all go +a-huckleberrying in the summer for their amusement. John heaved a sigh +at this, and his wife stared with arms a-kimbo, and both appeared to be +wondering if they had capital enough to begin such a course with, or +arithmetic enough to carry it through. It was sailing by dead reckoning +to them, and they saw not clearly how to make their port so; therefore +I suppose they still take life bravely, after their fashion, face to +face, giving it tooth and nail, not having skill to split its massive +columns with any fine entering wedge, and rout it in detail;—thinking +to deal with it roughly, as one should handle a thistle. But they fight +at an overwhelming disadvantage,—living, John Field, alas! without +arithmetic, and failing so. + +“Do you ever fish?” I asked. “Oh yes, I catch a mess now and then when +I am lying by; good perch I catch.” “What’s your bait?” “I catch +shiners with fish-worms, and bait the perch with them.” “You’d better +go now, John,” said his wife, with glistening and hopeful face; but +John demurred. + +The shower was now over, and a rainbow above the eastern woods promised +a fair evening; so I took my departure. When I had got without I asked +for a drink, hoping to get a sight of the well bottom, to complete my +survey of the premises; but there, alas! are shallows and quicksands, +and rope broken withal, and bucket irrecoverable. Meanwhile the right +culinary vessel was selected, water was seemingly distilled, and after +consultation and long delay passed out to the thirsty one,—not yet +suffered to cool, not yet to settle. Such gruel sustains life here, I +thought; so, shutting my eyes, and excluding the motes by a skilfully +directed under-current, I drank to genuine hospitality the heartiest +draught I could. I am not squeamish in such cases when manners are +concerned. + +As I was leaving the Irishman’s roof after the rain, bending my steps +again to the pond, my haste to catch pickerel, wading in retired +meadows, in sloughs and bog-holes, in forlorn and savage places, +appeared for an instant trivial to me who had been sent to school and +college; but as I ran down the hill toward the reddening west, with the +rainbow over my shoulder, and some faint tinkling sounds borne to my +ear through the cleansed air, from I know not what quarter, my Good +Genius seemed to say,—Go fish and hunt far and wide day by day,—farther +and wider,—and rest thee by many brooks and hearth-sides without +misgiving. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. Rise free +from care before the dawn, and seek adventures. Let the noon find thee +by other lakes, and the night overtake thee everywhere at home. There +are no larger fields than these, no worthier games than may here be +played. Grow wild according to thy nature, like these sedges and +brakes, which will never become English hay. Let the thunder rumble; +what if it threaten ruin to farmers’ crops? that is not its errand to +thee. Take shelter under the cloud, while they flee to carts and sheds. +Let not to get a living be thy trade, but thy sport. Enjoy the land, +but own it not. Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they +are, buying and selling, and spending their lives like serfs. + +O Baker Farm! + + “Landscape where the richest element + Is a little sunshine innocent.” * * + + “No one runs to revel + On thy rail-fenced lea.” * * + + “Debate with no man hast thou, + With questions art never perplexed, + As tame at the first sight as now, + In thy plain russet gabardine dressed.” * * + + “Come ye who love, + And ye who hate, + Children of the Holy Dove, + And Guy Faux of the state, + And hang conspiracies + From the tough rafters of the trees!” + +Men come tamely home at night only from the next field or street, where +their household echoes haunt, and their life pines because it breathes +its own breath over again; their shadows morning and evening reach +farther than their daily steps. We should come home from far, from +adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day, with new experience +and character. + +Before I had reached the pond some fresh impulse had brought out John +Field, with altered mind, letting go “bogging” ere this sunset. But he, +poor man, disturbed only a couple of fins while I was catching a fair +string, and he said it was his luck; but when we changed seats in the +boat luck changed seats too. Poor John Field!—I trust he does not read +this, unless he will improve by it,—thinking to live by some derivative +old country mode in this primitive new country,—to catch perch with +shiners. It is good bait sometimes, I allow. With his horizon all his +own, yet he a poor man, born to be poor, with his inherited Irish +poverty or poor life, his Adam’s grandmother and boggy ways, not to +rise in this world, he nor his posterity, till their wading webbed +bog-trotting feet get _talaria_ to their heels. + + +Higher Laws + +As I came home through the woods with my string of fish, trailing my +pole, it being now quite dark, I caught a glimpse of a woodchuck +stealing across my path, and felt a strange thrill of savage delight, +and was strongly tempted to seize and devour him raw; not that I was +hungry then, except for that wildness which he represented. Once or +twice, however, while I lived at the pond, I found myself ranging the +woods, like a half-starved hound, with a strange abandonment, seeking +some kind of venison which I might devour, and no morsel could have +been too savage for me. The wildest scenes had become unaccountably +familiar. I found in myself, and still find, an instinct toward a +higher, or, as it is named, spiritual life, as do most men, and another +toward a primitive rank and savage one, and I reverence them both. I +love the wild not less than the good. The wildness and adventure that +are in fishing still recommended it to me. I like sometimes to take +rank hold on life and spend my day more as the animals do. Perhaps I +have owed to this employment and to hunting, when quite young, my +closest acquaintance with Nature. They early introduce us to and detain +us in scenery with which otherwise, at that age, we should have little +acquaintance. Fishermen, hunters, woodchoppers, and others, spending +their lives in the fields and woods, in a peculiar sense a part of +Nature themselves, are often in a more favorable mood for observing +her, in the intervals of their pursuits, than philosophers or poets +even, who approach her with expectation. She is not afraid to exhibit +herself to them. The traveller on the prairie is naturally a hunter, on +the head waters of the Missouri and Columbia a trapper, and at the +Falls of St. Mary a fisherman. He who is only a traveller learns things +at second-hand and by the halves, and is poor authority. We are most +interested when science reports what those men already know practically +or instinctively, for that alone is a true _humanity_, or account of +human experience. + +They mistake who assert that the Yankee has few amusements, because he +has not so many public holidays, and men and boys do not play so many +games as they do in England, for here the more primitive but solitary +amusements of hunting fishing and the like have not yet given place to +the former. Almost every New England boy among my contemporaries +shouldered a fowling piece between the ages of ten and fourteen; and +his hunting and fishing grounds were not limited, like the preserves of +an English nobleman, but were more boundless even than those of a +savage. No wonder, then, that he did not oftener stay to play on the +common. But already a change is taking place, owing, not to an +increased humanity, but to an increased scarcity of game, for perhaps +the hunter is the greatest friend of the animals hunted, not excepting +the Humane Society. + +Moreover, when at the pond, I wished sometimes to add fish to my fare +for variety. I have actually fished from the same kind of necessity +that the first fishers did. Whatever humanity I might conjure up +against it was all factitious, and concerned my philosophy more than my +feelings. I speak of fishing only now, for I had long felt differently +about fowling, and sold my gun before I went to the woods. Not that I +am less humane than others, but I did not perceive that my feelings +were much affected. I did not pity the fishes nor the worms. This was +habit. As for fowling, during the last years that I carried a gun my +excuse was that I was studying ornithology, and sought only new or rare +birds. But I confess that I am now inclined to think that there is a +finer way of studying ornithology than this. It requires so much closer +attention to the habits of the birds, that, if for that reason only, I +have been willing to omit the gun. Yet notwithstanding the objection on +the score of humanity, I am compelled to doubt if equally valuable +sports are ever substituted for these; and when some of my friends have +asked me anxiously about their boys, whether they should let them hunt, +I have answered, yes,—remembering that it was one of the best parts of +my education,—_make_ them hunters, though sportsmen only at first, if +possible, mighty hunters at last, so that they shall not find game +large enough for them in this or any vegetable wilderness,—hunters as +well as fishers of men. Thus far I am of the opinion of Chaucer’s nun, +who + + “yave not of the text a pulled hen + That saith that hunters ben not holy men.” + +There is a period in the history of the individual, as of the race, +when the hunters are the “best men,” as the Algonquins called them. We +cannot but pity the boy who has never fired a gun; he is no more +humane, while his education has been sadly neglected. This was my +answer with respect to those youths who were bent on this pursuit, +trusting that they would soon outgrow it. No humane being, past the +thoughtless age of boyhood, will wantonly murder any creature which +holds its life by the same tenure that he does. The hare in its +extremity cries like a child. I warn you, mothers, that my sympathies +do not always make the usual phil-_anthropic_ distinctions. + +Such is oftenest the young man’s introduction to the forest, and the +most original part of himself. He goes thither at first as a hunter and +fisher, until at last, if he has the seeds of a better life in him, he +distinguishes his proper objects, as a poet or naturalist it may be, +and leaves the gun and fish-pole behind. The mass of men are still and +always young in this respect. In some countries a hunting parson is no +uncommon sight. Such a one might make a good shepherd’s dog, but is far +from being the Good Shepherd. I have been surprised to consider that +the only obvious employment, except wood-chopping, ice-cutting, or the +like business, which ever to my knowledge detained at Walden Pond for a +whole half day any of my fellow-citizens, whether fathers or children +of the town, with just one exception, was fishing. Commonly they did +not think that they were lucky, or well paid for their time, unless +they got a long string of fish, though they had the opportunity of +seeing the pond all the while. They might go there a thousand times +before the sediment of fishing would sink to the bottom and leave their +purpose pure; but no doubt such a clarifying process would be going on +all the while. The governor and his council faintly remember the pond, +for they went a-fishing there when they were boys; but now they are too +old and dignified to go a-fishing, and so they know it no more forever. +Yet even they expect to go to heaven at last. If the legislature +regards it, it is chiefly to regulate the number of hooks to be used +there; but they know nothing about the hook of hooks with which to +angle for the pond itself, impaling the legislature for a bait. Thus, +even in civilized communities, the embryo man passes through the hunter +stage of development. + +I have found repeatedly, of late years, that I cannot fish without +falling a little in self-respect. I have tried it again and again. I +have skill at it, and, like many of my fellows, a certain instinct for +it, which revives from time to time, but always when I have done I feel +that it would have been better if I had not fished. I think that I do +not mistake. It is a faint intimation, yet so are the first streaks of +morning. There is unquestionably this instinct in me which belongs to +the lower orders of creation; yet with every year I am less a +fisherman, though without more humanity or even wisdom; at present I am +no fisherman at all. But I see that if I were to live in a wilderness I +should again be tempted to become a fisher and hunter in earnest. +Beside, there is something essentially unclean about this diet and all +flesh, and I began to see where housework commences, and whence the +endeavor, which costs so much, to wear a tidy and respectable +appearance each day, to keep the house sweet and free from all ill +odors and sights. Having been my own butcher and scullion and cook, as +well as the gentleman for whom the dishes were served up, I can speak +from an unusually complete experience. The practical objection to +animal food in my case was its uncleanness; and, besides, when I had +caught and cleaned and cooked and eaten my fish, they seemed not to +have fed me essentially. It was insignificant and unnecessary, and cost +more than it came to. A little bread or a few potatoes would have done +as well, with less trouble and filth. Like many of my contemporaries, I +had rarely for many years used animal food, or tea, or coffee, &c.; not +so much because of any ill effects which I had traced to them, as +because they were not agreeable to my imagination. The repugnance to +animal food is not the effect of experience, but is an instinct. It +appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard in many respects; and +though I never did so, I went far enough to please my imagination. I +believe that every man who has ever been earnest to preserve his higher +or poetic faculties in the best condition has been particularly +inclined to abstain from animal food, and from much food of any kind. +It is a significant fact, stated by entomologists, I find it in Kirby +and Spence, that “some insects in their perfect state, though furnished +with organs of feeding, make no use of them;” and they lay it down as +“a general rule, that almost all insects in this state eat much less +than in that of larvæ. The voracious caterpillar when transformed into +a butterfly,” . . “and the gluttonous maggot when become a fly,” +content themselves with a drop or two of honey or some other sweet +liquid. The abdomen under the wings of the butterfly still represents +the larva. This is the tid-bit which tempts his insectivorous fate. The +gross feeder is a man in the larva state; and there are whole nations +in that condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast +abdomens betray them. + +It is hard to provide and cook so simple and clean a diet as will not +offend the imagination; but this, I think, is to be fed when we feed +the body; they should both sit down at the same table. Yet perhaps this +may be done. The fruits eaten temperately need not make us ashamed of +our appetites, nor interrupt the worthiest pursuits. But put an extra +condiment into your dish, and it will poison you. It is not worth the +while to live by rich cookery. Most men would feel shame if caught +preparing with their own hands precisely such a dinner, whether of +animal or vegetable food, as is every day prepared for them by others. +Yet till this is otherwise we are not civilized, and, if gentlemen and +ladies, are not true men and women. This certainly suggests what change +is to be made. It may be vain to ask why the imagination will not be +reconciled to flesh and fat. I am satisfied that it is not. Is it not a +reproach that man is a carnivorous animal? True, he can and does live, +in a great measure, by preying on other animals; but this is a +miserable way,—as any one who will go to snaring rabbits, or +slaughtering lambs, may learn,—and he will be regarded as a benefactor +of his race who shall teach man to confine himself to a more innocent +and wholesome diet. Whatever my own practice may be, I have no doubt +that it is a part of the destiny of the human race, in its gradual +improvement, to leave off eating animals, as surely as the savage +tribes have left off eating each other when they came in contact with +the more civilized. + +If one listens to the faintest but constant suggestions of his genius, +which are certainly true, he sees not to what extremes, or even +insanity, it may lead him; and yet that way, as he grows more resolute +and faithful, his road lies. The faintest assured objection which one +healthy man feels will at length prevail over the arguments and customs +of mankind. No man ever followed his genius till it misled him. Though +the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the +consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity +to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that you greet +them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and +sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal,—that +is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause +momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are +farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. +We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts +most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The +true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and +indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little +star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. + +Yet, for my part, I was never unusually squeamish; I could sometimes +eat a fried rat with a good relish, if it were necessary. I am glad to +have drunk water so long, for the same reason that I prefer the natural +sky to an opium-eater’s heaven. I would fain keep sober always; and +there are infinite degrees of drunkenness. I believe that water is the +only drink for a wise man; wine is not so noble a liquor; and think of +dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm coffee, or of an +evening with a dish of tea! Ah, how low I fall when I am tempted by +them! Even music may be intoxicating. Such apparently slight causes +destroyed Greece and Rome, and will destroy England and America. Of all +ebriosity, who does not prefer to be intoxicated by the air he +breathes? I have found it to be the most serious objection to coarse +labors long continued, that they compelled me to eat and drink coarsely +also. But to tell the truth, I find myself at present somewhat less +particular in these respects. I carry less religion to the table, ask +no blessing; not because I am wiser than I was, but, I am obliged to +confess, because, however much it is to be regretted, with years I have +grown more coarse and indifferent. Perhaps these questions are +entertained only in youth, as most believe of poetry. My practice is +“nowhere,” my opinion is here. Nevertheless I am far from regarding +myself as one of those privileged ones to whom the Ved refers when it +says, that “he who has true faith in the Omnipresent Supreme Being may +eat all that exists,” that is, is not bound to inquire what is his +food, or who prepares it; and even in their case it is to be observed, +as a Hindoo commentator has remarked, that the Vedant limits this +privilege to “the time of distress.” + +Who has not sometimes derived an inexpressible satisfaction from his +food in which appetite had no share? I have been thrilled to think that +I owed a mental perception to the commonly gross sense of taste, that I +have been inspired through the palate, that some berries which I had +eaten on a hill-side had fed my genius. “The soul not being mistress of +herself,” says Thseng-tseu, “one looks, and one does not see; one +listens, and one does not hear; one eats, and one does not know the +savor of food.” He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can +never be a glutton; he who does not cannot be otherwise. A puritan may +go to his brown-bread crust with as gross an appetite as ever an +alderman to his turtle. Not that food which entereth into the mouth +defileth a man, but the appetite with which it is eaten. It is neither +the quality nor the quantity, but the devotion to sensual savors; when +that which is eaten is not a viand to sustain our animal, or inspire +our spiritual life, but food for the worms that possess us. If the +hunter has a taste for mud-turtles, muskrats, and other such savage +tid-bits, the fine lady indulges a taste for jelly made of a calf’s +foot, or for sardines from over the sea, and they are even. He goes to +the mill-pond, she to her preserve-pot. The wonder is how they, how you +and I, can live this slimy, beastly life, eating and drinking. + +Our whole life is startlingly moral. There is never an instant’s truce +between virtue and vice. Goodness is the only investment that never +fails. In the music of the harp which trembles round the world it is +the insisting on this which thrills us. The harp is the travelling +patterer for the Universe’s Insurance Company, recommending its laws, +and our little goodness is all the assessment that we pay. Though the +youth at last grows indifferent, the laws of the universe are not +indifferent, but are forever on the side of the most sensitive. Listen +to every zephyr for some reproof, for it is surely there, and he is +unfortunate who does not hear it. We cannot touch a string or move a +stop but the charming moral transfixes us. Many an irksome noise, go a +long way off, is heard as music, a proud sweet satire on the meanness +of our lives. + +We are conscious of an animal in us, which awakens in proportion as our +higher nature slumbers. It is reptile and sensual, and perhaps cannot +be wholly expelled; like the worms which, even in life and health, +occupy our bodies. Possibly we may withdraw from it, but never change +its nature. I fear that it may enjoy a certain health of its own; that +we may be well, yet not pure. The other day I picked up the lower jaw +of a hog, with white and sound teeth and tusks, which suggested that +there was an animal health and vigor distinct from the spiritual. This +creature succeeded by other means than temperance and purity. “That in +which men differ from brute beasts,” says Mencius, “is a thing very +inconsiderable; the common herd lose it very soon; superior men +preserve it carefully.” Who knows what sort of life would result if we +had attained to purity? If I knew so wise a man as could teach me +purity I would go to seek him forthwith. “A command over our passions, +and over the external senses of the body, and good acts, are declared +by the Ved to be indispensable in the mind’s approximation to God.” Yet +the spirit can for the time pervade and control every member and +function of the body, and transmute what in form is the grossest +sensuality into purity and devotion. The generative energy, which, when +we are loose, dissipates and makes us unclean, when we are continent +invigorates and inspires us. Chastity is the flowering of man; and what +are called Genius, Heroism, Holiness, and the like, are but various +fruits which succeed it. Man flows at once to God when the channel of +purity is open. By turns our purity inspires and our impurity casts us +down. He is blessed who is assured that the animal is dying out in him +day by day, and the divine being established. Perhaps there is none but +has cause for shame on account of the inferior and brutish nature to +which he is allied. I fear that we are such gods or demigods only as +fauns and satyrs, the divine allied to beasts, the creatures of +appetite, and that, to some extent, our very life is our disgrace.— + + “How happy’s he who hath due place assigned + To his beasts and disafforested his mind! + * * * * * + Can use this horse, goat, wolf, and ev’ry beast, + And is not ass himself to all the rest! + Else man not only is the herd of swine, + But he’s those devils too which did incline + Them to a headlong rage, and made them worse.” + +All sensuality is one, though it takes many forms; all purity is one. +It is the same whether a man eat, or drink, or cohabit, or sleep +sensually. They are but one appetite, and we only need to see a person +do any one of these things to know how great a sensualist he is. The +impure can neither stand nor sit with purity. When the reptile is +attacked at one mouth of his burrow, he shows himself at another. If +you would be chaste, you must be temperate. What is chastity? How shall +a man know if he is chaste? He shall not know it. We have heard of this +virtue, but we know not what it is. We speak conformably to the rumor +which we have heard. From exertion come wisdom and purity; from sloth +ignorance and sensuality. In the student sensuality is a sluggish habit +of mind. An unclean person is universally a slothful one, one who sits +by a stove, whom the sun shines on prostrate, who reposes without being +fatigued. If you would avoid uncleanness, and all the sins, work +earnestly, though it be at cleaning a stable. Nature is hard to be +overcome, but she must be overcome. What avails it that you are +Christian, if you are not purer than the heathen, if you deny yourself +no more, if you are not more religious? I know of many systems of +religion esteemed heathenish whose precepts fill the reader with shame, +and provoke him to new endeavors, though it be to the performance of +rites merely. + +I hesitate to say these things, but it is not because of the subject,—I +care not how obscene my _words_ are,—but because I cannot speak of them +without betraying my impurity. We discourse freely without shame of one +form of sensuality, and are silent about another. We are so degraded +that we cannot speak simply of the necessary functions of human nature. +In earlier ages, in some countries, every function was reverently +spoken of and regulated by law. Nothing was too trivial for the Hindoo +lawgiver, however offensive it may be to modern taste. He teaches how +to eat, drink, cohabit, void excrement and urine, and the like, +elevating what is mean, and does not falsely excuse himself by calling +these things trifles. + +Every man is the builder of a temple, called his body, to the god he +worships, after a style purely his own, nor can he get off by hammering +marble instead. We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is +our own flesh and blood and bones. Any nobleness begins at once to +refine a man’s features, any meanness or sensuality to imbrute them. + +John Farmer sat at his door one September evening, after a hard day’s +work, his mind still running on his labor more or less. Having bathed, +he sat down to re-create his intellectual man. It was a rather cool +evening, and some of his neighbors were apprehending a frost. He had +not attended to the train of his thoughts long when he heard some one +playing on a flute, and that sound harmonized with his mood. Still he +thought of his work; but the burden of his thought was, that though +this kept running in his head, and he found himself planning and +contriving it against his will, yet it concerned him very little. It +was no more than the scurf of his skin, which was constantly shuffled +off. But the notes of the flute came home to his ears out of a +different sphere from that he worked in, and suggested work for certain +faculties which slumbered in him. They gently did away with the street, +and the village, and the state in which he lived. A voice said to +him,—Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a +glorious existence is possible for you? Those same stars twinkle over +other fields than these.—But how to come out of this condition and +actually migrate thither? All that he could think of was to practise +some new austerity, to let his mind descend into his body and redeem +it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect. + + +Brute Neighbors + +Sometimes I had a companion in my fishing, who came through the village +to my house from the other side of the town, and the catching of the +dinner was as much a social exercise as the eating of it. + +_Hermit._ I wonder what the world is doing now. I have not heard so +much as a locust over the sweet-fern these three hours. The pigeons are +all asleep upon their roosts,—no flutter from them. Was that a farmer’s +noon horn which sounded from beyond the woods just now? The hands are +coming in to boiled salt beef and cider and Indian bread. Why will men +worry themselves so? He that does not eat need not work. I wonder how +much they have reaped. Who would live there where a body can never +think for the barking of Bose? And O, the housekeeping! to keep bright +the devil’s door-knobs, and scour his tubs this bright day! Better not +keep a house. Say, some hollow tree; and then for morning calls and +dinner-parties! Only a woodpecker tapping. O, they swarm; the sun is +too warm there; they are born too far into life for me. I have water +from the spring, and a loaf of brown bread on the shelf.—Hark! I hear a +rustling of the leaves. Is it some ill-fed village hound yielding to +the instinct of the chase? or the lost pig which is said to be in these +woods, whose tracks I saw after the rain? It comes on apace; my sumachs +and sweet-briers tremble.—Eh, Mr. Poet, is it you? How do you like the +world to-day? + +_Poet._ See those clouds; how they hang! That’s the greatest thing I +have seen to-day. There’s nothing like it in old paintings, nothing +like it in foreign lands,—unless when we were off the coast of Spain. +That’s a true Mediterranean sky. I thought, as I have my living to get, +and have not eaten to-day, that I might go a-fishing. That’s the true +industry for poets. It is the only trade I have learned. Come, let’s +along. + +_Hermit._ I cannot resist. My brown bread will soon be gone. I will go +with you gladly soon, but I am just concluding a serious meditation. I +think that I am near the end of it. Leave me alone, then, for a while. +But that we may not be delayed, you shall be digging the bait +meanwhile. Angle-worms are rarely to be met with in these parts, where +the soil was never fattened with manure; the race is nearly extinct. +The sport of digging the bait is nearly equal to that of catching the +fish, when one’s appetite is not too keen; and this you may have all to +yourself to-day. I would advise you to set in the spade down yonder +among the ground-nuts, where you see the johnswort waving. I think that +I may warrant you one worm to every three sods you turn up, if you look +well in among the roots of the grass, as if you were weeding. Or, if +you choose to go farther, it will not be unwise, for I have found the +increase of fair bait to be very nearly as the squares of the +distances. + +_Hermit alone._ Let me see; where was I? Methinks I was nearly in this +frame of mind; the world lay about at this angle. Shall I go to heaven +or a-fishing? If I should soon bring this meditation to an end, would +another so sweet occasion be likely to offer? I was as near being +resolved into the essence of things as ever I was in my life. I fear my +thoughts will not come back to me. If it would do any good, I would +whistle for them. When they make us an offer, is it wise to say, We +will think of it? My thoughts have left no track, and I cannot find the +path again. What was it that I was thinking of? It was a very hazy day. +I will just try these three sentences of Con-fut-see; they may fetch +that state about again. I know not whether it was the dumps or a +budding ecstasy. Mem. There never is but one opportunity of a kind. + +_Poet._ How now, Hermit, is it too soon? I have got just thirteen whole +ones, beside several which are imperfect or undersized; but they will +do for the smaller fry; they do not cover up the hook so much. Those +village worms are quite too large; a shiner may make a meal off one +without finding the skewer. + +_Hermit._ Well, then, let’s be off. Shall we to the Concord? There’s +good sport there if the water be not too high. + + + +Why do precisely these objects which we behold make a world? Why has +man just these species of animals for his neighbors; as if nothing but +a mouse could have filled this crevice? I suspect that Pilpay & Co. +have put animals to their best use, for they are all beasts of burden, +in a sense, made to carry some portion of our thoughts. + +The mice which haunted my house were not the common ones, which are +said to have been introduced into the country, but a wild native kind +not found in the village. I sent one to a distinguished naturalist, and +it interested him much. When I was building, one of these had its nest +underneath the house, and before I had laid the second floor, and swept +out the shavings, would come out regularly at lunch time and pick up +the crumbs at my feet. It probably had never seen a man before; and it +soon became quite familiar, and would run over my shoes and up my +clothes. It could readily ascend the sides of the room by short +impulses, like a squirrel, which it resembled in its motions. At +length, as I leaned with my elbow on the bench one day, it ran up my +clothes, and along my sleeve, and round and round the paper which held +my dinner, while I kept the latter close, and dodged and played at +bopeep with it; and when at last I held still a piece of cheese between +my thumb and finger, it came and nibbled it, sitting in my hand, and +afterward cleaned its face and paws, like a fly, and walked away. + +A phœbe soon built in my shed, and a robin for protection in a pine +which grew against the house. In June the partridge (_Tetrao +umbellus_,) which is so shy a bird, led her brood past my windows, from +the woods in the rear to the front of my house, clucking and calling to +them like a hen, and in all her behavior proving herself the hen of the +woods. The young suddenly disperse on your approach, at a signal from +the mother, as if a whirlwind had swept them away, and they so exactly +resemble the dried leaves and twigs that many a traveler has placed his +foot in the midst of a brood, and heard the whir of the old bird as she +flew off, and her anxious calls and mewing, or seen her trail her wings +to attract his attention, without suspecting their neighborhood. The +parent will sometimes roll and spin round before you in such a +dishabille, that you cannot, for a few moments, detect what kind of +creature it is. The young squat still and flat, often running their +heads under a leaf, and mind only their mother’s directions given from +a distance, nor will your approach make them run again and betray +themselves. You may even tread on them, or have your eyes on them for a +minute, without discovering them. I have held them in my open hand at +such a time, and still their only care, obedient to their mother and +their instinct, was to squat there without fear or trembling. So +perfect is this instinct, that once, when I had laid them on the leaves +again, and one accidentally fell on its side, it was found with the +rest in exactly the same position ten minutes afterward. They are not +callow like the young of most birds, but more perfectly developed and +precocious even than chickens. The remarkably adult yet innocent +expression of their open and serene eyes is very memorable. All +intelligence seems reflected in them. They suggest not merely the +purity of infancy, but a wisdom clarified by experience. Such an eye +was not born when the bird was, but is coeval with the sky it reflects. +The woods do not yield another such a gem. The traveller does not often +look into such a limpid well. The ignorant or reckless sportsman often +shoots the parent at such a time, and leaves these innocents to fall a +prey to some prowling beast or bird, or gradually mingle with the +decaying leaves which they so much resemble. It is said that when +hatched by a hen they will directly disperse on some alarm, and so are +lost, for they never hear the mother’s call which gathers them again. +These were my hens and chickens. + +It is remarkable how many creatures live wild and free though secret in +the woods, and still sustain themselves in the neighborhood of towns, +suspected by hunters only. How retired the otter manages to live here! +He grows to be four feet long, as big as a small boy, perhaps without +any human being getting a glimpse of him. I formerly saw the raccoon in +the woods behind where my house is built, and probably still heard +their whinnering at night. Commonly I rested an hour or two in the +shade at noon, after planting, and ate my lunch, and read a little by a +spring which was the source of a swamp and of a brook, oozing from +under Brister’s Hill, half a mile from my field. The approach to this +was through a succession of descending grassy hollows, full of young +pitch-pines, into a larger wood about the swamp. There, in a very +secluded and shaded spot, under a spreading white-pine, there was yet a +clean, firm sward to sit on. I had dug out the spring and made a well +of clear gray water, where I could dip up a pailful without roiling it, +and thither I went for this purpose almost every day in midsummer, when +the pond was warmest. Thither, too, the wood-cock led her brood, to +probe the mud for worms, flying but a foot above them down the bank, +while they ran in a troop beneath; but at last, spying me, she would +leave her young and circle round and round me, nearer and nearer till +within four or five feet, pretending broken wings and legs, to attract +my attention, and get off her young, who would already have taken up +their march, with faint wiry peep, single file through the swamp, as +she directed. Or I heard the peep of the young when I could not see the +parent bird. There too the turtle-doves sat over the spring, or +fluttered from bough to bough of the soft white-pines over my head; or +the red squirrel, coursing down the nearest bough, was particularly +familiar and inquisitive. You only need sit still long enough in some +attractive spot in the woods that all its inhabitants may exhibit +themselves to you by turns. + +I was witness to events of a less peaceful character. One day when I +went out to my wood-pile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed two +large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch +long, and black, fiercely contending with one another. Having once got +hold they never let go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the +chips incessantly. Looking farther, I was surprised to find that the +chips were covered with such combatants, that it was not a _duellum_, +but a _bellum_, a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted +against the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The +legions of these Myrmidons covered all the hills and vales in my +wood-yard, and the ground was already strewn with the dead and dying, +both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, +the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; +internecine war; the red republicans on the one hand, and the black +imperialists on the other. On every side they were engaged in deadly +combat, yet without any noise that I could hear, and human soldiers +never fought so resolutely. I watched a couple that were fast locked in +each other’s embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at +noon-day prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out. +The smaller red champion had fastened himself like a vice to his +adversary’s front, and through all the tumblings on that field never +for an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near the root, +having already caused the other to go by the board; while the stronger +black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw on looking +nearer, had already divested him of several of his members. They fought +with more pertinacity than bull-dogs. Neither manifested the least +disposition to retreat. It was evident that their battle-cry was +Conquer or die. In the mean while there came along a single red ant on +the hill-side of this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either +had despatched his foe, or had not yet taken part in the battle; +probably the latter, for he had lost none of his limbs; whose mother +had charged him to return with his shield or upon it. Or perchance he +was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come +to avenge or rescue his Patroclus. He saw this unequal combat from +afar,—for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the red,—he drew +near with rapid pace till he stood on his guard within half an inch of +the combatants; then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the +black warrior, and commenced his operations near the root of his right +fore-leg, leaving the foe to select among his own members; and so there +were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been +invented which put all other locks and cements to shame. I should not +have wondered by this time to find that they had their respective +musical bands stationed on some eminent chip, and playing their +national airs the while, to excite the slow and cheer the dying +combatants. I was myself excited somewhat even as if they had been men. +The more you think of it, the less the difference. And certainly there +is not the fight recorded in Concord history, at least, if in the +history of America, that will bear a moment’s comparison with this, +whether for the numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and +heroism displayed. For numbers and for carnage it was an Austerlitz or +Dresden. Concord Fight! Two killed on the patriots’ side, and Luther +Blanchard wounded! Why here every ant was a Buttrick,—“Fire! for God’s +sake fire!”—and thousands shared the fate of Davis and Hosmer. There +was not one hireling there. I have no doubt that it was a principle +they fought for, as much as our ancestors, and not to avoid a +three-penny tax on their tea; and the results of this battle will be as +important and memorable to those whom it concerns as those of the +battle of Bunker Hill, at least. + +I took up the chip on which the three I have particularly described +were struggling, carried it into my house, and placed it under a +tumbler on my window-sill, in order to see the issue. Holding a +microscope to the first-mentioned red ant, I saw that, though he was +assiduously gnawing at the near fore-leg of his enemy, having severed +his remaining feeler, his own breast was all torn away, exposing what +vitals he had there to the jaws of the black warrior, whose breastplate +was apparently too thick for him to pierce; and the dark carbuncles of +the sufferer’s eyes shone with ferocity such as war only could excite. +They struggled half an hour longer under the tumbler, and when I looked +again the black soldier had severed the heads of his foes from their +bodies, and the still living heads were hanging on either side of him +like ghastly trophies at his saddle-bow, still apparently as firmly +fastened as ever, and he was endeavoring with feeble struggles, being +without feelers and with only the remnant of a leg, and I know not how +many other wounds, to divest himself of them; which at length, after +half an hour more, he accomplished. I raised the glass, and he went off +over the window-sill in that crippled state. Whether he finally +survived that combat, and spent the remainder of his days in some Hotel +des Invalides, I do not know; but I thought that his industry would not +be worth much thereafter. I never learned which party was victorious, +nor the cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of that day as if I +had had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, +the ferocity and carnage, of a human battle before my door. + +Kirby and Spence tell us that the battles of ants have long been +celebrated and the date of them recorded, though they say that Huber is +the only modern author who appears to have witnessed them. “Æneas +Sylvius,” say they, “after giving a very circumstantial account of one +contested with great obstinacy by a great and small species on the +trunk of a pear tree,” adds that “‘This action was fought in the +pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the presence of Nicholas +Pistoriensis, an eminent lawyer, who related the whole history of the +battle with the greatest fidelity.’ A similar engagement between great +and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones, +being victorious, are said to have buried the bodies of their own +soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds. +This event happened previous to the expulsion of the tyrant Christiern +the Second from Sweden.” The battle which I witnessed took place in the +Presidency of Polk, five years before the passage of Webster’s +Fugitive-Slave Bill. + +Many a village Bose, fit only to course a mud-turtle in a victualling +cellar, sported his heavy quarters in the woods, without the knowledge +of his master, and ineffectually smelled at old fox burrows and +woodchucks’ holes; led perchance by some slight cur which nimbly +threaded the wood, and might still inspire a natural terror in its +denizens;—now far behind his guide, barking like a canine bull toward +some small squirrel which had treed itself for scrutiny, then, +cantering off, bending the bushes with his weight, imagining that he is +on the track of some stray member of the jerbilla family. Once I was +surprised to see a cat walking along the stony shore of the pond, for +they rarely wander so far from home. The surprise was mutual. +Nevertheless the most domestic cat, which has lain on a rug all her +days, appears quite at home in the woods, and, by her sly and stealthy +behavior, proves herself more native there than the regular +inhabitants. Once, when berrying, I met with a cat with young kittens +in the woods, quite wild, and they all, like their mother, had their +backs up and were fiercely spitting at me. A few years before I lived +in the woods there was what was called a “winged cat” in one of the +farm-houses in Lincoln nearest the pond, Mr. Gilian Baker’s. When I +called to see her in June, 1842, she was gone a-hunting in the woods, +as was her wont, (I am not sure whether it was a male or female, and so +use the more common pronoun,) but her mistress told me that she came +into the neighborhood a little more than a year before, in April, and +was finally taken into their house; that she was of a dark +brownish-gray color, with a white spot on her throat, and white feet, +and had a large bushy tail like a fox; that in the winter the fur grew +thick and flatted out along her sides, forming stripes ten or twelve +inches long by two and a half wide, and under her chin like a muff, the +upper side loose, the under matted like felt, and in the spring these +appendages dropped off. They gave me a pair of her “wings,” which I +keep still. There is no appearance of a membrane about them. Some +thought it was part flying-squirrel or some other wild animal, which is +not impossible, for, according to naturalists, prolific hybrids have +been produced by the union of the marten and domestic cat. This would +have been the right kind of cat for me to keep, if I had kept any; for +why should not a poet’s cat be winged as well as his horse? + +In the fall the loon (_Colymbus glacialis_) came, as usual, to moult +and bathe in the pond, making the woods ring with his wild laughter +before I had risen. At rumor of his arrival all the Mill-dam sportsmen +are on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three by three, +with patent rifles and conical balls and spy-glasses. They come +rustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one +loon. Some station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that, +for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here he must come +up there. But now the kind October wind rises, rustling the leaves and +rippling the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or +seen, though his foes sweep the pond with spy-glasses, and make the +woods resound with their discharges. The waves generously rise and dash +angrily, taking sides with all water-fowl, and our sportsmen must beat +a retreat to town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they were too often +successful. When I went to get a pail of water early in the morning I +frequently saw this stately bird sailing out of my cove within a few +rods. If I endeavored to overtake him in a boat, in order to see how he +would manœuvre, he would dive and be completely lost, so that I did not +discover him again, sometimes, till the latter part of the day. But I +was more than a match for him on the surface. He commonly went off in a +rain. + +As I was paddling along the north shore one very calm October +afternoon, for such days especially they settle on to the lakes, like +the milkweed down, having looked in vain over the pond for a loon, +suddenly one, sailing out from the shore toward the middle a few rods +in front of me, set up his wild laugh and betrayed himself. I pursued +with a paddle and he dived, but when he came up I was nearer than +before. He dived again, but I miscalculated the direction he would +take, and we were fifty rods apart when he came to the surface this +time, for I had helped to widen the interval; and again he laughed long +and loud, and with more reason than before. He manœuvred so cunningly +that I could not get within half a dozen rods of him. Each time, when +he came to the surface, turning his head this way and that, he cooly +surveyed the water and the land, and apparently chose his course so +that he might come up where there was the widest expanse of water and +at the greatest distance from the boat. It was surprising how quickly +he made up his mind and put his resolve into execution. He led me at +once to the widest part of the pond, and could not be driven from it. +While he was thinking one thing in his brain, I was endeavoring to +divine his thought in mine. It was a pretty game, played on the smooth +surface of the pond, a man against a loon. Suddenly your adversary’s +checker disappears beneath the board, and the problem is to place yours +nearest to where his will appear again. Sometimes he would come up +unexpectedly on the opposite side of me, having apparently passed +directly under the boat. So long-winded was he and so unweariable, that +when he had swum farthest he would immediately plunge again, +nevertheless; and then no wit could divine where in the deep pond, +beneath the smooth surface, he might be speeding his way like a fish, +for he had time and ability to visit the bottom of the pond in its +deepest part. It is said that loons have been caught in the New York +lakes eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout,—though +Walden is deeper than that. How surprised must the fishes be to see +this ungainly visitor from another sphere speeding his way amid their +schools! Yet he appeared to know his course as surely under water as on +the surface, and swam much faster there. Once or twice I saw a ripple +where he approached the surface, just put his head out to reconnoitre, +and instantly dived again. I found that it was as well for me to rest +on my oars and wait his reappearing as to endeavor to calculate where +he would rise; for again and again, when I was straining my eyes over +the surface one way, I would suddenly be startled by his unearthly +laugh behind me. But why, after displaying so much cunning, did he +invariably betray himself the moment he came up by that loud laugh? Did +not his white breast enough betray him? He was indeed a silly loon, I +thought. I could commonly hear the splash of the water when he came up, +and so also detected him. But after an hour he seemed as fresh as ever, +dived as willingly and swam yet farther than at first. It was +surprising to see how serenely he sailed off with unruffled breast when +he came to the surface, doing all the work with his webbed feet +beneath. His usual note was this demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like +that of a water-fowl; but occasionally, when he had balked me most +successfully and come up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn +unearthly howl, probably more like that of a wolf than any bird; as +when a beast puts his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls. This +was his looning,—perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here, +making the woods ring far and wide. I concluded that he laughed in +derision of my efforts, confident of his own resources. Though the sky +was by this time overcast, the pond was so smooth that I could see +where he broke the surface when I did not hear him. His white breast, +the stillness of the air, and the smoothness of the water were all +against him. At length, having come up fifty rods off, he uttered one +of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the god of loons to aid him, +and immediately there came a wind from the east and rippled the +surface, and filled the whole air with misty rain, and I was impressed +as if it were the prayer of the loon answered, and his god was angry +with me; and so I left him disappearing far away on the tumultuous +surface. + +For hours, in fall days, I watched the ducks cunningly tack and veer +and hold the middle of the pond, far from the sportsman; tricks which +they will have less need to practise in Louisiana bayous. When +compelled to rise they would sometimes circle round and round and over +the pond at a considerable height, from which they could easily see to +other ponds and the river, like black motes in the sky; and, when I +thought they had gone off thither long since, they would settle down by +a slanting flight of a quarter of a mile on to a distant part which was +left free; but what beside safety they got by sailing in the middle of +Walden I do not know, unless they love its water for the same reason +that I do. + + +House-Warming + +In October I went a-graping to the river meadows, and loaded myself +with clusters more precious for their beauty and fragrance than for +food. There too I admired, though I did not gather, the cranberries, +small waxen gems, pendants of the meadow grass, pearly and red, which +the farmer plucks with an ugly rake, leaving the smooth meadow in a +snarl, heedlessly measuring them by the bushel and the dollar only, and +sells the spoils of the meads to Boston and New York; destined to be +_jammed_, to satisfy the tastes of lovers of Nature there. So butchers +rake the tongues of bison out of the prairie grass, regardless of the +torn and drooping plant. The barberry’s brilliant fruit was likewise +food for my eyes merely; but I collected a small store of wild apples +for coddling, which the proprietor and travellers had overlooked. When +chestnuts were ripe I laid up half a bushel for winter. It was very +exciting at that season to roam the then boundless chestnut woods of +Lincoln,—they now sleep their long sleep under the railroad,—with a bag +on my shoulder, and a stick to open burrs with in my hand, for I did +not always wait for the frost, amid the rustling of leaves and the loud +reproofs of the red-squirrels and the jays, whose half-consumed nuts I +sometimes stole, for the burrs which they had selected were sure to +contain sound ones. Occasionally I climbed and shook the trees. They +grew also behind my house, and one large tree, which almost +overshadowed it, was, when in flower, a bouquet which scented the whole +neighborhood, but the squirrels and the jays got most of its fruit; the +last coming in flocks early in the morning and picking the nuts out of +the burrs before they fell. I relinquished these trees to them and +visited the more distant woods composed wholly of chestnut. These nuts, +as far as they went, were a good substitute for bread. Many other +substitutes might, perhaps, be found. Digging one day for fish-worms, I +discovered the ground-nut (_Apios tuberosa_) on its string, the potato +of the aborigines, a sort of fabulous fruit, which I had begun to doubt +if I had ever dug and eaten in childhood, as I had told, and had not +dreamed it. I had often since seen its crimpled red velvety blossom +supported by the stems of other plants without knowing it to be the +same. Cultivation has well nigh exterminated it. It has a sweetish +taste, much like that of a frostbitten potato, and I found it better +boiled than roasted. This tuber seemed like a faint promise of Nature +to rear her own children and feed them simply here at some future +period. In these days of fatted cattle and waving grain-fields this +humble root, which was once the _totem_ of an Indian tribe, is quite +forgotten, or known only by its flowering vine; but let wild Nature +reign here once more, and the tender and luxurious English grains will +probably disappear before a myriad of foes, and without the care of man +the crow may carry back even the last seed of corn to the great +cornfield of the Indian’s God in the south-west, whence he is said to +have brought it; but the now almost exterminated ground-nut will +perhaps revive and flourish in spite of frosts and wildness, prove +itself indigenous, and resume its ancient importance and dignity as the +diet of the hunter tribe. Some Indian Ceres or Minerva must have been +the inventor and bestower of it; and when the reign of poetry commences +here, its leaves and string of nuts may be represented on our works of +art. + +Already, by the first of September, I had seen two or three small +maples turned scarlet across the pond, beneath where the white stems of +three aspens diverged, at the point of a promontory, next the water. +Ah, many a tale their color told! And gradually from week to week the +character of each tree came out, and it admired itself reflected in the +smooth mirror of the lake. Each morning the manager of this gallery +substituted some new picture, distinguished by more brilliant or +harmonious coloring, for the old upon the walls. + +The wasps came by thousands to my lodge in October, as to winter +quarters, and settled on my windows within and on the walls over-head, +sometimes deterring visitors from entering. Each morning, when they +were numbed with cold, I swept some of them out, but I did not trouble +myself much to get rid of them; I even felt complimented by their +regarding my house as a desirable shelter. They never molested me +seriously, though they bedded with me; and they gradually disappeared, +into what crevices I do not know, avoiding winter and unspeakable cold. + +Like the wasps, before I finally went into winter quarters in November, +I used to resort to the north-east side of Walden, which the sun, +reflected from the pitch-pine woods and the stony shore, made the +fire-side of the pond; it is so much pleasanter and wholesomer to be +warmed by the sun while you can be, than by an artificial fire. I thus +warmed myself by the still glowing embers which the summer, like a +departed hunter, had left. + + + +When I came to build my chimney I studied masonry. My bricks being +second-hand ones required to be cleaned with a trowel, so that I +learned more than usual of the qualities of bricks and trowels. The +mortar on them was fifty years old, and was said to be still growing +harder; but this is one of those sayings which men love to repeat +whether they are true or not. Such sayings themselves grow harder and +adhere more firmly with age, and it would take many blows with a trowel +to clean an old wiseacre of them. Many of the villages of Mesopotamia +are built of second-hand bricks of a very good quality, obtained from +the ruins of Babylon, and the cement on them is older and probably +harder still. However that may be, I was struck by the peculiar +toughness of the steel which bore so many violent blows without being +worn out. As my bricks had been in a chimney before, though I did not +read the name of Nebuchadnezzar on them, I picked out as many +fire-place bricks as I could find, to save work and waste, and I filled +the spaces between the bricks about the fire-place with stones from the +pond shore, and also made my mortar with the white sand from the same +place. I lingered most about the fireplace, as the most vital part of +the house. Indeed, I worked so deliberately, that though I commenced at +the ground in the morning, a course of bricks raised a few inches above +the floor served for my pillow at night; yet I did not get a stiff neck +for it that I remember; my stiff neck is of older date. I took a poet +to board for a fortnight about those times, which caused me to be put +to it for room. He brought his own knife, though I had two, and we used +to scour them by thrusting them into the earth. He shared with me the +labors of cooking. I was pleased to see my work rising so square and +solid by degrees, and reflected, that, if it proceeded slowly, it was +calculated to endure a long time. The chimney is to some extent an +independent structure, standing on the ground and rising through the +house to the heavens; even after the house is burned it still stands +sometimes, and its importance and independence are apparent. This was +toward the end of summer. It was now November. + + + +The north wind had already begun to cool the pond, though it took many +weeks of steady blowing to accomplish it, it is so deep. When I began +to have a fire at evening, before I plastered my house, the chimney +carried smoke particularly well, because of the numerous chinks between +the boards. Yet I passed some cheerful evenings in that cool and airy +apartment, surrounded by the rough brown boards full of knots, and +rafters with the bark on high overhead. My house never pleased my eye +so much after it was plastered, though I was obliged to confess that it +was more comfortable. Should not every apartment in which man dwells be +lofty enough to create some obscurity over-head, where flickering +shadows may play at evening about the rafters? These forms are more +agreeable to the fancy and imagination than fresco paintings or other +the most expensive furniture. I now first began to inhabit my house, I +may say, when I began to use it for warmth as well as shelter. I had +got a couple of old fire-dogs to keep the wood from the hearth, and it +did me good to see the soot form on the back of the chimney which I had +built, and I poked the fire with more right and more satisfaction than +usual. My dwelling was small, and I could hardly entertain an echo in +it; but it seemed larger for being a single apartment and remote from +neighbors. All the attractions of a house were concentrated in one +room; it was kitchen, chamber, parlor, and keeping-room; and whatever +satisfaction parent or child, master or servant, derive from living in +a house, I enjoyed it all. Cato says, the master of a family +(_patremfamilias_) must have in his rustic villa “cellam oleariam, +vinariam, dolia multa, uti lubeat caritatem expectare, et rei, et +virtuti, et gloriæ erit,” that is, “an oil and wine cellar, many casks, +so that it may be pleasant to expect hard times; it will be for his +advantage, and virtue, and glory.” I had in my cellar a firkin of +potatoes, about two quarts of peas with the weevil in them, and on my +shelf a little rice, a jug of molasses, and of rye and Indian meal a +peck each. + +I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house, standing in a +golden age, of enduring materials, and without ginger-bread work, which +shall still consist of only one room, a vast, rude, substantial, +primitive hall, without ceiling or plastering, with bare rafters and +purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over one’s head,—useful to +keep off rain and snow; where the king and queen posts stand out to +receive your homage, when you have done reverence to the prostrate +Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping over the sill; a cavernous +house, wherein you must reach up a torch upon a pole to see the roof; +where some may live in the fire-place, some in the recess of a window, +and some on settles, some at one end of the hall, some at another, and +some aloft on rafters with the spiders, if they choose; a house which +you have got into when you have opened the outside door, and the +ceremony is over; where the weary traveller may wash, and eat, and +converse, and sleep, without further journey; such a shelter as you +would be glad to reach in a tempestuous night, containing all the +essentials of a house, and nothing for house-keeping; where you can see +all the treasures of the house at one view, and every thing hangs upon +its peg, that a man should use; at once kitchen, pantry, parlor, +chamber, store-house, and garret; where you can see so necessary a +thing as a barrel or a ladder, so convenient a thing as a cupboard, and +hear the pot boil, and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your +dinner and the oven that bakes your bread, and the necessary furniture +and utensils are the chief ornaments; where the washing is not put out, +nor the fire, nor the mistress, and perhaps you are sometimes requested +to move from off the trap-door, when the cook would descend into the +cellar, and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath you +without stamping. A house whose inside is as open and manifest as a +bird’s nest, and you cannot go in at the front door and out at the back +without seeing some of its inhabitants; where to be a guest is to be +presented with the freedom of the house, and not to be carefully +excluded from seven eighths of it, shut up in a particular cell, and +told to make yourself at home there,—in solitary confinement. Nowadays +the host does not admit you to _his_ hearth, but has got the mason to +build one for yourself somewhere in his alley, and hospitality is the +art of _keeping_ you at the greatest distance. There is as much secrecy +about the cooking as if he had a design to poison you. I am aware that +I have been on many a man’s premises, and might have been legally +ordered off, but I am not aware that I have been in many men’s houses. +I might visit in my old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in +such a house as I have described, if I were going their way; but +backing out of a modern palace will be all that I shall desire to +learn, if ever I am caught in one. + +It would seem as if the very language of our parlors would lose all its +nerve and degenerate into _palaver_ wholly, our lives pass at such +remoteness from its symbols, and its metaphors and tropes are +necessarily so far fetched, through slides and dumb-waiters, as it +were; in other words, the parlor is so far from the kitchen and +workshop. The dinner even is only the parable of a dinner, commonly. As +if only the savage dwelt near enough to Nature and Truth to borrow a +trope from them. How can the scholar, who dwells away in the North West +Territory or the Isle of Man, tell what is parliamentary in the +kitchen? + +However, only one or two of my guests were ever bold enough to stay and +eat a hasty-pudding with me; but when they saw that crisis approaching +they beat a hasty retreat rather, as if it would shake the house to its +foundations. Nevertheless, it stood through a great many +hasty-puddings. + +I did not plaster till it was freezing weather. I brought over some +whiter and cleaner sand for this purpose from the opposite shore of the +pond in a boat, a sort of conveyance which would have tempted me to go +much farther if necessary. My house had in the mean while been shingled +down to the ground on every side. In lathing I was pleased to be able +to send home each nail with a single blow of the hammer, and it was my +ambition to transfer the plaster from the board to the wall neatly and +rapidly. I remembered the story of a conceited fellow, who, in fine +clothes, was wont to lounge about the village once, giving advice to +workmen. Venturing one day to substitute deeds for words, he turned up +his cuffs, seized a plasterer’s board, and having loaded his trowel +without mishap, with a complacent look toward the lathing overhead, +made a bold gesture thitherward; and straightway, to his complete +discomfiture, received the whole contents in his ruffled bosom. I +admired anew the economy and convenience of plastering, which so +effectually shuts out the cold and takes a handsome finish, and I +learned the various casualties to which the plasterer is liable. I was +surprised to see how thirsty the bricks were which drank up all the +moisture in my plaster before I had smoothed it, and how many pailfuls +of water it takes to christen a new hearth. I had the previous winter +made a small quantity of lime by burning the shells of the _Unio +fluviatilis_, which our river affords, for the sake of the experiment; +so that I knew where my materials came from. I might have got good +limestone within a mile or two and burned it myself, if I had cared to +do so. + + + +The pond had in the mean while skimmed over in the shadiest and +shallowest coves, some days or even weeks before the general freezing. +The first ice is especially interesting and perfect, being hard, dark, +and transparent, and affords the best opportunity that ever offers for +examining the bottom where it is shallow; for you can lie at your +length on ice only an inch thick, like a skater insect on the surface +of the water, and study the bottom at your leisure, only two or three +inches distant, like a picture behind a glass, and the water is +necessarily always smooth then. There are many furrows in the sand +where some creature has travelled about and doubled on its tracks; and, +for wrecks, it is strewn with the cases of cadis worms made of minute +grains of white quartz. Perhaps these have creased it, for you find +some of their cases in the furrows, though they are deep and broad for +them to make. But the ice itself is the object of most interest, though +you must improve the earliest opportunity to study it. If you examine +it closely the morning after it freezes, you find that the greater part +of the bubbles, which at first appeared to be within it, are against +its under surface, and that more are continually rising from the +bottom; while the ice is as yet comparatively solid and dark, that is, +you see the water through it. These bubbles are from an eightieth to an +eighth of an inch in diameter, very clear and beautiful, and you see +your face reflected in them through the ice. There may be thirty or +forty of them to a square inch. There are also already within the ice +narrow oblong perpendicular bubbles about half an inch long, sharp +cones with the apex upward; or oftener, if the ice is quite fresh, +minute spherical bubbles one directly above another, like a string of +beads. But these within the ice are not so numerous nor obvious as +those beneath. I sometimes used to cast on stones to try the strength +of the ice, and those which broke through carried in air with them, +which formed very large and conspicuous white bubbles beneath. One day +when I came to the same place forty-eight hours afterward, I found that +those large bubbles were still perfect, though an inch more of ice had +formed, as I could see distinctly by the seam in the edge of a cake. +But as the last two days had been very warm, like an Indian summer, the +ice was not now transparent, showing the dark green color of the water, +and the bottom, but opaque and whitish or gray, and though twice as +thick was hardly stronger than before, for the air bubbles had greatly +expanded under this heat and run together, and lost their regularity; +they were no longer one directly over another, but often like silvery +coins poured from a bag, one overlapping another, or in thin flakes, as +if occupying slight cleavages. The beauty of the ice was gone, and it +was too late to study the bottom. Being curious to know what position +my great bubbles occupied with regard to the new ice, I broke out a +cake containing a middling sized one, and turned it bottom upward. The +new ice had formed around and under the bubble, so that it was included +between the two ices. It was wholly in the lower ice, but close against +the upper, and was flattish, or perhaps slightly lenticular, with a +rounded edge, a quarter of an inch deep by four inches in diameter; and +I was surprised to find that directly under the bubble the ice was +melted with great regularity in the form of a saucer reversed, to the +height of five eighths of an inch in the middle, leaving a thin +partition there between the water and the bubble, hardly an eighth of +an inch thick; and in many places the small bubbles in this partition +had burst out downward, and probably there was no ice at all under the +largest bubbles, which were a foot in diameter. I inferred that the +infinite number of minute bubbles which I had first seen against the +under surface of the ice were now frozen in likewise, and that each, in +its degree, had operated like a burning glass on the ice beneath to +melt and rot it. These are the little air-guns which contribute to make +the ice crack and whoop. + + + +At length the winter set in in good earnest, just as I had finished +plastering, and the wind began to howl around the house as if it had +not had permission to do so till then. Night after night the geese came +lumbering in in the dark with a clangor and a whistling of wings, even +after the ground was covered with snow, some to alight in Walden, and +some flying low over the woods toward Fair Haven, bound for Mexico. +Several times, when returning from the village at ten or eleven o’clock +at night, I heard the tread of a flock of geese, or else ducks, on the +dry leaves in the woods by a pond-hole behind my dwelling, where they +had come up to feed, and the faint honk or quack of their leader as +they hurried off. In 1845 Walden froze entirely over for the first time +on the night of the 22d of December, Flint’s and other shallower ponds +and the river having been frozen ten days or more; in ’46, the 16th; in +’49, about the 31st; and in ’50, about the 27th of December; in ’52, +the 5th of January; in ’53, the 31st of December. The snow had already +covered the ground since the 25th of November, and surrounded me +suddenly with the scenery of winter. I withdrew yet farther into my +shell, and endeavored to keep a bright fire both within my house and +within my breast. My employment out of doors now was to collect the +dead wood in the forest, bringing it in my hands or on my shoulders, or +sometimes trailing a dead pine tree under each arm to my shed. An old +forest fence which had seen its best days was a great haul for me. I +sacrificed it to Vulcan, for it was past serving the god Terminus. How +much more interesting an event is that man’s supper who has just been +forth in the snow to hunt, nay, you might say, steal, the fuel to cook +it with! His bread and meat are sweet. There are enough fagots and +waste wood of all kinds in the forests of most of our towns to support +many fires, but which at present warm none, and, some think, hinder the +growth of the young wood. There was also the drift-wood of the pond. In +the course of the summer I had discovered a raft of pitch-pine logs +with the bark on, pinned together by the Irish when the railroad was +built. This I hauled up partly on the shore. After soaking two years +and then lying high six months it was perfectly sound, though +waterlogged past drying. I amused myself one winter day with sliding +this piecemeal across the pond, nearly half a mile, skating behind with +one end of a log fifteen feet long on my shoulder, and the other on the +ice; or I tied several logs together with a birch withe, and then, with +a longer birch or alder which had a hook at the end, dragged them +across. Though completely waterlogged and almost as heavy as lead, they +not only burned long, but made a very hot fire; nay, I thought that +they burned better for the soaking, as if the pitch, being confined by +the water, burned longer, as in a lamp. + +Gilpin, in his account of the forest borderers of England, says that +“the encroachments of trespassers, and the houses and fences thus +raised on the borders of the forest,” were “considered as great +nuisances by the old forest law, and were severely punished under the +name of _purprestures_, as tending _ad terrorem ferarum—ad nocumentum +forestæ_, &c.,” to the frightening of the game and the detriment of the +forest. But I was interested in the preservation of the venison and the +vert more than the hunters or woodchoppers, and as much as though I had +been the Lord Warden himself; and if any part was burned, though I +burned it myself by accident, I grieved with a grief that lasted longer +and was more inconsolable than that of the proprietors; nay, I grieved +when it was cut down by the proprietors themselves. I would that our +farmers when they cut down a forest felt some of that awe which the old +Romans did when they came to thin, or let in the light to, a +consecrated grove (_lucum conlucare_), that is, would believe that it +is sacred to some god. The Roman made an expiatory offering, and +prayed, Whatever god or goddess thou art to whom this grove is sacred, +be propitious to me, my family, and children, &c. + +It is remarkable what a value is still put upon wood even in this age +and in this new country, a value more permanent and universal than that +of gold. After all our discoveries and inventions no man will go by a +pile of wood. It is as precious to us as it was to our Saxon and Norman +ancestors. If they made their bows of it, we make our gun-stocks of it. +Michaux, more than thirty years ago, says that the price of wood for +fuel in New York and Philadelphia “nearly equals, and sometimes +exceeds, that of the best wood in Paris, though this immense capital +annually requires more than three hundred thousand cords, and is +surrounded to the distance of three hundred miles by cultivated +plains.” In this town the price of wood rises almost steadily, and the +only question is, how much higher it is to be this year than it was the +last. Mechanics and tradesmen who come in person to the forest on no +other errand, are sure to attend the wood auction, and even pay a high +price for the privilege of gleaning after the woodchopper. It is now +many years that men have resorted to the forest for fuel and the +materials of the arts; the New Englander and the New Hollander, the +Parisian and the Celt, the farmer and Robinhood, Goody Blake and Harry +Gill, in most parts of the world the prince and the peasant, the +scholar and the savage, equally require still a few sticks from the +forest to warm them and cook their food. Neither could I do without +them. + +Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection. I love to +have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to remind me +of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody claimed, with which +by spells in winter days, on the sunny side of the house, I played +about the stumps which I had got out of my bean-field. As my driver +prophesied when I was ploughing, they warmed me twice, once while I was +splitting them, and again when they were on the fire, so that no fuel +could give out more heat. As for the axe, I was advised to get the +village blacksmith to “jump” it; but I jumped him, and, putting a +hickory helve from the woods into it, made it do. If it was dull, it +was at least hung true. + +A few pieces of fat pine were a great treasure. It is interesting to +remember how much of this food for fire is still concealed in the +bowels of the earth. In previous years I had often gone “prospecting” +over some bare hill-side, where a pitch-pine wood had formerly stood, +and got out the fat pine roots. They are almost indestructible. Stumps +thirty or forty years old, at least, will still be sound at the core, +though the sapwood has all become vegetable mould, as appears by the +scales of the thick bark forming a ring level with the earth four or +five inches distant from the heart. With axe and shovel you explore +this mine, and follow the marrowy store, yellow as beef tallow, or as +if you had struck on a vein of gold, deep into the earth. But commonly +I kindled my fire with the dry leaves of the forest, which I had stored +up in my shed before the snow came. Green hickory finely split makes +the woodchopper’s kindlings, when he has a camp in the woods. Once in a +while I got a little of this. When the villagers were lighting their +fires beyond the horizon, I too gave notice to the various wild +inhabitants of Walden vale, by a smoky streamer from my chimney, that I +was awake.— + + Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird, + Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, + Lark without song, and messenger of dawn, + Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; + Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form + Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; + By night star-veiling, and by day + Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; + Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, + And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. + +Hard green wood just cut, though I used but little of that, answered my +purpose better than any other. I sometimes left a good fire when I went +to take a walk in a winter afternoon; and when I returned, three or +four hours afterward, it would be still alive and glowing. My house was +not empty though I was gone. It was as if I had left a cheerful +housekeeper behind. It was I and Fire that lived there; and commonly my +housekeeper proved trustworthy. One day, however, as I was splitting +wood, I thought that I would just look in at the window and see if the +house was not on fire; it was the only time I remember to have been +particularly anxious on this score; so I looked and saw that a spark +had caught my bed, and I went in and extinguished it when it had burned +a place as big as my hand. But my house occupied so sunny and sheltered +a position, and its roof was so low, that I could afford to let the +fire go out in the middle of almost any winter day. + +The moles nested in my cellar, nibbling every third potato, and making +a snug bed even there of some hair left after plastering and of brown +paper; for even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth as well as +man, and they survive the winter only because they are so careful to +secure them. Some of my friends spoke as if I was coming to the woods +on purpose to freeze myself. The animal merely makes a bed, which he +warms with his body, in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered +fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, +instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move +about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain a kind of summer in +the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light, and +with a lamp lengthen out the day. Thus he goes a step or two beyond +instinct, and saves a little time for the fine arts. Though, when I had +been exposed to the rudest blasts a long time, my whole body began to +grow torpid, when I reached the genial atmosphere of my house I soon +recovered my faculties and prolonged my life. But the most luxuriously +housed has little to boast of in this respect, nor need we trouble +ourselves to speculate how the human race may be at last destroyed. It +would be easy to cut their threads any time with a little sharper blast +from the north. We go on dating from Cold Fridays and Great Snows; but +a little colder Friday, or greater snow, would put a period to man’s +existence on the globe. + +The next winter I used a small cooking-stove for economy, since I did +not own the forest; but it did not keep fire so well as the open +fire-place. Cooking was then, for the most part, no longer a poetic, +but merely a chemic process. It will soon be forgotten, in these days +of stoves, that we used to roast potatoes in the ashes, after the +Indian fashion. The stove not only took up room and scented the house, +but it concealed the fire, and I felt as if I had lost a companion. You +can always see a face in the fire. The laborer, looking into it at +evening, purifies his thoughts of the dross and earthiness which they +have accumulated during the day. But I could no longer sit and look +into the fire, and the pertinent words of a poet recurred to me with +new force.— + + “Never, bright flame, may be denied to me + Thy dear, life imaging, close sympathy. + What but my hopes shot upward e’er so bright? + What but my fortunes sunk so low in night? + + Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall, + Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all? + Was thy existence then too fanciful + For our life’s common light, who are so dull? + Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold + With our congenial souls? secrets too bold? + Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit + Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit, + Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire + Warms feet and hands—nor does to more aspire; + By whose compact utilitarian heap + The present may sit down and go to sleep, + Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked, + And with us by the unequal light of the old wood fire talked.” + + + +Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors + +I weathered some merry snow storms, and spent some cheerful winter +evenings by my fire-side, while the snow whirled wildly without, and +even the hooting of the owl was hushed. For many weeks I met no one in +my walks but those who came occasionally to cut wood and sled it to the +village. The elements, however, abetted me in making a path through the +deepest snow in the woods, for when I had once gone through the wind +blew the oak leaves into my tracks, where they lodged, and by absorbing +the rays of the sun melted the snow, and so not only made a dry bed for +my feet, but in the night their dark line was my guide. For human +society I was obliged to conjure up the former occupants of these +woods. Within the memory of many of my townsmen the road near which my +house stands resounded with the laugh and gossip of inhabitants, and +the woods which border it were notched and dotted here and there with +their little gardens and dwellings, though it was then much more shut +in by the forest than now. In some places, within my own remembrance, +the pines would scrape both sides of a chaise at once, and women and +children who were compelled to go this way to Lincoln alone and on foot +did it with fear, and often ran a good part of the distance. Though +mainly but a humble route to neighboring villages, or for the woodman’s +team, it once amused the traveller more than now by its variety, and +lingered longer in his memory. Where now firm open fields stretch from +the village to the woods, it then ran through a maple swamp on a +foundation of logs, the remnants of which, doubtless, still underlie +the present dusty highway, from the Stratton, now the Alms House, Farm, +to Brister’s Hill. + +East of my bean-field, across the road, lived Cato Ingraham, slave of +Duncan Ingraham, Esquire, gentleman, of Concord village, who built his +slave a house, and gave him permission to live in Walden Woods;—Cato, +not Uticensis, but Concordiensis. Some say that he was a Guinea Negro. +There are a few who remember his little patch among the walnuts, which +he let grow up till he should be old and need them; but a younger and +whiter speculator got them at last. He too, however, occupies an +equally narrow house at present. Cato’s half-obliterated cellar hole +still remains, though known to few, being concealed from the traveller +by a fringe of pines. It is now filled with the smooth sumach (_Rhus +glabra_,) and one of the earliest species of golden-rod (_Solidago +stricta_) grows there luxuriantly. + +Here, by the very corner of my field, still nearer to town, Zilpha, a +colored woman, had her little house, where she spun linen for the +townsfolk, making the Walden Woods ring with her shrill singing, for +she had a loud and notable voice. At length, in the war of 1812, her +dwelling was set on fire by English soldiers, prisoners on parole, when +she was away, and her cat and dog and hens were all burned up together. +She led a hard life, and somewhat inhumane. One old frequenter of these +woods remembers, that as he passed her house one noon he heard her +muttering to herself over her gurgling pot,—“Ye are all bones, bones!” +I have seen bricks amid the oak copse there. + +Down the road, on the right hand, on Brister’s Hill, lived Brister +Freeman, “a handy Negro,” slave of Squire Cummings once,—there where +grow still the apple-trees which Brister planted and tended; large old +trees now, but their fruit still wild and ciderish to my taste. Not +long since I read his epitaph in the old Lincoln burying-ground, a +little on one side, near the unmarked graves of some British grenadiers +who fell in the retreat from Concord,—where he is styled “Sippio +Brister,”—Scipio Africanus he had some title to be called,—“a man of +color,” as if he were discolored. It also told me, with staring +emphasis, when he died; which was but an indirect way of informing me +that he ever lived. With him dwelt Fenda, his hospitable wife, who told +fortunes, yet pleasantly,—large, round, and black, blacker than any of +the children of night, such a dusky orb as never rose on Concord before +or since. + +Farther down the hill, on the left, on the old road in the woods, are +marks of some homestead of the Stratton family; whose orchard once +covered all the slope of Brister’s Hill, but was long since killed out +by pitch pines, excepting a few stumps, whose old roots furnish still +the wild stocks of many a thrifty village tree. + +Nearer yet to town, you come to Breed’s location, on the other side of +the way, just on the edge of the wood; ground famous for the pranks of +a demon not distinctly named in old mythology, who has acted a +prominent and astounding part in our New England life, and deserves, as +much as any mythological character, to have his biography written one +day; who first comes in the guise of a friend or hired man, and then +robs and murders the whole family,—New-England Rum. But history must +not yet tell the tragedies enacted here; let time intervene in some +measure to assuage and lend an azure tint to them. Here the most +indistinct and dubious tradition says that once a tavern stood; the +well the same, which tempered the traveller’s beverage and refreshed +his steed. Here then men saluted one another, and heard and told the +news, and went their ways again. + +Breed’s hut was standing only a dozen years ago, though it had long +been unoccupied. It was about the size of mine. It was set on fire by +mischievous boys, one Election night, if I do not mistake. I lived on +the edge of the village then, and had just lost myself over Davenant’s +Gondibert, that winter that I labored with a lethargy,—which, by the +way, I never knew whether to regard as a family complaint, having an +uncle who goes to sleep shaving himself, and is obliged to sprout +potatoes in a cellar Sundays, in order to keep awake and keep the +Sabbath, or as the consequence of my attempt to read Chalmers’ +collection of English poetry without skipping. It fairly overcame my +Nervii. I had just sunk my head on this when the bells rung fire, and +in hot haste the engines rolled that way, led by a straggling troop of +men and boys, and I among the foremost, for I had leaped the brook. We +thought it was far south over the woods,—we who had run to fires +before,—barn, shop, or dwelling-house, or all together. “It’s Baker’s +barn,” cried one. “It is the Codman place,” affirmed another. And then +fresh sparks went up above the wood, as if the roof fell in, and we all +shouted “Concord to the rescue!” Wagons shot past with furious speed +and crushing loads, bearing, perchance, among the rest, the agent of +the Insurance Company, who was bound to go however far; and ever and +anon the engine bell tinkled behind, more slow and sure; and rearmost +of all, as it was afterward whispered, came they who set the fire and +gave the alarm. Thus we kept on like true idealists, rejecting the +evidence of our senses, until at a turn in the road we heard the +crackling and actually felt the heat of the fire from over the wall, +and realized, alas! that we were there. The very nearness of the fire +but cooled our ardor. At first we thought to throw a frog-pond on to +it; but concluded to let it burn, it was so far gone and so worthless. +So we stood round our engine, jostled one another, expressed our +sentiments through speaking-trumpets, or in lower tone referred to the +great conflagrations which the world has witnessed, including Bascom’s +shop, and, between ourselves, we thought that, were we there in season +with our “tub,” and a full frog-pond by, we could turn that threatened +last and universal one into another flood. We finally retreated without +doing any mischief,—returned to sleep and Gondibert. But as for +Gondibert, I would except that passage in the preface about wit being +the soul’s powder,—“but most of mankind are strangers to wit, as +Indians are to powder.” + +It chanced that I walked that way across the fields the following +night, about the same hour, and hearing a low moaning at this spot, I +drew near in the dark, and discovered the only survivor of the family +that I know, the heir of both its virtues and its vices, who alone was +interested in this burning, lying on his stomach and looking over the +cellar wall at the still smouldering cinders beneath, muttering to +himself, as is his wont. He had been working far off in the river +meadows all day, and had improved the first moments that he could call +his own to visit the home of his fathers and his youth. He gazed into +the cellar from all sides and points of view by turns, always lying +down to it, as if there was some treasure, which he remembered, +concealed between the stones, where there was absolutely nothing but a +heap of bricks and ashes. The house being gone, he looked at what there +was left. He was soothed by the sympathy which my mere presence +implied, and showed me, as well as the darkness permitted, where the +well was covered up; which, thank Heaven, could never be burned; and he +groped long about the wall to find the well-sweep which his father had +cut and mounted, feeling for the iron hook or staple by which a burden +had been fastened to the heavy end,—all that he could now cling to,—to +convince me that it was no common “rider.” I felt it, and still remark +it almost daily in my walks, for by it hangs the history of a family. + +Once more, on the left, where are seen the well and lilac bushes by the +wall, in the now open field, lived Nutting and Le Grosse. But to return +toward Lincoln. + +Farther in the woods than any of these, where the road approaches +nearest to the pond, Wyman the potter squatted, and furnished his +townsmen with earthen ware, and left descendants to succeed him. +Neither were they rich in worldly goods, holding the land by sufferance +while they lived; and there often the sheriff came in vain to collect +the taxes, and “attached a chip,” for form’s sake, as I have read in +his accounts, there being nothing else that he could lay his hands on. +One day in midsummer, when I was hoeing, a man who was carrying a load +of pottery to market stopped his horse against my field and inquired +concerning Wyman the younger. He had long ago bought a potter’s wheel +of him, and wished to know what had become of him. I had read of the +potter’s clay and wheel in Scripture, but it had never occurred to me +that the pots we use were not such as had come down unbroken from those +days, or grown on trees like gourds somewhere, and I was pleased to +hear that so fictile an art was ever practiced in my neighborhood. + +The last inhabitant of these woods before me was an Irishman, Hugh +Quoil (if I have spelt his name with coil enough,) who occupied Wyman’s +tenement,—Col. Quoil, he was called. Rumor said that he had been a +soldier at Waterloo. If he had lived I should have made him fight his +battles over again. His trade here was that of a ditcher. Napoleon went +to St. Helena; Quoil came to Walden Woods. All I know of him is tragic. +He was a man of manners, like one who had seen the world, and was +capable of more civil speech than you could well attend to. He wore a +great coat in mid-summer, being affected with the trembling delirium, +and his face was the color of carmine. He died in the road at the foot +of Brister’s Hill shortly after I came to the woods, so that I have not +remembered him as a neighbor. Before his house was pulled down, when +his comrades avoided it as “an unlucky castle,” I visited it. There lay +his old clothes curled up by use, as if they were himself, upon his +raised plank bed. His pipe lay broken on the hearth, instead of a bowl +broken at the fountain. The last could never have been the symbol of +his death, for he confessed to me that, though he had heard of +Brister’s Spring, he had never seen it; and soiled cards, kings of +diamonds spades and hearts, were scattered over the floor. One black +chicken which the administrator could not catch, black as night and as +silent, not even croaking, awaiting Reynard, still went to roost in the +next apartment. In the rear there was the dim outline of a garden, +which had been planted but had never received its first hoeing, owing +to those terrible shaking fits, though it was now harvest time. It was +over-run with Roman wormwood and beggar-ticks, which last stuck to my +clothes for all fruit. The skin of a woodchuck was freshly stretched +upon the back of the house, a trophy of his last Waterloo; but no warm +cap or mittens would he want more. + +Now only a dent in the earth marks the site of these dwellings, with +buried cellar stones, and strawberries, raspberries, thimble-berries, +hazel-bushes, and sumachs growing in the sunny sward there; some +pitch-pine or gnarled oak occupies what was the chimney nook, and a +sweet-scented black-birch, perhaps, waves where the door-stone was. +Sometimes the well dent is visible, where once a spring oozed; now dry +and tearless grass; or it was covered deep,—not to be discovered till +some late day,—with a flat stone under the sod, when the last of the +race departed. What a sorrowful act must that be,—the covering up of +wells! coincident with the opening of wells of tears. These cellar +dents, like deserted fox burrows, old holes, are all that is left where +once were the stir and bustle of human life, and “fate, free-will, +foreknowledge absolute,” in some form and dialect or other were by +turns discussed. But all I can learn of their conclusions amounts to +just this, that “Cato and Brister pulled wool;” which is about as +edifying as the history of more famous schools of philosophy. + +Still grows the vivacious lilac a generation after the door and lintel +and the sill are gone, unfolding its sweet-scented flowers each spring, +to be plucked by the musing traveller; planted and tended once by +children’s hands, in front-yard plots,—now standing by wall-sides in +retired pastures, and giving place to new-rising forests;—the last of +that stirp, sole survivor of that family. Little did the dusky children +think that the puny slip with its two eyes only, which they stuck in +the ground in the shadow of the house and daily watered, would root +itself so, and outlive them, and house itself in the rear that shaded +it, and grown man’s garden and orchard, and tell their story faintly to +the lone wanderer a half century after they had grown up and +died,—blossoming as fair, and smelling as sweet, as in that first +spring. I mark its still tender, civil, cheerful, lilac colors. + +But this small village, germ of something more, why did it fail while +Concord keeps its ground? Were there no natural advantages,—no water +privileges, forsooth? Ay, the deep Walden Pond and cool Brister’s +Spring,—privilege to drink long and healthy draughts at these, all +unimproved by these men but to dilute their glass. They were +universally a thirsty race. Might not the basket, stable-broom, +mat-making, corn-parching, linen-spinning, and pottery business have +thrived here, making the wilderness to blossom like the rose, and a +numerous posterity have inherited the land of their fathers? The +sterile soil would at least have been proof against a low-land +degeneracy. Alas! how little does the memory of these human inhabitants +enhance the beauty of the landscape! Again, perhaps, Nature will try, +with me for a first settler, and my house raised last spring to be the +oldest in the hamlet. + +I am not aware that any man has ever built on the spot which I occupy. +Deliver me from a city built on the site of a more ancient city, whose +materials are ruins, whose gardens cemeteries. The soil is blanched and +accursed there, and before that becomes necessary the earth itself will +be destroyed. With such reminiscences I repeopled the woods and lulled +myself asleep. + + + +At this season I seldom had a visitor. When the snow lay deepest no +wanderer ventured near my house for a week or fortnight at a time, but +there I lived as snug as a meadow mouse, or as cattle and poultry which +are said to have survived for a long time buried in drifts, even +without food; or like that early settler’s family in the town of +Sutton, in this state, whose cottage was completely covered by the +great snow of 1717 when he was absent, and an Indian found it only by +the hole which the chimney’s breath made in the drift, and so relieved +the family. But no friendly Indian concerned himself about me; nor +needed he, for the master of the house was at home. The Great Snow! How +cheerful it is to hear of! When the farmers could not get to the woods +and swamps with their teams, and were obliged to cut down the shade +trees before their houses, and when the crust was harder, cut off the +trees in the swamps, ten feet from the ground, as it appeared the next +spring. + +In the deepest snows, the path which I used from the highway to my +house, about half a mile long, might have been represented by a +meandering dotted line, with wide intervals between the dots. For a +week of even weather I took exactly the same number of steps, and of +the same length, coming and going, stepping deliberately and with the +precision of a pair of dividers in my own deep tracks,—to such routine +the winter reduces us,—yet often they were filled with heaven’s own +blue. But no weather interfered fatally with my walks, or rather my +going abroad, for I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the +deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech-tree, or a +yellow-birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines; when the ice and +snow causing their limbs to droop, and so sharpening their tops, had +changed the pines into fir-trees; wading to the tops of the highest +hills when the snow was nearly two feet deep on a level, and shaking +down another snow-storm on my head at every step; or sometimes creeping +and floundering thither on my hands and knees, when the hunters had +gone into winter quarters. One afternoon I amused myself by watching a +barred owl (_Strix nebulosa_) sitting on one of the lower dead limbs of +a white-pine, close to the trunk, in broad daylight, I standing within +a rod of him. He could hear me when I moved and cronched the snow with +my feet, but could not plainly see me. When I made most noise he would +stretch out his neck, and erect his neck feathers, and open his eyes +wide; but their lids soon fell again, and he began to nod. I too felt a +slumberous influence after watching him half an hour, as he sat thus +with his eyes half open, like a cat, winged brother of the cat. There +was only a narrow slit left between their lids, by which he preserved a +peninsular relation to me; thus, with half-shut eyes, looking out from +the land of dreams, and endeavoring to realize me, vague object or mote +that interrupted his visions. At length, on some louder noise or my +nearer approach, he would grow uneasy and sluggishly turn about on his +perch, as if impatient at having his dreams disturbed; and when he +launched himself off and flapped through the pines, spreading his wings +to unexpected breadth, I could not hear the slightest sound from them. +Thus, guided amid the pine boughs rather by a delicate sense of their +neighborhood than by sight, feeling his twilight way as it were with +his sensitive pinions, he found a new perch, where he might in peace +await the dawning of his day. + +As I walked over the long causeway made for the railroad through the +meadows, I encountered many a blustering and nipping wind, for nowhere +has it freer play; and when the frost had smitten me on one cheek, +heathen as I was, I turned to it the other also. Nor was it much better +by the carriage road from Brister’s Hill. For I came to town still, +like a friendly Indian, when the contents of the broad open fields were +all piled up between the walls of the Walden road, and half an hour +sufficed to obliterate the tracks of the last traveller. And when I +returned new drifts would have formed, through which I floundered, +where the busy north-west wind had been depositing the powdery snow +round a sharp angle in the road, and not a rabbit’s track, nor even the +fine print, the small type, of a meadow mouse was to be seen. Yet I +rarely failed to find, even in mid-winter, some warm and springly swamp +where the grass and the skunk-cabbage still put forth with perennial +verdure, and some hardier bird occasionally awaited the return of +spring. + +Sometimes, notwithstanding the snow, when I returned from my walk at +evening I crossed the deep tracks of a woodchopper leading from my +door, and found his pile of whittlings on the hearth, and my house +filled with the odor of his pipe. Or on a Sunday afternoon, if I +chanced to be at home, I heard the cronching of the snow made by the +step of a long-headed farmer, who from far through the woods sought my +house, to have a social “crack;” one of the few of his vocation who are +“men on their farms;” who donned a frock instead of a professor’s gown, +and is as ready to extract the moral out of church or state as to haul +a load of manure from his barn-yard. We talked of rude and simple +times, when men sat about large fires in cold bracing weather, with +clear heads; and when other dessert failed, we tried our teeth on many +a nut which wise squirrels have long since abandoned, for those which +have the thickest shells are commonly empty. + +The one who came from farthest to my lodge, through deepest snows and +most dismal tempests, was a poet. A farmer, a hunter, a soldier, a +reporter, even a philosopher, may be daunted; but nothing can deter a +poet, for he is actuated by pure love. Who can predict his comings and +goings? His business calls him out at all hours, even when doctors +sleep. We made that small house ring with boisterous mirth and resound +with the murmur of much sober talk, making amends then to Walden vale +for the long silences. Broadway was still and deserted in comparison. +At suitable intervals there were regular salutes of laughter, which +might have been referred indifferently to the last uttered or the +forth-coming jest. We made many a “bran new” theory of life over a thin +dish of gruel, which combined the advantages of conviviality with the +clear-headedness which philosophy requires. + +I should not forget that during my last winter at the pond there was +another welcome visitor, who at one time came through the village, +through snow and rain and darkness, till he saw my lamp through the +trees, and shared with me some long winter evenings. One of the last of +the philosophers,—Connecticut gave him to the world,—he peddled first +her wares, afterwards, as he declares, his brains. These he peddles +still, prompting God and disgracing man, bearing for fruit his brain +only, like the nut its kernel. I think that he must be the man of the +most faith of any alive. His words and attitude always suppose a better +state of things than other men are acquainted with, and he will be the +last man to be disappointed as the ages revolve. He has no venture in +the present. But though comparatively disregarded now, when his day +comes, laws unsuspected by most will take effect, and masters of +families and rulers will come to him for advice.— + + “How blind that cannot see serenity!” + + +A true friend of man; almost the only friend of human progress. An Old +Mortality, say rather an Immortality, with unwearied patience and faith +making plain the image engraven in men’s bodies, the God of whom they +are but defaced and leaning monuments. With his hospitable intellect he +embraces children, beggars, insane, and scholars, and entertains the +thought of all, adding to it commonly some breadth and elegance. I +think that he should keep a caravansary on the world’s highway, where +philosophers of all nations might put up, and on his sign should be +printed, “Entertainment for man, but not for his beast. Enter ye that +have leisure and a quiet mind, who earnestly seek the right road.” He +is perhaps the sanest man and has the fewest crotchets of any I chance +to know; the same yesterday and tomorrow. Of yore we had sauntered and +talked, and effectually put the world behind us; for he was pledged to +no institution in it, freeborn, _ingenuus_. Whichever way we turned, it +seemed that the heavens and the earth had met together, since he +enhanced the beauty of the landscape. A blue-robed man, whose fittest +roof is the overarching sky which reflects his serenity. I do not see +how he can ever die; Nature cannot spare him. + +Having each some shingles of thought well dried, we sat and whittled +them, trying our knives, and admiring the clear yellowish grain of the +pumpkin pine. We waded so gently and reverently, or we pulled together +so smoothly, that the fishes of thought were not scared from the +stream, nor feared any angler on the bank, but came and went grandly, +like the clouds which float through the western sky, and the +mother-o’-pearl flocks which sometimes form and dissolve there. There +we worked, revising mythology, rounding a fable here and there, and +building castles in the air for which earth offered no worthy +foundation. Great Looker! Great Expecter! to converse with whom was a +New England Night’s Entertainment. Ah! such discourse we had, hermit +and philosopher, and the old settler I have spoken of,—we three,—it +expanded and racked my little house; I should not dare to say how many +pounds’ weight there was above the atmospheric pressure on every +circular inch; it opened its seams so that they had to be calked with +much dulness thereafter to stop the consequent leak;—but I had enough +of that kind of oakum already picked. + +There was one other with whom I had “solid seasons,” long to be +remembered, at his house in the village, and who looked in upon me from +time to time; but I had no more for society there. + +There too, as every where, I sometimes expected the Visitor who never +comes. The Vishnu Purana says, “The house-holder is to remain at +eventide in his court-yard as long as it takes to milk a cow, or longer +if he pleases, to await the arrival of a guest.” I often performed this +duty of hospitality, waited long enough to milk a whole herd of cows, +but did not see the man approaching from the town. + + +Winter Animals + +When the ponds were firmly frozen, they afforded not only new and +shorter routes to many points, but new views from their surfaces of the +familiar landscape around them. When I crossed Flint’s Pond, after it +was covered with snow, though I had often paddled about and skated over +it, it was so unexpectedly wide and so strange that I could think of +nothing but Baffin’s Bay. The Lincoln hills rose up around me at the +extremity of a snowy plain, in which I did not remember to have stood +before; and the fishermen, at an indeterminable distance over the ice, +moving slowly about with their wolfish dogs, passed for sealers or +Esquimaux, or in misty weather loomed like fabulous creatures, and I +did not know whether they were giants or pygmies. I took this course +when I went to lecture in Lincoln in the evening, travelling in no road +and passing no house between my own hut and the lecture room. In Goose +Pond, which lay in my way, a colony of muskrats dwelt, and raised their +cabins high above the ice, though none could be seen abroad when I +crossed it. Walden, being like the rest usually bare of snow, or with +only shallow and interrupted drifts on it, was my yard, where I could +walk freely when the snow was nearly two feet deep on a level elsewhere +and the villagers were confined to their streets. There, far from the +village street, and except at very long intervals, from the jingle of +sleigh-bells, I slid and skated, as in a vast moose-yard well trodden, +overhung by oak woods and solemn pines bent down with snow or bristling +with icicles. + +For sounds in winter nights, and often in winter days, I heard the +forlorn but melodious note of a hooting owl indefinitely far; such a +sound as the frozen earth would yield if struck with a suitable +plectrum, the very _lingua vernacula_ of Walden Wood, and quite +familiar to me at last, though I never saw the bird while it was making +it. I seldom opened my door in a winter evening without hearing it; +_Hoo hoo hoo, hoorer, hoo,_ sounded sonorously, and the first three +syllables accented somewhat like _how der do_; or sometimes _hoo hoo_ +only. One night in the beginning of winter, before the pond froze over, +about nine o’clock, I was startled by the loud honking of a goose, and, +stepping to the door, heard the sound of their wings like a tempest in +the woods as they flew low over my house. They passed over the pond +toward Fair Haven, seemingly deterred from settling by my light, their +commodore honking all the while with a regular beat. Suddenly an +unmistakable cat-owl from very near me, with the most harsh and +tremendous voice I ever heard from any inhabitant of the woods, +responded at regular intervals to the goose, as if determined to expose +and disgrace this intruder from Hudson’s Bay by exhibiting a greater +compass and volume of voice in a native, and _boo-hoo_ him out of +Concord horizon. What do you mean by alarming the citadel at this time +of night consecrated to me? Do you think I am ever caught napping at +such an hour, and that I have not got lungs and a larynx as well as +yourself? _Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo!_ It was one of the most thrilling +discords I ever heard. And yet, if you had a discriminating ear, there +were in it the elements of a concord such as these plains never saw nor +heard. + +I also heard the whooping of the ice in the pond, my great bed-fellow +in that part of Concord, as if it were restless in its bed and would +fain turn over, were troubled with flatulency and had dreams; or I was +waked by the cracking of the ground by the frost, as if some one had +driven a team against my door, and in the morning would find a crack in +the earth a quarter of a mile long and a third of an inch wide. + +Sometimes I heard the foxes as they ranged over the snow crust, in +moonlight nights, in search of a partridge or other game, barking +raggedly and demoniacally like forest dogs, as if laboring with some +anxiety, or seeking expression, struggling for light and to be dogs +outright and run freely in the streets; for if we take the ages into +our account, may there not be a civilization going on among brutes as +well as men? They seemed to me to be rudimental, burrowing men, still +standing on their defence, awaiting their transformation. Sometimes one +came near to my window, attracted by my light, barked a vulpine curse +at me, and then retreated. + +Usually the red squirrel (_Sciurus Hudsonius_) waked me in the dawn, +coursing over the roof and up and down the sides of the house, as if +sent out of the woods for this purpose. In the course of the winter I +threw out half a bushel of ears of sweet-corn, which had not got ripe, +on to the snow crust by my door, and was amused by watching the motions +of the various animals which were baited by it. In the twilight and the +night the rabbits came regularly and made a hearty meal. All day long +the red squirrels came and went, and afforded me much entertainment by +their manœuvres. One would approach at first warily through the +shrub-oaks, running over the snow crust by fits and starts like a leaf +blown by the wind, now a few paces this way, with wonderful speed and +waste of energy, making inconceivable haste with his “trotters,” as if +it were for a wager, and now as many paces that way, but never getting +on more than half a rod at a time; and then suddenly pausing with a +ludicrous expression and a gratuitous somerset, as if all the eyes in +the universe were fixed on him,—for all the motions of a squirrel, even +in the most solitary recesses of the forest, imply spectators as much +as those of a dancing girl,—wasting more time in delay and +circumspection than would have sufficed to walk the whole distance,—I +never saw one walk,—and then suddenly, before you could say Jack +Robinson, he would be in the top of a young pitch-pine, winding up his +clock and chiding all imaginary spectators, soliloquizing and talking +to all the universe at the same time,—for no reason that I could ever +detect, or he himself was aware of, I suspect. At length he would reach +the corn, and selecting a suitable ear, frisk about in the same +uncertain trigonometrical way to the top-most stick of my wood-pile, +before my window, where he looked me in the face, and there sit for +hours, supplying himself with a new ear from time to time, nibbling at +first voraciously and throwing the half-naked cobs about; till at +length he grew more dainty still and played with his food, tasting only +the inside of the kernel, and the ear, which was held balanced over the +stick by one paw, slipped from his careless grasp and fell to the +ground, when he would look over at it with a ludicrous expression of +uncertainty, as if suspecting that it had life, with a mind not made up +whether to get it again, or a new one, or be off; now thinking of corn, +then listening to hear what was in the wind. So the little impudent +fellow would waste many an ear in a forenoon; till at last, seizing +some longer and plumper one, considerably bigger than himself, and +skilfully balancing it, he would set out with it to the woods, like a +tiger with a buffalo, by the same zig-zag course and frequent pauses, +scratching along with it as if it were too heavy for him and falling +all the while, making its fall a diagonal between a perpendicular and +horizontal, being determined to put it through at any rate;—a +singularly frivolous and whimsical fellow;—and so he would get off with +it to where he lived, perhaps carry it to the top of a pine tree forty +or fifty rods distant, and I would afterwards find the cobs strewn +about the woods in various directions. + +At length the jays arrive, whose discordant screams were heard long +before, as they were warily making their approach an eighth of a mile +off, and in a stealthy and sneaking manner they flit from tree to tree, +nearer and nearer, and pick up the kernels which the squirrels have +dropped. Then, sitting on a pitch-pine bough, they attempt to swallow +in their haste a kernel which is too big for their throats and chokes +them; and after great labor they disgorge it, and spend an hour in the +endeavor to crack it by repeated blows with their bills. They were +manifestly thieves, and I had not much respect for them; but the +squirrels, though at first shy, went to work as if they were taking +what was their own. + +Meanwhile also came the chickadees in flocks, which, picking up the +crumbs the squirrels had dropped, flew to the nearest twig, and, +placing them under their claws, hammered away at them with their little +bills, as if it were an insect in the bark, till they were sufficiently +reduced for their slender throats. A little flock of these tit-mice +came daily to pick a dinner out of my wood-pile, or the crumbs at my +door, with faint flitting lisping notes, like the tinkling of icicles +in the grass, or else with sprightly _day day day_, or more rarely, in +spring-like days, a wiry summery _phe-be_ from the wood-side. They were +so familiar that at length one alighted on an armful of wood which I +was carrying in, and pecked at the sticks without fear. I once had a +sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment while I was hoeing in a +village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that +circumstance than I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn. +The squirrels also grew at last to be quite familiar, and occasionally +stepped upon my shoe, when that was the nearest way. + +When the ground was not yet quite covered, and again near the end of +winter, when the snow was melted on my south hill-side and about my +wood-pile, the partridges came out of the woods morning and evening to +feed there. Whichever side you walk in the woods the partridge bursts +away on whirring wings, jarring the snow from the dry leaves and twigs +on high, which comes sifting down in the sun-beams like golden dust; +for this brave bird is not to be scared by winter. It is frequently +covered up by drifts, and, it is said, “sometimes plunges from on wing +into the soft snow, where it remains concealed for a day or two.” I +used to start them in the open land also, where they had come out of +the woods at sunset to “bud” the wild apple-trees. They will come +regularly every evening to particular trees, where the cunning +sportsman lies in wait for them, and the distant orchards next the +woods suffer thus not a little. I am glad that the partridge gets fed, +at any rate. It is Nature’s own bird which lives on buds and +diet-drink. + +In dark winter mornings, or in short winter afternoons, I sometimes +heard a pack of hounds threading all the woods with hounding cry and +yelp, unable to resist the instinct of the chase, and the note of the +hunting horn at intervals, proving that man was in the rear. The woods +ring again, and yet no fox bursts forth on to the open level of the +pond, nor following pack pursuing their Actæon. And perhaps at evening +I see the hunters returning with a single brush trailing from their +sleigh for a trophy, seeking their inn. They tell me that if the fox +would remain in the bosom of the frozen earth he would be safe, or if +he would run in a straight line away no fox-hound could overtake him; +but, having left his pursuers far behind, he stops to rest and listen +till they come up, and when he runs he circles round to his old haunts, +where the hunters await him. Sometimes, however, he will run upon a +wall many rods, and then leap off far to one side, and he appears to +know that water will not retain his scent. A hunter told me that he +once saw a fox pursued by hounds burst out on to Walden when the ice +was covered with shallow puddles, run part way across, and then return +to the same shore. Ere long the hounds arrived, but here they lost the +scent. Sometimes a pack hunting by themselves would pass my door, and +circle round my house, and yelp and hound without regarding me, as if +afflicted by a species of madness, so that nothing could divert them +from the pursuit. Thus they circle until they fall upon the recent +trail of a fox, for a wise hound will forsake every thing else for +this. One day a man came to my hut from Lexington to inquire after his +hound that made a large track, and had been hunting for a week by +himself. But I fear that he was not the wiser for all I told him, for +every time I attempted to answer his questions he interrupted me by +asking, “What do you do here?” He had lost a dog, but found a man. + +One old hunter who has a dry tongue, who used to come to bathe in +Walden once every year when the water was warmest, and at such times +looked in upon me, told me that many years ago he took his gun one +afternoon and went out for a cruise in Walden Wood; and as he walked +the Wayland road he heard the cry of hounds approaching, and ere long a +fox leaped the wall into the road, and as quick as thought leaped the +other wall out of the road, and his swift bullet had not touched him. +Some way behind came an old hound and her three pups in full pursuit, +hunting on their own account, and disappeared again in the woods. Late +in the afternoon, as he was resting in the thick woods south of Walden, +he heard the voice of the hounds far over toward Fair Haven still +pursuing the fox; and on they came, their hounding cry which made all +the woods ring sounding nearer and nearer, now from Well-Meadow, now +from the Baker Farm. For a long time he stood still and listened to +their music, so sweet to a hunter’s ear, when suddenly the fox +appeared, threading the solemn aisles with an easy coursing pace, whose +sound was concealed by a sympathetic rustle of the leaves, swift and +still, keeping the ground, leaving his pursuers far behind; and, +leaping upon a rock amid the woods, he sat erect and listening, with +his back to the hunter. For a moment compassion restrained the latter’s +arm; but that was a short-lived mood, and as quick as thought can +follow thought his piece was levelled, and _whang!_—the fox rolling +over the rock lay dead on the ground. The hunter still kept his place +and listened to the hounds. Still on they came, and now the near woods +resounded through all their aisles with their demoniac cry. At length +the old hound burst into view with muzzle to the ground, and snapping +the air as if possessed, and ran directly to the rock; but spying the +dead fox she suddenly ceased her hounding as if struck dumb with +amazement, and walked round and round him in silence; and one by one +her pups arrived, and, like their mother, were sobered into silence by +the mystery. Then the hunter came forward and stood in their midst, and +the mystery was solved. They waited in silence while he skinned the +fox, then followed the brush a while, and at length turned off into the +woods again. That evening a Weston Squire came to the Concord hunter’s +cottage to inquire for his hounds, and told how for a week they had +been hunting on their own account from Weston woods. The Concord hunter +told him what he knew and offered him the skin; but the other declined +it and departed. He did not find his hounds that night, but the next +day learned that they had crossed the river and put up at a farm-house +for the night, whence, having been well fed, they took their departure +early in the morning. + +The hunter who told me this could remember one Sam Nutting, who used to +hunt bears on Fair Haven Ledges, and exchange their skins for rum in +Concord village; who told him, even, that he had seen a moose there. +Nutting had a famous fox-hound named Burgoyne,—he pronounced it +Bugine,—which my informant used to borrow. In the “Wast Book” of an old +trader of this town, who was also a captain, town-clerk, and +representative, I find the following entry. Jan. 18th, 1742–3, “John +Melven Cr. by 1 Grey Fox 0—2—3;” they are not now found here; and in +his ledger, Feb. 7th, 1743, Hezekiah Stratton has credit “by ½ a Catt +skin 0—1—4½;” of course, a wild-cat, for Stratton was a sergeant in the +old French war, and would not have got credit for hunting less noble +game. Credit is given for deer skins also, and they were daily sold. +One man still preserves the horns of the last deer that was killed in +this vicinity, and another has told me the particulars of the hunt in +which his uncle was engaged. The hunters were formerly a numerous and +merry crew here. I remember well one gaunt Nimrod who would catch up a +leaf by the road-side and play a strain on it wilder and more +melodious, if my memory serves me, than any hunting-horn. + +At midnight, when there was a moon, I sometimes met with hounds in my +path prowling about the woods, which would skulk out of my way, as if +afraid, and stand silent amid the bushes till I had passed. + +Squirrels and wild mice disputed for my store of nuts. There were +scores of pitch-pines around my house, from one to four inches in +diameter, which had been gnawed by mice the previous winter,—a +Norwegian winter for them, for the snow lay long and deep, and they +were obliged to mix a large proportion of pine bark with their other +diet. These trees were alive and apparently flourishing at mid-summer, +and many of them had grown a foot, though completely girdled; but after +another winter such were without exception dead. It is remarkable that +a single mouse should thus be allowed a whole pine tree for its dinner, +gnawing round instead of up and down it; but perhaps it is necessary in +order to thin these trees, which are wont to grow up densely. + +The hares (_Lepus Americanus_) were very familiar. One had her form +under my house all winter, separated from me only by the flooring, and +she startled me each morning by her hasty departure when I began to +stir,—thump, thump, thump, striking her head against the floor timbers +in her hurry. They used to come round my door at dusk to nibble the +potato parings which I had thrown out, and were so nearly the color of +the ground that they could hardly be distinguished when still. +Sometimes in the twilight I alternately lost and recovered sight of one +sitting motionless under my window. When I opened my door in the +evening, off they would go with a squeak and a bounce. Near at hand +they only excited my pity. One evening one sat by my door two paces +from me, at first trembling with fear, yet unwilling to move; a poor +wee thing, lean and bony, with ragged ears and sharp nose, scant tail +and slender paws. It looked as if Nature no longer contained the breed +of nobler bloods, but stood on her last toes. Its large eyes appeared +young and unhealthy, almost dropsical. I took a step, and lo, away it +scud with an elastic spring over the snow crust, straightening its body +and its limbs into graceful length, and soon put the forest between me +and itself,—the wild free venison, asserting its vigor and the dignity +of Nature. Not without reason was its slenderness. Such then was its +nature. (_Lepus_, _levipes_, light-foot, some think.) + +What is a country without rabbits and partridges? They are among the +most simple and indigenous animal products; ancient and venerable +families known to antiquity as to modern times; of the very hue and +substance of Nature, nearest allied to leaves and to the ground,—and to +one another; it is either winged or it is legged. It is hardly as if +you had seen a wild creature when a rabbit or a partridge bursts away, +only a natural one, as much to be expected as rustling leaves. The +partridge and the rabbit are still sure to thrive, like true natives of +the soil, whatever revolutions occur. If the forest is cut off, the +sprouts and bushes which spring up afford them concealment, and they +become more numerous than ever. That must be a poor country indeed that +does not support a hare. Our woods teem with them both, and around +every swamp may be seen the partridge or rabbit walk, beset with twiggy +fences and horse-hair snares, which some cow-boy tends. + + +The Pond in Winter + +After a still winter night I awoke with the impression that some +question had been put to me, which I had been endeavoring in vain to +answer in my sleep, as what—how—when—where? But there was dawning +Nature, in whom all creatures live, looking in at my broad windows with +serene and satisfied face, and no question on _her_ lips. I awoke to an +answered question, to Nature and daylight. The snow lying deep on the +earth dotted with young pines, and the very slope of the hill on which +my house is placed, seemed to say, Forward! Nature puts no question and +answers none which we mortals ask. She has long ago taken her +resolution. “O Prince, our eyes contemplate with admiration and +transmit to the soul the wonderful and varied spectacle of this +universe. The night veils without doubt a part of this glorious +creation; but day comes to reveal to us this great work, which extends +from earth even into the plains of the ether.” + +Then to my morning work. First I take an axe and pail and go in search +of water, if that be not a dream. After a cold and snowy night it +needed a divining rod to find it. Every winter the liquid and trembling +surface of the pond, which was so sensitive to every breath, and +reflected every light and shadow, becomes solid to the depth of a foot +or a foot and a half, so that it will support the heaviest teams, and +perchance the snow covers it to an equal depth, and it is not to be +distinguished from any level field. Like the marmots in the surrounding +hills, it closes its eye-lids and becomes dormant for three months or +more. Standing on the snow-covered plain, as if in a pasture amid the +hills, I cut my way first through a foot of snow, and then a foot of +ice, and open a window under my feet, where, kneeling to drink, I look +down into the quiet parlor of the fishes, pervaded by a softened light +as through a window of ground glass, with its bright sanded floor the +same as in summer; there a perennial waveless serenity reigns as in the +amber twilight sky, corresponding to the cool and even temperament of +the inhabitants. Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads. + +Early in the morning, while all things are crisp with frost, men come +with fishing reels and slender lunch, and let down their fine lines +through the snowy field to take pickerel and perch; wild men, who +instinctively follow other fashions and trust other authorities than +their townsmen, and by their goings and comings stitch towns together +in parts where else they would be ripped. They sit and eat their +luncheon in stout fear-naughts on the dry oak leaves on the shore, as +wise in natural lore as the citizen is in artificial. They never +consulted with books, and know and can tell much less than they have +done. The things which they practise are said not yet to be known. Here +is one fishing for pickerel with grown perch for bait. You look into +his pail with wonder as into a summer pond, as if he kept summer locked +up at home, or knew where she had retreated. How, pray, did he get +these in mid-winter? O, he got worms out of rotten logs since the +ground froze, and so he caught them. His life itself passes deeper in +Nature than the studies of the naturalist penetrate; himself a subject +for the naturalist. The latter raises the moss and bark gently with his +knife in search of insects; the former lays open logs to their core +with his axe, and moss and bark fly far and wide. He gets his living by +barking trees. Such a man has some right to fish, and I love to see +Nature carried out in him. The perch swallows the grub-worm, the +pickerel swallows the perch, and the fisher-man swallows the pickerel; +and so all the chinks in the scale of being are filled. + +When I strolled around the pond in misty weather I was sometimes amused +by the primitive mode which some ruder fisherman had adopted. He would +perhaps have placed alder branches over the narrow holes in the ice, +which were four or five rods apart and an equal distance from the +shore, and having fastened the end of the line to a stick to prevent +its being pulled through, have passed the slack line over a twig of the +alder, a foot or more above the ice, and tied a dry oak leaf to it, +which, being pulled down, would show when he had a bite. These alders +loomed through the mist at regular intervals as you walked half way +round the pond. + +Ah, the pickerel of Walden! when I see them lying on the ice, or in the +well which the fisherman cuts in the ice, making a little hole to admit +the water, I am always surprised by their rare beauty, as if they were +fabulous fishes, they are so foreign to the streets, even to the woods, +foreign as Arabia to our Concord life. They possess a quite dazzling +and transcendent beauty which separates them by a wide interval from +the cadaverous cod and haddock whose fame is trumpeted in our streets. +They are not green like the pines, nor gray like the stones, nor blue +like the sky; but they have, to my eyes, if possible, yet rarer colors, +like flowers and precious stones, as if they were the pearls, the +animalized _nuclei_ or crystals of the Walden water. They, of course, +are Walden all over and all through; are themselves small Waldens in +the animal kingdom, Waldenses. It is surprising that they are caught +here,—that in this deep and capacious spring, far beneath the rattling +teams and chaises and tinkling sleighs that travel the Walden road, +this great gold and emerald fish swims. I never chanced to see its kind +in any market; it would be the cynosure of all eyes there. Easily, with +a few convulsive quirks, they give up their watery ghosts, like a +mortal translated before his time to the thin air of heaven. + + + +walden_pond_map + + + +As I was desirous to recover the long lost bottom of Walden Pond, I +surveyed it carefully, before the ice broke up, early in ’46, with +compass and chain and sounding line. There have been many stories told +about the bottom, or rather no bottom, of this pond, which certainly +had no foundation for themselves. It is remarkable how long men will +believe in the bottomlessness of a pond without taking the trouble to +sound it. I have visited two such Bottomless Ponds in one walk in this +neighborhood. Many have believed that Walden reached quite through to +the other side of the globe. Some who have lain flat on the ice for a +long time, looking down through the illusive medium, perchance with +watery eyes into the bargain, and driven to hasty conclusions by the +fear of catching cold in their breasts, have seen vast holes “into +which a load of hay might be driven,” if there were any body to drive +it, the undoubted source of the Styx and entrance to the Infernal +Regions from these parts. Others have gone down from the village with a +“fifty-six” and a wagon load of inch rope, but yet have failed to find +any bottom; for while the “fifty-six” was resting by the way, they were +paying out the rope in the vain attempt to fathom their truly +immeasurable capacity for marvellousness. But I can assure my readers +that Walden has a reasonably tight bottom at a not unreasonable, though +at an unusual, depth. I fathomed it easily with a cod-line and a stone +weighing about a pound and a half, and could tell accurately when the +stone left the bottom, by having to pull so much harder before the +water got underneath to help me. The greatest depth was exactly one +hundred and two feet; to which may be added the five feet which it has +risen since, making one hundred and seven. This is a remarkable depth +for so small an area; yet not an inch of it can be spared by the +imagination. What if all ponds were shallow? Would it not react on the +minds of men? I am thankful that this pond was made deep and pure for a +symbol. While men believe in the infinite some ponds will be thought to +be bottomless. + +A factory owner, hearing what depth I had found, thought that it could +not be true, for, judging from his acquaintance with dams, sand would +not lie at so steep an angle. But the deepest ponds are not so deep in +proportion to their area as most suppose, and, if drained, would not +leave very remarkable valleys. They are not like cups between the +hills; for this one, which is so unusually deep for its area, appears +in a vertical section through its centre not deeper than a shallow +plate. Most ponds, emptied, would leave a meadow no more hollow than we +frequently see. William Gilpin, who is so admirable in all that relates +to landscapes, and usually so correct, standing at the head of Loch +Fyne, in Scotland, which he describes as “a bay of salt water, sixty or +seventy fathoms deep, four miles in breadth,” and about fifty miles +long, surrounded by mountains, observes, “If we could have seen it +immediately after the diluvian crash, or whatever convulsion of Nature +occasioned it, before the waters gushed in, what a horrid chasm must it +have appeared! + + So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low + Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, + Capacious bed of waters—.” + +But if, using the shortest diameter of Loch Fyne, we apply these +proportions to Walden, which, as we have seen, appears already in a +vertical section only like a shallow plate, it will appear four times +as shallow. So much for the _increased_ horrors of the chasm of Loch +Fyne when emptied. No doubt many a smiling valley with its stretching +cornfields occupies exactly such a “horrid chasm,” from which the +waters have receded, though it requires the insight and the far sight +of the geologist to convince the unsuspecting inhabitants of this fact. +Often an inquisitive eye may detect the shores of a primitive lake in +the low horizon hills, and no subsequent elevation of the plain has +been necessary to conceal their history. But it is easiest, as they who +work on the highways know, to find the hollows by the puddles after a +shower. The amount of it is, the imagination give it the least license, +dives deeper and soars higher than Nature goes. So, probably, the depth +of the ocean will be found to be very inconsiderable compared with its +breadth. + +As I sounded through the ice I could determine the shape of the bottom +with greater accuracy than is possible in surveying harbors which do +not freeze over, and I was surprised at its general regularity. In the +deepest part there are several acres more level than almost any field +which is exposed to the sun wind and plough. In one instance, on a line +arbitrarily chosen, the depth did not vary more than one foot in thirty +rods; and generally, near the middle, I could calculate the variation +for each one hundred feet in any direction beforehand within three or +four inches. Some are accustomed to speak of deep and dangerous holes +even in quiet sandy ponds like this, but the effect of water under +these circumstances is to level all inequalities. The regularity of the +bottom and its conformity to the shores and the range of the +neighboring hills were so perfect that a distant promontory betrayed +itself in the soundings quite across the pond, and its direction could +be determined by observing the opposite shore. Cape becomes bar, and +plain shoal, and valley and gorge deep water and channel. + +When I had mapped the pond by the scale of ten rods to an inch, and put +down the soundings, more than a hundred in all, I observed this +remarkable coincidence. Having noticed that the number indicating the +greatest depth was apparently in the centre of the map, I laid a rule +on the map lengthwise, and then breadthwise, and found, to my surprise, +that the line of greatest length intersected the line of greatest +breadth _exactly_ at the point of greatest depth, notwithstanding that +the middle is so nearly level, the outline of the pond far from +regular, and the extreme length and breadth were got by measuring into +the coves; and I said to myself, Who knows but this hint would conduct +to the deepest part of the ocean as well as of a pond or puddle? Is not +this the rule also for the height of mountains, regarded as the +opposite of valleys? We know that a hill is not highest at its +narrowest part. + +Of five coves, three, or all which had been sounded, were observed to +have a bar quite across their mouths and deeper water within, so that +the bay tended to be an expansion of water within the land not only +horizontally but vertically, and to form a basin or independent pond, +the direction of the two capes showing the course of the bar. Every +harbor on the sea-coast, also, has its bar at its entrance. In +proportion as the mouth of the cove was wider compared with its length, +the water over the bar was deeper compared with that in the basin. +Given, then, the length and breadth of the cove, and the character of +the surrounding shore, and you have almost elements enough to make out +a formula for all cases. + +In order to see how nearly I could guess, with this experience, at the +deepest point in a pond, by observing the outlines of its surface and +the character of its shores alone, I made a plan of White Pond, which +contains about forty-one acres, and, like this, has no island in it, +nor any visible inlet or outlet; and as the line of greatest breadth +fell very near the line of least breadth, where two opposite capes +approached each other and two opposite bays receded, I ventured to mark +a point a short distance from the latter line, but still on the line of +greatest length, as the deepest. The deepest part was found to be +within one hundred feet of this, still farther in the direction to +which I had inclined, and was only one foot deeper, namely, sixty feet. +Of course, a stream running through, or an island in the pond, would +make the problem much more complicated. + +If we knew all the laws of Nature, we should need only one fact, or the +description of one actual phenomenon, to infer all the particular +results at that point. Now we know only a few laws, and our result is +vitiated, not, of course, by any confusion or irregularity in Nature, +but by our ignorance of essential elements in the calculation. Our +notions of law and harmony are commonly confined to those instances +which we detect; but the harmony which results from a far greater +number of seemingly conflicting, but really concurring, laws, which we +have not detected, is still more wonderful. The particular laws are as +our points of view, as, to the traveller, a mountain outline varies +with every step, and it has an infinite number of profiles, though +absolutely but one form. Even when cleft or bored through it is not +comprehended in its entireness. + +What I have observed of the pond is no less true in ethics. It is the +law of average. Such a rule of the two diameters not only guides us +toward the sun in the system and the heart in man, but draw lines +through the length and breadth of the aggregate of a man’s particular +daily behaviors and waves of life into his coves and inlets, and where +they intersect will be the height or depth of his character. Perhaps we +need only to know how his shores trend and his adjacent country or +circumstances, to infer his depth and concealed bottom. If he is +surrounded by mountainous circumstances, an Achillean shore, whose +peaks overshadow and are reflected in his bosom, they suggest a +corresponding depth in him. But a low and smooth shore proves him +shallow on that side. In our bodies, a bold projecting brow falls off +to and indicates a corresponding depth of thought. Also there is a bar +across the entrance of our every cove, or particular inclination; each +is our harbor for a season, in which we are detained and partially +land-locked. These inclinations are not whimsical usually, but their +form, size, and direction are determined by the promontories of the +shore, the ancient axes of elevation. When this bar is gradually +increased by storms, tides, or currents, or there is a subsidence of +the waters, so that it reaches to the surface, that which was at first +but an inclination in the shore in which a thought was harbored becomes +an individual lake, cut off from the ocean, wherein the thought secures +its own conditions, changes, perhaps, from salt to fresh, becomes a +sweet sea, dead sea, or a marsh. At the advent of each individual into +this life, may we not suppose that such a bar has risen to the surface +somewhere? It is true, we are such poor navigators that our thoughts, +for the most part, stand off and on upon a harborless coast, are +conversant only with the bights of the bays of poesy, or steer for the +public ports of entry, and go into the dry docks of science, where they +merely refit for this world, and no natural currents concur to +individualize them. + +As for the inlet or outlet of Walden, I have not discovered any but +rain and snow and evaporation, though perhaps, with a thermometer and a +line, such places may be found, for where the water flows into the pond +it will probably be coldest in summer and warmest in winter. When the +ice-men were at work here in ’46–7, the cakes sent to the shore were +one day rejected by those who were stacking them up there, not being +thick enough to lie side by side with the rest; and the cutters thus +discovered that the ice over a small space was two or three inches +thinner than elsewhere, which made them think that there was an inlet +there. They also showed me in another place what they thought was a +“leach hole,” through which the pond leaked out under a hill into a +neighboring meadow, pushing me out on a cake of ice to see it. It was a +small cavity under ten feet of water; but I think that I can warrant +the pond not to need soldering till they find a worse leak than that. +One has suggested, that if such a “leach hole” should be found, its +connection with the meadow, if any existed, might be proved by +conveying some colored powder or sawdust to the mouth of the hole, and +then putting a strainer over the spring in the meadow, which would +catch some of the particles carried through by the current. + +While I was surveying, the ice, which was sixteen inches thick, +undulated under a slight wind like water. It is well known that a level +cannot be used on ice. At one rod from the shore its greatest +fluctuation, when observed by means of a level on land directed toward +a graduated staff on the ice, was three quarters of an inch, though the +ice appeared firmly attached to the shore. It was probably greater in +the middle. Who knows but if our instruments were delicate enough we +might detect an undulation in the crust of the earth? When two legs of +my level were on the shore and the third on the ice, and the sights +were directed over the latter, a rise or fall of the ice of an almost +infinitesimal amount made a difference of several feet on a tree across +the pond. When I began to cut holes for sounding, there were three or +four inches of water on the ice under a deep snow which had sunk it +thus far; but the water began immediately to run into these holes, and +continued to run for two days in deep streams, which wore away the ice +on every side, and contributed essentially, if not mainly, to dry the +surface of the pond; for, as the water ran in, it raised and floated +the ice. This was somewhat like cutting a hole in the bottom of a ship +to let the water out. When such holes freeze, and a rain succeeds, and +finally a new freezing forms a fresh smooth ice over all, it is +beautifully mottled internally by dark figures, shaped somewhat like a +spider’s web, what you may call ice rosettes, produced by the channels +worn by the water flowing from all sides to a centre. Sometimes, also, +when the ice was covered with shallow puddles, I saw a double shadow of +myself, one standing on the head of the other, one on the ice, the +other on the trees or hill-side. + + + +While yet it is cold January, and snow and ice are thick and solid, the +prudent landlord comes from the village to get ice to cool his summer +drink; impressively, even pathetically wise, to foresee the heat and +thirst of July now in January,—wearing a thick coat and mittens! when +so many things are not provided for. It may be that he lays up no +treasures in this world which will cool his summer drink in the next. +He cuts and saws the solid pond, unroofs the house of fishes, and carts +off their very element and air, held fast by chains and stakes like +corded wood, through the favoring winter air, to wintry cellars, to +underlie the summer there. It looks like solidified azure, as, far off, +it is drawn through the streets. These ice-cutters are a merry race, +full of jest and sport, and when I went among them they were wont to +invite me to saw pit-fashion with them, I standing underneath. + +In the winter of ’46–7 there came a hundred men of Hyperborean +extraction swoop down on to our pond one morning, with many car-loads +of ungainly-looking farming tools, sleds, ploughs, drill-barrows, +turf-knives, spades, saws, rakes, and each man was armed with a +double-pointed pike-staff, such as is not described in the New-England +Farmer or the Cultivator. I did not know whether they had come to sow a +crop of winter rye, or some other kind of grain recently introduced +from Iceland. As I saw no manure, I judged that they meant to skim the +land, as I had done, thinking the soil was deep and had lain fallow +long enough. They said that a gentleman farmer, who was behind the +scenes, wanted to double his money, which, as I understood, amounted to +half a million already; but in order to cover each one of his dollars +with another, he took off the only coat, ay, the skin itself, of Walden +Pond in the midst of a hard winter. They went to work at once, +ploughing, harrowing, rolling, furrowing, in admirable order, as if +they were bent on making this a model farm; but when I was looking +sharp to see what kind of seed they dropped into the furrow, a gang of +fellows by my side suddenly began to hook up the virgin mould itself, +with a peculiar jerk, clean down to the sand, or rather the water,—for +it was a very springy soil,—indeed all the _terra firma_ there was,—and +haul it away on sleds, and then I guessed that they must be cutting +peat in a bog. So they came and went every day, with a peculiar shriek +from the locomotive, from and to some point of the polar regions, as it +seemed to me, like a flock of arctic snow-birds. But sometimes Squaw +Walden had her revenge, and a hired man, walking behind his team, +slipped through a crack in the ground down toward Tartarus, and he who +was so brave before suddenly became but the ninth part of a man, almost +gave up his animal heat, and was glad to take refuge in my house, and +acknowledged that there was some virtue in a stove; or sometimes the +frozen soil took a piece of steel out of a ploughshare, or a plough got +set in the furrow and had to be cut out. + +To speak literally, a hundred Irishmen, with Yankee overseers, came +from Cambridge every day to get out the ice. They divided it into cakes +by methods too well known to require description, and these, being +sledded to the shore, were rapidly hauled off on to an ice platform, +and raised by grappling irons and block and tackle, worked by horses, +on to a stack, as surely as so many barrels of flour, and there placed +evenly side by side, and row upon row, as if they formed the solid base +of an obelisk designed to pierce the clouds. They told me that in a +good day they could get out a thousand tons, which was the yield of +about one acre. Deep ruts and “cradle holes” were worn in the ice, as +on _terra firma_, by the passage of the sleds over the same track, and +the horses invariably ate their oats out of cakes of ice hollowed out +like buckets. They stacked up the cakes thus in the open air in a pile +thirty-five feet high on one side and six or seven rods square, putting +hay between the outside layers to exclude the air; for when the wind, +though never so cold, finds a passage through, it will wear large +cavities, leaving slight supports or studs only here and there, and +finally topple it down. At first it looked like a vast blue fort or +Valhalla; but when they began to tuck the coarse meadow hay into the +crevices, and this became covered with rime and icicles, it looked like +a venerable moss-grown and hoary ruin, built of azure-tinted marble, +the abode of Winter, that old man we see in the almanac,—his shanty, as +if he had a design to estivate with us. They calculated that not +twenty-five per cent of this would reach its destination, and that two +or three per cent would be wasted in the cars. However, a still greater +part of this heap had a different destiny from what was intended; for, +either because the ice was found not to keep so well as was expected, +containing more air than usual, or for some other reason, it never got +to market. This heap, made in the winter of ’46–7 and estimated to +contain ten thousand tons, was finally covered with hay and boards; and +though it was unroofed the following July, and a part of it carried +off, the rest remaining exposed to the sun, it stood over that summer +and the next winter, and was not quite melted till September 1848. Thus +the pond recovered the greater part. + +Like the water, the Walden ice, seen near at hand, has a green tint, +but at a distance is beautifully blue, and you can easily tell it from +the white ice of the river, or the merely greenish ice of some ponds, a +quarter of a mile off. Sometimes one of those great cakes slips from +the ice-man’s sled into the village street, and lies there for a week +like a great emerald, an object of interest to all passers. I have +noticed that a portion of Walden which in the state of water was green +will often, when frozen, appear from the same point of view blue. So +the hollows about this pond will, sometimes, in the winter, be filled +with a greenish water somewhat like its own, but the next day will have +frozen blue. Perhaps the blue color of water and ice is due to the +light and air they contain, and the most transparent is the bluest. Ice +is an interesting subject for contemplation. They told me that they had +some in the ice-houses at Fresh Pond five years old which was as good +as ever. Why is it that a bucket of water soon becomes putrid, but +frozen remains sweet forever? It is commonly said that this is the +difference between the affections and the intellect. + +Thus for sixteen days I saw from my window a hundred men at work like +busy husbandmen, with teams and horses and apparently all the +implements of farming, such a picture as we see on the first page of +the almanac; and as often as I looked out I was reminded of the fable +of the lark and the reapers, or the parable of the sower, and the like; +and now they are all gone, and in thirty days more, probably, I shall +look from the same window on the pure sea-green Walden water there, +reflecting the clouds and the trees, and sending up its evaporations in +solitude, and no traces will appear that a man has ever stood there. +Perhaps I shall hear a solitary loon laugh as he dives and plumes +himself, or shall see a lonely fisher in his boat, like a floating +leaf, beholding his form reflected in the waves, where lately a hundred +men securely labored. + +Thus it appears that the sweltering inhabitants of Charleston and New +Orleans, of Madras and Bombay and Calcutta, drink at my well. In the +morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal +philosophy of the Bhagvat Geeta, since whose composition years of the +gods have elapsed, and in comparison with which our modern world and +its literature seem puny and trivial; and I doubt if that philosophy is +not to be referred to a previous state of existence, so remote is its +sublimity from our conceptions. I lay down the book and go to my well +for water, and lo! there I meet the servant of the Bramin, priest of +Brahma and Vishnu and Indra, who still sits in his temple on the Ganges +reading the Vedas, or dwells at the root of a tree with his crust and +water jug. I meet his servant come to draw water for his master, and +our buckets as it were grate together in the same well. The pure Walden +water is mingled with the sacred water of the Ganges. With favoring +winds it is wafted past the site of the fabulous islands of Atlantis +and the Hesperides, makes the periplus of Hanno, and, floating by +Ternate and Tidore and the mouth of the Persian Gulf, melts in the +tropic gales of the Indian seas, and is landed in ports of which +Alexander only heard the names. + + +Spring + +The opening of large tracts by the ice-cutters commonly causes a pond +to break up earlier; for the water, agitated by the wind, even in cold +weather, wears away the surrounding ice. But such was not the effect on +Walden that year, for she had soon got a thick new garment to take the +place of the old. This pond never breaks up so soon as the others in +this neighborhood, on account both of its greater depth and its having +no stream passing through it to melt or wear away the ice. I never knew +it to open in the course of a winter, not excepting that of ’52–3, +which gave the ponds so severe a trial. It commonly opens about the +first of April, a week or ten days later than Flint’s Pond and +Fair-Haven, beginning to melt on the north side and in the shallower +parts where it began to freeze. It indicates better than any water +hereabouts the absolute progress of the season, being least affected by +transient changes of temperature. A severe cold of a few days’ duration +in March may very much retard the opening of the former ponds, while +the temperature of Walden increases almost uninterruptedly. A +thermometer thrust into the middle of Walden on the 6th of March, 1847, +stood at 32°, or freezing point; near the shore at 33°; in the middle +of Flint’s Pond, the same day, at 32½°; at a dozen rods from the shore, +in shallow water, under ice a foot thick, at 36°. This difference of +three and a half degrees between the temperature of the deep water and +the shallow in the latter pond, and the fact that a great proportion of +it is comparatively shallow, show why it should break up so much sooner +than Walden. The ice in the shallowest part was at this time several +inches thinner than in the middle. In mid-winter the middle had been +the warmest and the ice thinnest there. So, also, every one who has +waded about the shores of the pond in summer must have perceived how +much warmer the water is close to the shore, where only three or four +inches deep, than a little distance out, and on the surface where it is +deep, than near the bottom. In spring the sun not only exerts an +influence through the increased temperature of the air and earth, but +its heat passes through ice a foot or more thick, and is reflected from +the bottom in shallow water, and so also warms the water and melts the +under side of the ice, at the same time that it is melting it more +directly above, making it uneven, and causing the air bubbles which it +contains to extend themselves upward and downward until it is +completely honeycombed, and at last disappears suddenly in a single +spring rain. Ice has its grain as well as wood, and when a cake begins +to rot or “comb,” that is, assume the appearance of honey-comb, +whatever may be its position, the air cells are at right angles with +what was the water surface. Where there is a rock or a log rising near +to the surface the ice over it is much thinner, and is frequently quite +dissolved by this reflected heat; and I have been told that in the +experiment at Cambridge to freeze water in a shallow wooden pond, +though the cold air circulated underneath, and so had access to both +sides, the reflection of the sun from the bottom more than +counterbalanced this advantage. When a warm rain in the middle of the +winter melts off the snow-ice from Walden, and leaves a hard dark or +transparent ice on the middle, there will be a strip of rotten though +thicker white ice, a rod or more wide, about the shores, created by +this reflected heat. Also, as I have said, the bubbles themselves +within the ice operate as burning-glasses to melt the ice beneath. + +The phenomena of the year take place every day in a pond on a small +scale. Every morning, generally speaking, the shallow water is being +warmed more rapidly than the deep, though it may not be made so warm +after all, and every evening it is being cooled more rapidly until the +morning. The day is an epitome of the year. The night is the winter, +the morning and evening are the spring and fall, and the noon is the +summer. The cracking and booming of the ice indicate a change of +temperature. One pleasant morning after a cold night, February 24th, +1850, having gone to Flint’s Pond to spend the day, I noticed with +surprise, that when I struck the ice with the head of my axe, it +resounded like a gong for many rods around, or as if I had struck on a +tight drum-head. The pond began to boom about an hour after sunrise, +when it felt the influence of the sun’s rays slanted upon it from over +the hills; it stretched itself and yawned like a waking man with a +gradually increasing tumult, which was kept up three or four hours. It +took a short siesta at noon, and boomed once more toward night, as the +sun was withdrawing his influence. In the right stage of the weather a +pond fires its evening gun with great regularity. But in the middle of +the day, being full of cracks, and the air also being less elastic, it +had completely lost its resonance, and probably fishes and muskrats +could not then have been stunned by a blow on it. The fishermen say +that the “thundering of the pond” scares the fishes and prevents their +biting. The pond does not thunder every evening, and I cannot tell +surely when to expect its thundering; but though I may perceive no +difference in the weather, it does. Who would have suspected so large +and cold and thick-skinned a thing to be so sensitive? Yet it has its +law to which it thunders obedience when it should as surely as the buds +expand in the spring. The earth is all alive and covered with papillæ. +The largest pond is as sensitive to atmospheric changes as the globule +of mercury in its tube. + + + +One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should have +leisure and opportunity to see the spring come in. The ice in the pond +at length begins to be honey-combed, and I can set my heel in it as I +walk. Fogs and rains and warmer suns are gradually melting the snow; +the days have grown sensibly longer; and I see how I shall get through +the winter without adding to my wood-pile, for large fires are no +longer necessary. I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to +hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel’s +chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the +woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters. On the 13th of March, +after I had heard the bluebird, song-sparrow, and red-wing, the ice was +still nearly a foot thick. As the weather grew warmer it was not +sensibly worn away by the water, nor broken up and floated off as in +rivers, but, though it was completely melted for half a rod in width +about the shore, the middle was merely honey-combed and saturated with +water, so that you could put your foot through it when six inches +thick; but by the next day evening, perhaps, after a warm rain followed +by fog, it would have wholly disappeared, all gone off with the fog, +spirited away. One year I went across the middle only five days before +it disappeared entirely. In 1845 Walden was first completely open on +the 1st of April; in ’46, the 25th of March; in ’47, the 8th of April; +in ’51, the 28th of March; in ’52, the 18th of April; in ’53, the 23d +of March; in ’54, about the 7th of April. + +Every incident connected with the breaking up of the rivers and ponds +and the settling of the weather is particularly interesting to us who +live in a climate of so great extremes. When the warmer days come, they +who dwell near the river hear the ice crack at night with a startling +whoop as loud as artillery, as if its icy fetters were rent from end to +end, and within a few days see it rapidly going out. So the alligator +comes out of the mud with quakings of the earth. One old man, who has +been a close observer of Nature, and seems as thoroughly wise in regard +to all her operations as if she had been put upon the stocks when he +was a boy, and he had helped to lay her keel,—who has come to his +growth, and can hardly acquire more of natural lore if he should live +to the age of Methuselah,—told me, and I was surprised to hear him +express wonder at any of Nature’s operations, for I thought that there +were no secrets between them, that one spring day he took his gun and +boat, and thought that he would have a little sport with the ducks. +There was ice still on the meadows, but it was all gone out of the +river, and he dropped down without obstruction from Sudbury, where he +lived, to Fair-Haven Pond, which he found, unexpectedly, covered for +the most part with a firm field of ice. It was a warm day, and he was +surprised to see so great a body of ice remaining. Not seeing any +ducks, he hid his boat on the north or back side of an island in the +pond, and then concealed himself in the bushes on the south side, to +await them. The ice was melted for three or four rods from the shore, +and there was a smooth and warm sheet of water, with a muddy bottom, +such as the ducks love, within, and he thought it likely that some +would be along pretty soon. After he had lain still there about an hour +he heard a low and seemingly very distant sound, but singularly grand +and impressive, unlike any thing he had ever heard, gradually swelling +and increasing as if it would have a universal and memorable ending, a +sullen rush and roar, which seemed to him all at once like the sound of +a vast body of fowl coming in to settle there, and, seizing his gun, he +started up in haste and excited; but he found, to his surprise, that +the whole body of the ice had started while he lay there, and drifted +in to the shore, and the sound he had heard was made by its edge +grating on the shore,—at first gently nibbled and crumbled off, but at +length heaving up and scattering its wrecks along the island to a +considerable height before it came to a stand still. + +At length the sun’s rays have attained the right angle, and warm winds +blow up mist and rain and melt the snow banks, and the sun dispersing +the mist smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking +with incense, through which the traveller picks his way from islet to +islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets +whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing +off. + +Few phenomena gave me more delight than to observe the forms which +thawing sand and clay assume in flowing down the sides of a deep cut on +the railroad through which I passed on my way to the village, a +phenomenon not very common on so large a scale, though the number of +freshly exposed banks of the right material must have been greatly +multiplied since railroads were invented. The material was sand of +every degree of fineness and of various rich colors, commonly mixed +with a little clay. When the frost comes out in the spring, and even in +a thawing day in the winter, the sand begins to flow down the slopes +like lava, sometimes bursting out through the snow and overflowing it +where no sand was to be seen before. Innumerable little streams overlap +and interlace one with another, exhibiting a sort of hybrid product, +which obeys half way the law of currents, and half way that of +vegetation. As it flows it takes the forms of sappy leaves or vines, +making heaps of pulpy sprays a foot or more in depth, and resembling, +as you look down on them, the laciniated, lobed, and imbricated +thalluses of some lichens; or you are reminded of coral, of leopard’s +paws or birds’ feet, of brains or lungs or bowels, and excrements of +all kinds. It is a truly _grotesque_ vegetation, whose forms and color +we see imitated in bronze, a sort of architectural foliage more ancient +and typical than acanthus, chiccory, ivy, vine, or any vegetable +leaves; destined perhaps, under some circumstances, to become a puzzle +to future geologists. The whole cut impressed me as if it were a cave +with its stalactites laid open to the light. The various shades of the +sand are singularly rich and agreeable, embracing the different iron +colors, brown, gray, yellowish, and reddish. When the flowing mass +reaches the drain at the foot of the bank it spreads out flatter into +_strands_, the separate streams losing their semi-cylindrical form and +gradually becoming more flat and broad, running together as they are +more moist, till they form an almost flat _sand_, still variously and +beautifully shaded, but in which you can trace the original forms of +vegetation; till at length, in the water itself, they are converted +into _banks_, like those formed off the mouths of rivers, and the forms +of vegetation are lost in the ripple marks on the bottom. + +The whole bank, which is from twenty to forty feet high, is sometimes +overlaid with a mass of this kind of foliage, or sandy rupture, for a +quarter of a mile on one or both sides, the produce of one spring day. +What makes this sand foliage remarkable is its springing into existence +thus suddenly. When I see on the one side the inert bank,—for the sun +acts on one side first,—and on the other this luxuriant foliage, the +creation of an hour, I am affected as if in a peculiar sense I stood in +the laboratory of the Artist who made the world and me,—had come to +where he was still at work, sporting on this bank, and with excess of +energy strewing his fresh designs about. I feel as if I were nearer to +the vitals of the globe, for this sandy overflow is something such a +foliaceous mass as the vitals of the animal body. You find thus in the +very sands an anticipation of the vegetable leaf. No wonder that the +earth expresses itself outwardly in leaves, it so labors with the idea +inwardly. The atoms have already learned this law, and are pregnant by +it. The overhanging leaf sees here its prototype. _Internally_, whether +in the globe or animal body, it is a moist thick _lobe_, a word +especially applicable to the liver and lungs and the _leaves_ of fat, +(?e?ß?, _labor_, _lapsus_, to flow or slip downward, a lapsing; ??ß??, +_globus_, lobe, globe; also lap, flap, and many other words,) +_externally_ a dry thin _leaf_, even as the _f_ and _v_ are a pressed +and dried _b_. The radicals of _lobe_ are _lb_, the soft mass of the +_b_ (single lobed, or B, double lobed,) with the liquid _l_ behind it +pressing it forward. In globe, _glb_, the guttural _g_ adds to the +meaning the capacity of the throat. The feathers and wings of birds are +still drier and thinner leaves. Thus, also, you pass from the lumpish +grub in the earth to the airy and fluttering butterfly. The very globe +continually transcends and translates itself, and becomes winged in its +orbit. Even ice begins with delicate crystal leaves, as if it had +flowed into moulds which the fronds of water plants have impressed on +the watery mirror. The whole tree itself is but one leaf, and rivers +are still vaster leaves whose pulp is intervening earth, and towns and +cities are the ova of insects in their axils. + +When the sun withdraws the sand ceases to flow, but in the morning the +streams will start once more and branch and branch again into a myriad +of others. You here see perchance how blood vessels are formed. If you +look closely you observe that first there pushes forward from the +thawing mass a stream of softened sand with a drop-like point, like the +ball of the finger, feeling its way slowly and blindly downward, until +at last with more heat and moisture, as the sun gets higher, the most +fluid portion, in its effort to obey the law to which the most inert +also yields, separates from the latter and forms for itself a +meandering channel or artery within that, in which is seen a little +silvery stream glancing like lightning from one stage of pulpy leaves +or branches to another, and ever and anon swallowed up in the sand. It +is wonderful how rapidly yet perfectly the sand organizes itself as it +flows, using the best material its mass affords to form the sharp edges +of its channel. Such are the sources of rivers. In the silicious matter +which the water deposits is perhaps the bony system, and in the still +finer soil and organic matter the fleshy fibre or cellular tissue. What +is man but a mass of thawing clay? The ball of the human finger is but +a drop congealed. The fingers and toes flow to their extent from the +thawing mass of the body. Who knows what the human body would expand +and flow out to under a more genial heaven? Is not the hand a spreading +_palm_ leaf with its lobes and veins? The ear may be regarded, +fancifully, as a lichen, _umbilicaria_, on the side of the head, with +its lobe or drop. The lip—_labium_, from _labor_ (?)—laps or lapses +from the sides of the cavernous mouth. The nose is a manifest congealed +drop or stalactite. The chin is a still larger drop, the confluent +dripping of the face. The cheeks are a slide from the brows into the +valley of the face, opposed and diffused by the cheek bones. Each +rounded lobe of the vegetable leaf, too, is a thick and now loitering +drop, larger or smaller; the lobes are the fingers of the leaf; and as +many lobes as it has, in so many directions it tends to flow, and more +heat or other genial influences would have caused it to flow yet +farther. + +Thus it seemed that this one hillside illustrated the principle of all +the operations of Nature. The Maker of this earth but patented a leaf. +What Champollion will decipher this hieroglyphic for us, that we may +turn over a new leaf at last? This phenomenon is more exhilarating to +me than the luxuriance and fertility of vineyards. True, it is somewhat +excrementitious in its character, and there is no end to the heaps of +liver lights and bowels, as if the globe were turned wrong side +outward; but this suggests at least that Nature has some bowels, and +there again is mother of humanity. This is the frost coming out of the +ground; this is Spring. It precedes the green and flowery spring, as +mythology precedes regular poetry. I know of nothing more purgative of +winter fumes and indigestions. It convinces me that Earth is still in +her swaddling clothes, and stretches forth baby fingers on every side. +Fresh curls spring from the baldest brow. There is nothing inorganic. +These foliaceous heaps lie along the bank like the slag of a furnace, +showing that Nature is “in full blast” within. The earth is not a mere +fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a +book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living +poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit,—not +a fossil earth, but a living earth; compared with whose great central +life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic. Its throes will +heave our exuviæ from their graves. You may melt your metals and cast +them into the most beautiful moulds you can; they will never excite me +like the forms which this molten earth flows out into. And not only it, +but the institutions upon it, are plastic like clay in the hands of the +potter. + + + +Ere long, not only on these banks, but on every hill and plain and in +every hollow, the frost comes out of the ground like a dormant +quadruped from its burrow, and seeks the sea with music, or migrates to +other climes in clouds. Thaw with his gentle persuasion is more +powerful than Thor with his hammer. The one melts, the other but breaks +in pieces. + +When the ground was partially bare of snow, and a few warm days had +dried its surface somewhat, it was pleasant to compare the first tender +signs of the infant year just peeping forth with the stately beauty of +the withered vegetation which had withstood the +winter,—life-everlasting, golden-rods, pinweeds, and graceful wild +grasses, more obvious and interesting frequently than in summer even, +as if their beauty was not ripe till then; even cotton-grass, +cat-tails, mulleins, johnswort, hard-hack, meadow-sweet, and other +strong stemmed plants, those unexhausted granaries which entertain the +earliest birds,—decent weeds, at least, which widowed Nature wears. I +am particularly attracted by the arching and sheaf-like top of the +wool-grass; it brings back the summer to our winter memories, and is +among the forms which art loves to copy, and which, in the vegetable +kingdom, have the same relation to types already in the mind of man +that astronomy has. It is an antique style older than Greek or +Egyptian. Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an +inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. We are accustomed to +hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant; but with the +gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of Summer. + +At the approach of spring the red-squirrels got under my house, two at +a time, directly under my feet as I sat reading or writing, and kept up +the queerest chuckling and chirruping and vocal pirouetting and +gurgling sounds that ever were heard; and when I stamped they only +chirruped the louder, as if past all fear and respect in their mad +pranks, defying humanity to stop them. No you +don’t—chickaree—chickaree. They were wholly deaf to my arguments, or +failed to perceive their force, and fell into a strain of invective +that was irresistible. + +The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than +ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and +moist fields from the blue-bird, the song-sparrow, and the red-wing, as +if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! What at such a time +are histories, chronologies, traditions, and all written revelations? +The brooks sing carols and glees to the spring. The marsh-hawk sailing +low over the meadow is already seeking the first slimy life that +awakes. The sinking sound of melting snow is heard in all dells, and +the ice dissolves apace in the ponds. The grass flames up on the +hillsides like a spring fire,—“et primitus oritur herba imbribus +primoribus evocata,”—as if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet +the returning sun; not yellow but green is the color of its flame;—the +symbol of perpetual youth, the grass-blade, like a long green ribbon, +streams from the sod into the summer, checked indeed by the frost, but +anon pushing on again, lifting its spear of last year’s hay with the +fresh life below. It grows as steadily as the rill oozes out of the +ground. It is almost identical with that, for in the growing days of +June, when the rills are dry, the grass blades are their channels, and +from year to year the herds drink at this perennial green stream, and +the mower draws from it betimes their winter supply. So our human life +but dies down to its root, and still puts forth its green blade to +eternity. + +Walden is melting apace. There is a canal two rods wide along the +northerly and westerly sides, and wider still at the east end. A great +field of ice has cracked off from the main body. I hear a song-sparrow +singing from the bushes on the shore,—_olit_, _olit_, _olit,_—_chip_, +_chip_, _chip_, _che char_,—_che wiss_, _wiss_, _wiss_. He too is +helping to crack it. How handsome the great sweeping curves in the edge +of the ice, answering somewhat to those of the shore, but more regular! +It is unusually hard, owing to the recent severe but transient cold, +and all watered or waved like a palace floor. But the wind slides +eastward over its opaque surface in vain, till it reaches the living +surface beyond. It is glorious to behold this ribbon of water sparkling +in the sun, the bare face of the pond full of glee and youth, as if it +spoke the joy of the fishes within it, and of the sands on its shore,—a +silvery sheen as from the scales of a _leuciscus_, as it were all one +active fish. Such is the contrast between winter and spring. Walden was +dead and is alive again. But this spring it broke up more steadily, as +I have said. + +The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather, from dark +and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones, is a memorable crisis +which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last. +Suddenly an influx of light filled my house, though the evening was at +hand, and the clouds of winter still overhung it, and the eaves were +dripping with sleety rain. I looked out the window, and lo! where +yesterday was cold gray ice there lay the transparent pond already calm +and full of hope as in a summer evening, reflecting a summer evening +sky in its bosom, though none was visible overhead, as if it had +intelligence with some remote horizon. I heard a robin in the distance, +the first I had heard for many a thousand years, methought, whose note +I shall not forget for many a thousand more,—the same sweet and +powerful song as of yore. O the evening robin, at the end of a New +England summer day! If I could ever find the twig he sits upon! I mean +_he_; I mean _the twig_. This at least is not the _Turdus migratorius_. +The pitch-pines and shrub-oaks about my house, which had so long +drooped, suddenly resumed their several characters, looked brighter, +greener, and more erect and alive, as if effectually cleansed and +restored by the rain. I knew that it would not rain any more. You may +tell by looking at any twig of the forest, ay, at your very wood-pile, +whether its winter is past or not. As it grew darker, I was startled by +the _honking_ of geese flying low over the woods, like weary travellers +getting in late from southern lakes, and indulging at last in +unrestrained complaint and mutual consolation. Standing at my door, I +could hear the rush of their wings; when, driving toward my house, they +suddenly spied my light, and with hushed clamor wheeled and settled in +the pond. So I came in, and shut the door, and passed my first spring +night in the woods. + +In the morning I watched the geese from the door through the mist, +sailing in the middle of the pond, fifty rods off, so large and +tumultuous that Walden appeared like an artificial pond for their +amusement. But when I stood on the shore they at once rose up with a +great flapping of wings at the signal of their commander, and when they +had got into rank circled about over my head, twenty-nine of them, and +then steered straight to Canada, with a regular _honk_ from the leader +at intervals, trusting to break their fast in muddier pools. A “plump” +of ducks rose at the same time and took the route to the north in the +wake of their noisier cousins. + +For a week I heard the circling, groping clangor of some solitary goose +in the foggy mornings, seeking its companion, and still peopling the +woods with the sound of a larger life than they could sustain. In April +the pigeons were seen again flying express in small flocks, and in due +time I heard the martins twittering over my clearing, though it had not +seemed that the township contained so many that it could afford me any, +and I fancied that they were peculiarly of the ancient race that dwelt +in hollow trees ere white men came. In almost all climes the tortoise +and the frog are among the precursors and heralds of this season, and +birds fly with song and glancing plumage, and plants spring and bloom, +and winds blow, to correct this slight oscillation of the poles and +preserve the equilibrium of Nature. + +As every season seems best to us in its turn, so the coming in of +spring is like the creation of Cosmos out of Chaos and the realization +of the Golden Age.— + + “Eurus ad Auroram Nabathæaque regna recessit, + Persidaque, et radiis juga subdita matutinis.” + + “The East-Wind withdrew to Aurora and the Nabathæan kingdom, + And the Persian, and the ridges placed under the morning rays + + * * * * + + Man was born. Whether that Artificer of things, + The origin of a better world, made him from the divine seed; + Or the earth, being recent and lately sundered from the high + Ether, retained some seeds of cognate heaven.” + +A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our +prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be +blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every +accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence +of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in +atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our +duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring. In a pleasant +spring morning all men’s sins are forgiven. Such a day is a truce to +vice. While such a sun holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return. +Through our own recovered innocence we discern the innocence of our +neighbors. You may have known your neighbor yesterday for a thief, a +drunkard, or a sensualist, and merely pitied or despised him, and +despaired of the world; but the sun shines bright and warm this first +spring morning, re-creating the world, and you meet him at some serene +work, and see how his exhausted and debauched veins expand with still +joy and bless the new day, feel the spring influence with the innocence +of infancy, and all his faults are forgotten. There is not only an +atmosphere of good will about him, but even a savor of holiness groping +for expression, blindly and ineffectually perhaps, like a new-born +instinct, and for a short hour the south hill-side echoes to no vulgar +jest. You see some innocent fair shoots preparing to burst from his +gnarled rind and try another year’s life, tender and fresh as the +youngest plant. Even he has entered into the joy of his Lord. Why the +jailer does not leave open his prison doors,—why the judge does not +dismis his case,—why the preacher does not dismiss his congregation! It +is because they do not obey the hint which God gives them, nor accept +the pardon which he freely offers to all. + +“A return to goodness produced each day in the tranquil and beneficent +breath of the morning, causes that in respect to the love of virtue and +the hatred of vice, one approaches a little the primitive nature of +man, as the sprouts of the forest which has been felled. In like manner +the evil which one does in the interval of a day prevents the germs of +virtues which began to spring up again from developing themselves and +destroys them. + +“After the germs of virtue have thus been prevented many times from +developing themselves, then the beneficent breath of evening does not +suffice to preserve them. As soon as the breath of evening does not +suffice longer to preserve them, then the nature of man does not differ +much from that of the brute. Men seeing the nature of this man like +that of the brute, think that he has never possessed the innate faculty +of reason. Are those the true and natural sentiments of man?” + + “The Golden Age was first created, which without any avenger + Spontaneously without law cherished fidelity and rectitude. + Punishment and fear were not; nor were threatening words read + On suspended brass; nor did the suppliant crowd fear + The words of their judge; but were safe without an avenger. + Not yet the pine felled on its mountains had descended + To the liquid waves that it might see a foreign world, + And mortals knew no shores but their own. + * * * * + There was eternal spring, and placid zephyrs with warm + Blasts soothed the flowers born without seed.” + +On the 29th of April, as I was fishing from the bank of the river near +the Nine-Acre-Corner bridge, standing on the quaking grass and willow +roots, where the muskrats lurk, I heard a singular rattling sound, +somewhat like that of the sticks which boys play with their fingers, +when, looking up, I observed a very slight and graceful hawk, like a +night-hawk, alternately soaring like a ripple and tumbling a rod or two +over and over, showing the underside of its wings, which gleamed like a +satin ribbon in the sun, or like the pearly inside of a shell. This +sight reminded me of falconry and what nobleness and poetry are +associated with that sport. The Merlin it seemed to me it might be +called: but I care not for its name. It was the most ethereal flight I +had ever witnessed. It did not simply flutter like a butterfly, nor +soar like the larger hawks, but it sported with proud reliance in the +fields of air; mounting again and again with its strange chuckle, it +repeated its free and beautiful fall, turning over and over like a +kite, and then recovering from its lofty tumbling, as if it had never +set its foot on _terra firma_. It appeared to have no companion in the +universe,—sporting there alone,—and to need none but the morning and +the ether with which it played. It was not lonely, but made all the +earth lonely beneath it. Where was the parent which hatched it, its +kindred, and its father in the heavens? The tenant of the air, it +seemed related to the earth but by an egg hatched some time in the +crevice of a crag;—or was its native nest made in the angle of a cloud, +woven of the rainbow’s trimmings and the sunset sky, and lined with +some soft midsummer haze caught up from earth? Its eyry now some cliffy +cloud. + +Beside this I got a rare mess of golden and silver and bright cupreous +fishes, which looked like a string of jewels. Ah! I have penetrated to +those meadows on the morning of many a first spring day, jumping from +hummock to hummock, from willow root to willow root, when the wild +river valley and the woods were bathed in so pure and bright a light as +would have waked the dead, if they had been slumbering in their graves, +as some suppose. There needs no stronger proof of immortality. All +things must live in such a light. O Death, where was thy sting? O +Grave, where was thy victory, then? + +Our village life would stagnate if it were not for the unexplored +forests and meadows which surround it. We need the tonic of +wildness,—to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the +meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the +whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds +her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground. At +the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we +require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and +sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because +unfathomable. We can never have enough of Nature. We must be refreshed +by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and Titanic features, the +sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its +decaying trees, the thunder cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks +and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, +and some life pasturing freely where we never wander. We are cheered +when we observe the vulture feeding on the carrion which disgusts and +disheartens us and deriving health and strength from the repast. There +was a dead horse in the hollow by the path to my house, which compelled +me sometimes to go out of my way, especially in the night when the air +was heavy, but the assurance it gave me of the strong appetite and +inviolable health of Nature was my compensation for this. I love to see +that Nature is so rife with life that myriads can be afforded to be +sacrificed and suffered to prey on one another; that tender +organizations can be so serenely squashed out of existence like +pulp,—tadpoles which herons gobble up, and tortoises and toads run over +in the road; and that sometimes it has rained flesh and blood! With the +liability to accident, we must see how little account is to be made of +it. The impression made on a wise man is that of universal innocence. +Poison is not poisonous after all, nor are any wounds fatal. Compassion +is a very untenable ground. It must be expeditious. Its pleadings will +not bear to be stereotyped. + +Early in May, the oaks, hickories, maples, and other trees, just +putting out amidst the pine woods around the pond, imparted a +brightness like sunshine to the landscape, especially in cloudy days, +as if the sun were breaking through mists and shining faintly on the +hill-sides here and there. On the third or fourth of May I saw a loon +in the pond, and during the first week of the month I heard the +whippoorwill, the brown-thrasher, the veery, the wood-pewee, the +chewink, and other birds. I had heard the wood-thrush long before. The +phœbe had already come once more and looked in at my door and window, +to see if my house was cavern-like enough for her, sustaining herself +on humming wings with clinched talons, as if she held by the air, while +she surveyed the premises. The sulphur-like pollen of the pitch-pine +soon covered the pond and the stones and rotten wood along the shore, +so that you could have collected a barrel-ful. This is the “sulphur +showers” we hear of. Even in Calidas’ drama of Sacontala, we read of +“rills dyed yellow with the golden dust of the lotus.” And so the +seasons went rolling on into summer, as one rambles into higher and +higher grass. + +Thus was my first year’s life in the woods completed; and the second +year was similar to it. I finally left Walden September 6th, 1847. + + +Conclusion + +To the sick the doctors wisely recommend a change of air and scenery. +Thank Heaven, here is not all the world. The buck-eye does not grow in +New England, and the mocking-bird is rarely heard here. The wild-goose +is more of a cosmopolite than we; he breaks his fast in Canada, takes a +luncheon in the Ohio, and plumes himself for the night in a southern +bayou. Even the bison, to some extent, keeps pace with the seasons, +cropping the pastures of the Colorado only till a greener and sweeter +grass awaits him by the Yellowstone. Yet we think that if rail-fences +are pulled down, and stone-walls piled up on our farms, bounds are +henceforth set to our lives and our fates decided. If you are chosen +town-clerk, forsooth, you cannot go to Tierra del Fuego this summer: +but you may go to the land of infernal fire nevertheless. The universe +is wider than our views of it. + +Yet we should oftener look over the tafferel of our craft, like curious +passengers, and not make the voyage like stupid sailors picking oakum. +The other side of the globe is but the home of our correspondent. Our +voyaging is only great-circle sailing, and the doctors prescribe for +diseases of the skin merely. One hastens to Southern Africa to chase +the giraffe; but surely that is not the game he would be after. How +long, pray, would a man hunt giraffes if he could? Snipes and woodcocks +also may afford rare sport; but I trust it would be nobler game to +shoot one’s self.— + + “Direct your eye right inward, and you’ll find + A thousand regions in your mind + Yet undiscovered. Travel them, and be + Expert in home-cosmography.” + +What does Africa,—what does the West stand for? Is not our own interior +white on the chart? black though it may prove, like the coast, when +discovered. Is it the source of the Nile, or the Niger, or the +Mississippi, or a North-West Passage around this continent, that we +would find? Are these the problems which most concern mankind? Is +Franklin the only man who is lost, that his wife should be so earnest +to find him? Does Mr. Grinnell know where he himself is? Be rather the +Mungo Park, the Lewis and Clarke and Frobisher, of your own streams and +oceans; explore your own higher latitudes,—with shiploads of preserved +meats to support you, if they be necessary; and pile the empty cans +sky-high for a sign. Were preserved meats invented to preserve meat +merely? Nay, be a Columbus to whole new continents and worlds within +you, opening new channels, not of trade, but of thought. Every man is +the lord of a realm beside which the earthly empire of the Czar is but +a petty state, a hummock left by the ice. Yet some can be patriotic who +have no _self_-respect, and sacrifice the greater to the less. They +love the soil which makes their graves, but have no sympathy with the +spirit which may still animate their clay. Patriotism is a maggot in +their heads. What was the meaning of that South-Sea Exploring +Expedition, with all its parade and expense, but an indirect +recognition of the fact, that there are continents and seas in the +moral world to which every man is an isthmus or an inlet, yet +unexplored by him, but that it is easier to sail many thousand miles +through cold and storm and cannibals, in a government ship, with five +hundred men and boys to assist one, than it is to explore the private +sea, the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean of one’s being alone.— + + “Erret, et extremos alter scrutetur Iberos. + Plus habet hic vitæ, plus habet ille viæ.” + + Let them wander and scrutinize the outlandish Australians. + I have more of God, they more of the road. + +It is not worth the while to go round the world to count the cats in +Zanzibar. Yet do this even till you can do better, and you may perhaps +find some “Symmes’ Hole” by which to get at the inside at last. England +and France, Spain and Portugal, Gold Coast and Slave Coast, all front +on this private sea; but no bark from them has ventured out of sight of +land, though it is without doubt the direct way to India. If you would +learn to speak all tongues and conform to the customs of all nations, +if you would travel farther than all travellers, be naturalized in all +climes, and cause the Sphinx to dash her head against a stone, even +obey the precept of the old philosopher, and Explore thyself. Herein +are demanded the eye and the nerve. Only the defeated and deserters go +to the wars, cowards that run away and enlist. Start now on that +farthest western way, which does not pause at the Mississippi or the +Pacific, nor conduct toward a worn-out China or Japan, but leads on +direct a tangent to this sphere, summer and winter, day and night, sun +down, moon down, and at last earth down too. + +It is said that Mirabeau took to highway robbery “to ascertain what +degree of resolution was necessary in order to place one’s self in +formal opposition to the most sacred laws of society.” He declared that +“a soldier who fights in the ranks does not require half so much +courage as a foot-pad,”—“that honor and religion have never stood in +the way of a well-considered and a firm resolve.” This was manly, as +the world goes; and yet it was idle, if not desperate. A saner man +would have found himself often enough “in formal opposition” to what +are deemed “the most sacred laws of society,” through obedience to yet +more sacred laws, and so have tested his resolution without going out +of his way. It is not for a man to put himself in such an attitude to +society, but to maintain himself in whatever attitude he find himself +through obedience to the laws of his being, which will never be one of +opposition to a just government, if he should chance to meet with such. + +I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it +seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare +any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly +we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves. +I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to +the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it +is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear that others may have fallen +into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is +soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which +the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the +world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity! I did not wish to +take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck +of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the +mountains. I do not wish to go below now. + +I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances +confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the +life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in +common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible +boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish +themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and +interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with +the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies +his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and +solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness +weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be +lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. + +It is a ridiculous demand which England and America make, that you +shall speak so that they can understand you. Neither men nor +toad-stools grow so. As if that were important, and there were not +enough to understand you without them. As if Nature could support but +one order of understandings, could not sustain birds as well as +quadrupeds, flying as well as creeping things, and _hush_ and _who_, +which Bright can understand, were the best English. As if there were +safety in stupidity alone. I fear chiefly lest my expression may not be +_extra-vagant_ enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow +limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of +which I have been convinced. _Extra vagance!_ it depends on how you are +yarded. The migrating buffalo, which seeks new pastures in another +latitude, is not extravagant like the cow which kicks over the pail, +leaps the cow-yard fence, and runs after her calf, in milking time. I +desire to speak somewhere _without_ bounds; like a man in a waking +moment, to men in their waking moments; for I am convinced that I +cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundation of a true +expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he +should speak extravagantly any more forever? In view of the future or +possible, we should live quite laxly and undefined in front, our +outlines dim and misty on that side; as our shadows reveal an +insensible perspiration toward the sun. The volatile truth of our words +should continually betray the inadequacy of the residual statement. +Their truth is instantly _translated_; its literal monument alone +remains. The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; +yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior +natures. + +Why level downward to our dullest perception always, and praise that as +common sense? The commonest sense is the sense of men asleep, which +they express by snoring. Sometimes we are inclined to class those who +are once-and-a-half-witted with the half-witted, because we appreciate +only a third part of their wit. Some would find fault with the +morning-red, if they ever got up early enough. “They pretend,” as I +hear, “that the verses of Kabir have four different senses; illusion, +spirit, intellect, and the exoteric doctrine of the Vedas;” but in this +part of the world it is considered a ground for complaint if a man’s +writings admit of more than one interpretation. While England endeavors +to cure the potato-rot, will not any endeavor to cure the brain-rot, +which prevails so much more widely and fatally? + +I do not suppose that I have attained to obscurity, but I should be +proud if no more fatal fault were found with my pages on this score +than was found with the Walden ice. Southern customers objected to its +blue color, which is the evidence of its purity, as if it were muddy, +and preferred the Cambridge ice, which is white, but tastes of weeds. +The purity men love is like the mists which envelop the earth, and not +like the azure ether beyond. + +Some are dinning in our ears that we Americans, and moderns generally, +are intellectual dwarfs compared with the ancients, or even the +Elizabethan men. But what is that to the purpose? A living dog is +better than a dead lion. Shall a man go and hang himself because he +belongs to the race of pygmies, and not be the biggest pygmy that he +can? Let every one mind his own business, and endeavor to be what he +was made. + +Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such +desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, +perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the +music which he hears, however measured or far away. It is not important +that he should mature as soon as an apple-tree or an oak. Shall he turn +his spring into summer? If the condition of things which we were made +for is not yet, what were any reality which we can substitute? We will +not be shipwrecked on a vain reality. Shall we with pains erect a +heaven of blue glass over ourselves, though when it is done we shall be +sure to gaze still at the true ethereal heaven far above, as if the +former were not? + +There was an artist in the city of Kouroo who was disposed to strive +after perfection. One day it came into his mind to make a staff. Having +considered that in an imperfect work time is an ingredient, but into a +perfect work time does not enter, he said to himself, It shall be +perfect in all respects, though I should do nothing else in my life. He +proceeded instantly to the forest for wood, being resolved that it +should not be made of unsuitable material; and as he searched for and +rejected stick after stick, his friends gradually deserted him, for +they grew old in their works and died, but he grew not older by a +moment. His singleness of purpose and resolution, and his elevated +piety, endowed him, without his knowledge, with perennial youth. As he +made no compromise with Time, Time kept out of his way, and only sighed +at a distance because he could not overcome him. Before he had found a +stock in all respects suitable the city of Kouroo was a hoary ruin, and +he sat on one of its mounds to peel the stick. Before he had given it +the proper shape the dynasty of the Candahars was at an end, and with +the point of the stick he wrote the name of the last of that race in +the sand, and then resumed his work. By the time he had smoothed and +polished the staff Kalpa was no longer the pole-star; and ere he had +put on the ferrule and the head adorned with precious stones, Brahma +had awoke and slumbered many times. But why do I stay to mention these +things? When the finishing stroke was put to his work, it suddenly +expanded before the eyes of the astonished artist into the fairest of +all the creations of Brahma. He had made a new system in making a +staff, a world with full and fair proportions; in which, though the old +cities and dynasties had passed away, fairer and more glorious ones had +taken their places. And now he saw by the heap of shavings still fresh +at his feet, that, for him and his work, the former lapse of time had +been an illusion, and that no more time had elapsed than is required +for a single scintillation from the brain of Brahma to fall on and +inflame the tinder of a mortal brain. The material was pure, and his +art was pure; how could the result be other than wonderful? + +No face which we can give to a matter will stead us so well at last as +the truth. This alone wears well. For the most part, we are not where +we are, but in a false position. Through an infirmity of our natures, +we suppose a case, and put ourselves into it, and hence are in two +cases at the same time, and it is doubly difficult to get out. In sane +moments we regard only the facts, the case that is. Say what you have +to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe. Tom +Hyde, the tinker, standing on the gallows, was asked if he had anything +to say. “Tell the tailors,” said he, “to remember to make a knot in +their thread before they take the first stitch.” His companion’s prayer +is forgotten. + +However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call +it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you +are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love +your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, +thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-house. The setting sun is +reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brightly as from the +rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the +spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, +and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace. The town’s poor seem to +me often to live the most independent lives of any. May be they are +simply great enough to receive without misgiving. Most think that they +are above being supported by the town; but it oftener happens that they +are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means, which should be +more disreputable. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do +not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or +friends. Turn the old; return to them. Things do not change; we change. +Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts. God will see that you do not +want society. If I were confined to a corner of a garret all my days, +like a spider, the world would be just as large to me while I had my +thoughts about me. The philosopher said: “From an army of three +divisions one can take away its general, and put it in disorder; from +the man the most abject and vulgar one cannot take away his thought.” +Do not seek so anxiously to be developed, to subject yourself to many +influences to be played on; it is all dissipation. Humility like +darkness reveals the heavenly lights. The shadows of poverty and +meanness gather around us, “and lo! creation widens to our view.” We +are often reminded that if there were bestowed on us the wealth of +Crœsus, our aims must still be the same, and our means essentially the +same. Moreover, if you are restricted in your range by poverty, if you +cannot buy books and newspapers, for instance, you are but confined to +the most significant and vital experiences; you are compelled to deal +with the material which yields the most sugar and the most starch. It +is life near the bone where it is sweetest. You are defended from being +a trifler. No man loses ever on a lower level by magnanimity on a +higher. Superfluous wealth can buy superfluities only. Money is not +required to buy one necessary of the soul. + +I live in the angle of a leaden wall, into whose composition was poured +a little alloy of bell metal. Often, in the repose of my mid-day, there +reaches my ears a confused _tintinnabulum_ from without. It is the +noise of my contemporaries. My neighbors tell me of their adventures +with famous gentlemen and ladies, what notabilities they met at the +dinner-table; but I am no more interested in such things than in the +contents of the Daily Times. The interest and the conversation are +about costume and manners chiefly; but a goose is a goose still, dress +it as you will. They tell me of California and Texas, of England and +the Indies, of the Hon. Mr. —— of Georgia or of Massachusetts, all +transient and fleeting phenomena, till I am ready to leap from their +court-yard like the Mameluke bey. I delight to come to my bearings,—not +walk in procession with pomp and parade, in a conspicuous place, but to +walk even with the Builder of the universe, if I may,—not to live in +this restless, nervous, bustling, trivial Nineteenth Century, but stand +or sit thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men celebrating? They +are all on a committee of arrangements, and hourly expect a speech from +somebody. God is only the president of the day, and Webster is his +orator. I love to weigh, to settle, to gravitate toward that which most +strongly and rightfully attracts me;—not hang by the beam of the scale +and try to weigh less,—not suppose a case, but take the case that is; +to travel the only path I can, and that on which no power can resist +me. It affords me no satisfaction to commence to spring an arch before +I have got a solid foundation. Let us not play at kittly-benders. There +is a solid bottom every where. We read that the traveller asked the boy +if the swamp before him had a hard bottom. The boy replied that it had. +But presently the traveller’s horse sank in up to the girths, and he +observed to the boy, “I thought you said that this bog had a hard +bottom.” “So it has,” answered the latter, “but you have not got half +way to it yet.” So it is with the bogs and quicksands of society; but +he is an old boy that knows it. Only what is thought, said, or done at a +certain rare coincidence is good. I would not be one of those who will +foolishly drive a nail into mere lath and plastering; such a deed would +keep me awake nights. Give me a hammer, and let me feel for the +furring. Do not depend on the putty. Drive a nail home and clinch it so +faithfully that you can wake up in the night and think of your work +with satisfaction,—a work at which you would not be ashamed to invoke +the Muse. So will help you God, and so only. Every nail driven should +be as another rivet in the machine of the universe, you carrying on the +work. + +Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. I sat at a +table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious +attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry +from the inhospitable board. The hospitality was as cold as the ices. I +thought that there was no need of ice to freeze them. They talked to me +of the age of the wine and the fame of the vintage; but I thought of an +older, a newer, and purer wine, of a more glorious vintage, which they +had not got, and could not buy. The style, the house and grounds and +“entertainment” pass for nothing with me. I called on the king, but he +made me wait in his hall, and conducted like a man incapacitated for +hospitality. There was a man in my neighborhood who lived in a hollow +tree. His manners were truly regal. I should have done better had I +called on him. + +How long shall we sit in our porticoes practising idle and musty +virtues, which any work would make impertinent? As if one were to begin +the day with long-suffering, and hire a man to hoe his potatoes; and in +the afternoon go forth to practise Christian meekness and charity with +goodness aforethought! Consider the China pride and stagnant +self-complacency of mankind. This generation inclines a little to +congratulate itself on being the last of an illustrious line; and in +Boston and London and Paris and Rome, thinking of its long descent, it +speaks of its progress in art and science and literature with +satisfaction. There are the Records of the Philosophical Societies, and +the public Eulogies of _Great Men!_ It is the good Adam contemplating +his own virtue. “Yes, we have done great deeds, and sung divine songs, +which shall never die,”—that is, as long as _we_ can remember them. The +learned societies and great men of Assyria,—where are they? What +youthful philosophers and experimentalists we are! There is not one of +my readers who has yet lived a whole human life. These may be but the +spring months in the life of the race. If we have had the seven-years’ +itch, we have not seen the seventeen-year locust yet in Concord. We are +acquainted with a mere pellicle of the globe on which we live. Most +have not delved six feet beneath the surface, nor leaped as many above +it. We know not where we are. Beside, we are sound asleep nearly half +our time. Yet we esteem ourselves wise, and have an established order +on the surface. Truly, we are deep thinkers, we are ambitious spirits! +As I stand over the insect crawling amid the pine needles on the forest +floor, and endeavoring to conceal itself from my sight, and ask myself +why it will cherish those humble thoughts, and hide its head from me +who might, perhaps, be its benefactor, and impart to its race some +cheering information, I am reminded of the greater Benefactor and +Intelligence that stands over me the human insect. + +There is an incessant influx of novelty into the world, and yet we +tolerate incredible dulness. I need only suggest what kind of sermons +are still listened to in the most enlightened countries. There are such +words as joy and sorrow, but they are only the burden of a psalm, sung +with a nasal twang, while we believe in the ordinary and mean. We think +that we can change our clothes only. It is said that the British Empire +is very large and respectable, and that the United States are a +first-rate power. We do not believe that a tide rises and falls behind +every man which can float the British Empire like a chip, if he should +ever harbor it in his mind. Who knows what sort of seventeen-year +locust will next come out of the ground? The government of the world I +live in was not framed, like that of Britain, in after-dinner +conversations over the wine. + +The life in us is like the water in the river. It may rise this year +higher than man has ever known it, and flood the parched uplands; even +this may be the eventful year, which will drown out all our muskrats. +It was not always dry land where we dwell. I see far inland the banks +which the stream anciently washed, before science began to record its +freshets. Every one has heard the story which has gone the rounds of +New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry +leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had stood in a farmer’s +kitchen for sixty years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in +Massachusetts,—from an egg deposited in the living tree many years +earlier still, as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it; +which was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the +heat of an urn. Who does not feel his faith in a resurrection and +immortality strengthened by hearing of this? Who knows what beautiful +and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many +concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society, +deposited at first in the alburnum of the green and living tree, which +has been gradually converted into the semblance of its well-seasoned +tomb,—heard perchance gnawing out now for years by the astonished +family of man, as they sat round the festive board,—may unexpectedly +come forth from amidst society’s most trivial and handselled furniture, +to enjoy its perfect summer life at last! + +I do not say that John or Jonathan will realize all this; but such is +the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to +dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that +day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is +but a morning star. + +THE END + + + +ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE + +I heartily accept the motto,—“That government is best which governs +least;” and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and +systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I +believe—“That government is best which governs not at all;” and when +men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they +will have. Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments +are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The +objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they +are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be +brought against a standing government. The standing army is only an arm +of the standing government. The government itself, which is only the +mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally +liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it. +Witness the present Mexican war, the work of comparatively a few +individuals using the standing government as their tool; for, in the +outset, the people would not have consented to this measure. + +This American government,—what is it but a tradition, though a recent +one, endeavoring to transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but each +instant losing some of its integrity? It has not the vitality and force +of a single living man; for a single man can bend it to his will. It is +a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves; and, if ever they should +use it in earnest as a real one against each other, it will surely +split. But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must +have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy +that idea of government which they have. Governments show thus how +successfully men can be imposed on, even impose on themselves, for +their own advantage. It is excellent, we must all allow; yet this +government never of itself furthered any enterprise, but by the +alacrity with which it got out of its way. _It_ does not keep the +country free. _It_ does not settle the West. _It_ does not educate. The +character inherent in the American people has done all that has been +accomplished; and it would have done somewhat more, if the government +had not sometimes got in its way. For government is an expedient, by +which men would fain succeed in letting one another alone; and, as has +been said, when it is most expedient, the governed are most let alone +by it. Trade and commerce, if they were not made of India rubber, would +never manage to bounce over obstacles which legislators are continually +putting in their way; and, if one were to judge these men wholly by the +effects of their actions, and not partly by their intentions, they +would deserve to be classed and punished with those mischievous persons +who put obstructions on the railroads. + +But, to speak practically and as a citizen, unlike those who call +themselves no-government men, I ask for, not at once no government, but +_at once_ a better government. Let every man make known what kind of +government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward +obtaining it. + +After all, the practical reason why, when the power is once in the +hands of the people, a majority are permitted, and for a long period +continue, to rule, is not because they are most likely to be in the +right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they +are physically the strongest. But a government in which the majority +rule in all cases can not be based on justice, even as far as men +understand it. Can there not be a government in which the majorities do +not virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience?—in which +majorities decide only those questions to which the rule of expediency +is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or in the least +degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a +conscience, then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects +afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so +much as for the right. The only obligation which I have a right to +assume, is to do at any time what I think right. It is truly enough +said that a corporation has no conscience; but a corporation of +conscientious men is a corporation _with_ a conscience. Law never made +men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the +well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice. A common and +natural result of an undue respect for the law is, that you may see a +file of soldiers, colonel, captain, corporal, privates, powder-monkeys +and all, marching in admirable order over hill and dale to the wars, +against their wills, aye, against their common sense and consciences, +which makes it very steep marching indeed, and produces a palpitation +of the heart. They have no doubt that it is a damnable business in +which they are concerned; they are all peaceably inclined. Now, what +are they? Men at all? or small movable forts and magazines, at the +service of some unscrupulous man in power? Visit the Navy Yard, and +behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such +as it can make a man with its black arts, a mere shadow and +reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and standing, and +already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniment, +though it may be + + “Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, + As his corpse to the ramparts we hurried; + Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot + O’er the grave where our hero we buried.” + +The mass of men serve the State thus, not as men mainly, but as +machines, with their bodies. They are the standing army, and the +militia, jailers, constables, _posse comitatus_, &c. In most cases +there is no free exercise whatever of the judgment or of the moral +sense; but they put themselves on a level with wood and earth and +stones; and wooden men can perhaps be manufactured that will serve the +purpose as well. Such command no more respect than men of straw, or a +lump of dirt. They have the same sort of worth only as horses and dogs. +Yet such as these even are commonly esteemed good citizens. Others, as +most legislators, politicians, lawyers, ministers, and office-holders, +serve the state chiefly with their heads; and, as they rarely make any +moral distinctions, they are as likely to serve the devil, without +_intending_ it, as God. A very few, as heroes, patriots, martyrs, +reformers in the great sense, and _men_, serve the State with their +consciences also, and so necessarily resist it for the most part; and +they are commonly treated by it as enemies. A wise man will only be +useful as a man, and will not submit to be “clay,” and “stop a hole to +keep the wind away,” but leave that office to his dust at least: + + “I am too high-born to be propertied, + To be a secondary at control, + Or useful serving-man and instrument + To any sovereign state throughout the world.” + +He who gives himself entirely to his fellow-men appears to them useless +and selfish; but he who gives himself partially to them is pronounced a +benefactor and philanthropist. + +How does it become a man to behave toward the American government +today? I answer that he cannot without disgrace be associated with it. +I cannot for an instant recognize that political organization as _my_ +government which is the _slave’s_ government also. + +All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse +allegiance to and to resist the government, when its tyranny or its +inefficiency are great and unendurable. But almost all say that such is +not the case now. But such was the case, they think, in the Revolution +of ’75. If one were to tell me that this was a bad government because +it taxed certain foreign commodities brought to its ports, it is most +probable that I should not make an ado about it, for I can do without +them: all machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough +good to counter-balance the evil. At any rate, it is a great evil to +make a stir about it. But when the friction comes to have its machine, +and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a +machine any longer. In other words, when a sixth of the population of a +nation which has undertaken to be the refuge of liberty are slaves, and +a whole country is unjustly overrun and conquered by a foreign army, +and subjected to military law, I think that it is not too soon for +honest men to rebel and revolutionize. What makes this duty the more +urgent is that fact, that the country so overrun is not our own, but +ours is the invading army. + +Paley, a common authority with many on moral questions, in his chapter +on the “Duty of Submission to Civil Government,” resolves all civil +obligation into expediency; and he proceeds to say, “that so long as +the interest of the whole society requires it, that is, so long as the +established government cannot be resisted or changed without public +inconveniency, it is the will of God that the established government be +obeyed, and no longer.”—“This principle being admitted, the justice of +every particular case of resistance is reduced to a computation of the +quantity of the danger and grievance on the one side, and of the +probability and expense of redressing it on the other.” Of this, he +says, every man shall judge for himself. But Paley appears never to +have contemplated those cases to which the rule of expediency does not +apply, in which a people, as well as an individual, must do justice, +cost what it may. If I have unjustly wrested a plank from a drowning +man, I must restore it to him though I drown myself. This, according to +Paley, would be inconvenient. But he that would save his life, in such +a case, shall lose it. This people must cease to hold slaves, and to +make war on Mexico, though it cost them their existence as a people. + +In their practice, nations agree with Paley; but does anyone think that +Massachusetts does exactly what is right at the present crisis? + + “A drab of state, a cloth-o’-silver slut, + To have her train borne up, and her soul trail in the dirt.” + +Practically speaking, the opponents to a reform in Massachusetts are +not a hundred thousand politicians at the South, but a hundred thousand +merchants and farmers here, who are more interested in commerce and +agriculture than they are in humanity, and are not prepared to do +justice to the slave and to Mexico, _cost what it may_. I quarrel not +with far-off foes, but with those who, near at home, co-operate with, +and do the bidding of those far away, and without whom the latter would +be harmless. We are accustomed to say, that the mass of men are +unprepared; but improvement is slow, because the few are not materially +wiser or better than the many. It is not so important that many should +be as good as you, as that there be some absolute goodness somewhere; +for that will leaven the whole lump. There are thousands who are _in +opinion_ opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do +nothing to put an end to them; who, esteeming themselves children of +Washington and Franklin, sit down with their hands in their pockets, +and say that they know not what to do, and do nothing; who even +postpone the question of freedom to the question of free-trade, and +quietly read the prices-current along with the latest advices from +Mexico, after dinner, and, it may be, fall asleep over them both. What +is the price-current of an honest man and patriot today? They hesitate, +and they regret, and sometimes they petition; but they do nothing in +earnest and with effect. They will wait, well disposed, for others to +remedy the evil, that they may no longer have it to regret. At most, +they give only a cheap vote, and a feeble countenance and Godspeed, to +the right, as it goes by them. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine +patrons of virtue to one virtuous man; but it is easier to deal with +the real possessor of a thing than with the temporary guardian of it. + +All voting is a sort of gaming, like chequers or backgammon, with a +slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral +questions; and betting naturally accompanies it. The character of the +voters is not staked. I cast my vote, perchance, as I think right; but +I am not vitally concerned that that right should prevail. I am willing +to leave it to the majority. Its obligation, therefore, never exceeds +that of expediency. Even voting _for the right_ is _doing_ nothing for +it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should +prevail. A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, +nor wish it to prevail through the power of the majority. There is but +little virtue in the action of masses of men. When the majority shall +at length vote for the abolition of slavery, it will be because they +are indifferent to slavery, or because there is but little slavery left +to be abolished by their vote. _They_ will then be the only slaves. +Only _his_ vote can hasten the abolition of slavery who asserts his own +freedom by his vote. + +I hear of a convention to be held at Baltimore, or elsewhere, for the +selection of a candidate for the Presidency, made up chiefly of +editors, and men who are politicians by profession; but I think, what +is it to any independent, intelligent, and respectable man what +decision they may come to, shall we not have the advantage of his +wisdom and honesty, nevertheless? Can we not count upon some +independent votes? Are there not many individuals in the country who do +not attend conventions? But no: I find that the respectable man, so +called, has immediately drifted from his position, and despairs of his +country, when his country has more reasons to despair of him. He +forthwith adopts one of the candidates thus selected as the only +_available_ one, thus proving that he is himself _available_ for any +purposes of the demagogue. His vote is of no more worth than that of +any unprincipled foreigner or hireling native, who may have been +bought. Oh for a man who is a _man_, and, as my neighbor says, has a +bone in his back which you cannot pass your hand through! Our +statistics are at fault: the population has been returned too large. +How many _men_ are there to a square thousand miles in the country? +Hardly one. Does not America offer any inducement for men to settle +here? The American has dwindled into an Odd Fellow,—one who may be +known by the development of his organ of gregariousness, and a manifest +lack of intellect and cheerful self-reliance; whose first and chief +concern, on coming into the world, is to see that the alms-houses are +in good repair; and, before yet he has lawfully donned the virile garb, +to collect a fund for the support of the widows and orphans that may +be; who, in short, ventures to live only by the aid of the Mutual +Insurance company, which has promised to bury him decently. + +It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the +eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong; he may still properly +have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to +wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to +give it practically his support. If I devote myself to other pursuits +and contemplations, I must first see, at least, that I do not pursue +them sitting upon another man’s shoulders. I must get off him first, +that he may pursue his contemplations too. See what gross inconsistency +is tolerated. I have heard some of my townsmen say, “I should like to +have them order me out to help put down an insurrection of the slaves, +or to march to Mexico,—see if I would go;” and yet these very men have +each, directly by their allegiance, and so indirectly, at least, by +their money, furnished a substitute. The soldier is applauded who +refuses to serve in an unjust war by those who do not refuse to sustain +the unjust government which makes the war; is applauded by those whose +own act and authority he disregards and sets at naught; as if the State +were penitent to that degree that it hired one to scourge it while it +sinned, but not to that degree that it left off sinning for a moment. +Thus, under the name of Order and Civil Government, we are all made at +last to pay homage to and support our own meanness. After the first +blush of sin, comes its indifference; and from immoral it becomes, as +it were, _un_moral, and not quite unnecessary to that life which we +have made. + +The broadest and most prevalent error requires the most disinterested +virtue to sustain it. The slight reproach to which the virtue of +patriotism is commonly liable, the noble are most likely to incur. +Those who, while they disapprove of the character and measures of a +government, yield to it their allegiance and support, are undoubtedly +its most conscientious supporters, and so frequently the most serious +obstacles to reform. Some are petitioning the State to dissolve the +Union, to disregard the requisitions of the President. Why do they not +dissolve it themselves,—the union between themselves and the State,—and +refuse to pay their quota into its treasury? Do not they stand in same +relation to the State, that the State does to the Union? And have not +the same reasons prevented the State from resisting the Union, which +have prevented them from resisting the State? + +How can a man be satisfied to entertain an opinion merely, and enjoy +_it?_ Is there any enjoyment in it, if his opinion is that he is +aggrieved? If you are cheated out of a single dollar by your neighbor, +you do not rest satisfied with knowing you are cheated, or with saying +that you are cheated, or even with petitioning him to pay you your due; +but you take effectual steps at once to obtain the full amount, and see +that you are never cheated again. Action from principle,—the perception +and the performance of right,—changes things and relations; it is +essentially revolutionary, and does not consist wholly with anything +which was. It not only divided states and churches, it divides +families; aye, it divides the _individual_, separating the diabolical +in him from the divine. + +Unjust laws exist: shall we be content to obey them, or shall we +endeavor to amend them, and obey them until we have succeeded, or shall +we transgress them at once? Men generally, under such a government as +this, think that they ought to wait until they have persuaded the +majority to alter them. They think that, if they should resist, the +remedy would be worse than the evil. But it is the fault of the +government itself that the remedy _is_ worse than the evil. _It_ makes +it worse. Why is it not more apt to anticipate and provide for reform? +Why does it not cherish its wise minority? Why does it cry and resist +before it is hurt? Why does it not encourage its citizens to be on the +alert to point out its faults, and _do_ better than it would have them? +Why does it always crucify Christ, and excommunicate Copernicus and +Luther, and pronounce Washington and Franklin rebels? + +One would think, that a deliberate and practical denial of its +authority was the only offence never contemplated by government; else, +why has it not assigned its definite, its suitable and proportionate +penalty? If a man who has no property refuses but once to earn nine +shillings for the State, he is put in prison for a period unlimited by +any law that I know, and determined only by the discretion of those who +placed him there; but if he should steal ninety times nine shillings +from the State, he is soon permitted to go at large again. + +If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of +government, let it go, let it go: perchance it will wear +smooth,—certainly the machine will wear out. If the injustice has a +spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, +then perhaps you may consider whether the remedy will not be worse than +the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be the +agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law. Let your +life be a counter friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to +see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I +condemn. + +As for adopting the ways which the State has provided for remedying the +evil, I know not of such ways. They take too much time, and a man’s +life will be gone. I have other affairs to attend to. I came into this +world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in +it, be it good or bad. A man has not every thing to do, but something; +and because he cannot do _every thing_, it is not necessary that he +should do _something_ wrong. It is not my business to be petitioning +the Governor or the Legislature any more than it is theirs to petition +me; and, if they should not hear my petition, what should I do then? +But in this case the State has provided no way: its very Constitution +is the evil. This may seem to be harsh and stubborn and +unconcilliatory; but it is to treat with the utmost kindness and +consideration the only spirit that can appreciate or deserves it. So is +all change for the better, like birth and death which convulse the +body. + +I do not hesitate to say, that those who call themselves abolitionists +should at once effectually withdraw their support, both in person and +property, from the government of Massachusetts, and not wait till they +constitute a majority of one, before they suffer the right to prevail +through them. I think that it is enough if they have God on their side, +without waiting for that other one. Moreover, any man more right than +his neighbors constitutes a majority of one already. + +I meet this American government, or its representative, the State +government, directly, and face to face, once a year, no more, in the +person of its tax-gatherer; this is the only mode in which a man +situated as I am necessarily meets it; and it then says distinctly, +Recognize me; and the simplest, the most effectual, and, in the present +posture of affairs, the indispensablest mode of treating with it on +this head, of expressing your little satisfaction with and love for it, +is to deny it then. My civil neighbor, the tax-gatherer, is the very +man I have to deal with,—for it is, after all, with men and not with +parchment that I quarrel,—and he has voluntarily chosen to be an agent +of the government. How shall he ever know well what he is and does as +an officer of the government, or as a man, until he is obliged to +consider whether he shall treat me, his neighbor, for whom he has +respect, as a neighbor and well-disposed man, or as a maniac and +disturber of the peace, and see if he can get over this obstruction to +his neighborliness without a ruder and more impetuous thought or speech +corresponding with his action? I know this well, that if one thousand, +if one hundred, if ten men whom I could name,—if ten _honest_ men +only,—aye, if _one_ HONEST man, in this State of Massachusetts, +_ceasing to hold slaves_, were actually to withdraw from this +copartnership, and be locked up in the county jail therefor, it would +be the abolition of slavery in America. For it matters not how small +the beginning may seem to be: what is once well done is done for ever. +But we love better to talk about it: that we say is our mission. Reform +keeps many scores of newspapers in its service, but not one man. If my +esteemed neighbor, the State’s ambassador, who will devote his days to +the settlement of the question of human rights in the Council Chamber, +instead of being threatened with the prisons of Carolina, were to sit +down the prisoner of Massachusetts, that State which is so anxious to +foist the sin of slavery upon her sister,—though at present she can +discover only an act of inhospitality to be the ground of a quarrel +with her,—the Legislature would not wholly waive the subject of the +following winter. + +Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a +just man is also a prison. The proper place today, the only place which +Massachusetts has provided for her freer and less desponding spirits, +is in her prisons, to be put out and locked out of the State by her own +act, as they have already put themselves out by their principles. It is +there that the fugitive slave, and the Mexican prisoner on parole, and +the Indian come to plead the wrongs of his race, should find them; on +that separate, but more free and honorable ground, where the State +places those who are not _with_ her but _against_ her,—the only house +in a slave-state in which a free man can abide with honor. If any think +that their influence would be lost there, and their voices no longer +afflict the ear of the State, that they would not be as an enemy within +its walls, they do not know by how much truth is stronger than error, +nor how much more eloquently and effectively he can combat injustice +who has experienced a little in his own person. Cast your whole vote, +not a strip of paper merely, but your whole influence. A minority is +powerless while it conforms to the majority; it is not even a minority +then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight. If the +alternative is to keep all just men in prison, or give up war and +slavery, the State will not hesitate which to choose. If a thousand men +were not to pay their tax-bills this year, that would not be a violent +and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to +commit violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the +definition of a peaceable revolution, if any such is possible. If the +tax-gatherer, or any other public officer, asks me, as one has done, +“But what shall I do?” my answer is, “If you really wish to do any +thing, resign your office.” When the subject has refused allegiance, +and the officer has resigned his office, then the revolution is +accomplished. But even suppose blood should flow. Is there not a sort +of blood shed when the conscience is wounded? Through this wound a +man’s real manhood and immortality flow out, and he bleeds to an +everlasting death. I see this blood flowing now. + +I have contemplated the imprisonment of the offender, rather than the +seizure of his goods,—though both will serve the same purpose,—because +they who assert the purest right, and consequently are most dangerous +to a corrupt State, commonly have not spent much time in accumulating +property. To such the State renders comparatively small service, and a +slight tax is wont to appear exorbitant, particularly if they are +obliged to earn it by special labor with their hands. If there were one +who lived wholly without the use of money, the State itself would +hesitate to demand it of him. But the rich man—not to make any +invidious comparison—is always sold to the institution which makes him +rich. Absolutely speaking, the more money, the less virtue; for money +comes between a man and his objects, and obtains them for him; it was +certainly no great virtue to obtain it. It puts to rest many questions +which he would otherwise be taxed to answer; while the only new +question which it puts is the hard but superfluous one, how to spend +it. Thus his moral ground is taken from under his feet. The +opportunities of living are diminished in proportion as what are called +the “means” are increased. The best thing a man can do for his culture +when he is rich is to endeavor to carry out those schemes which he +entertained when he was poor. Christ answered the Herodians according +to their condition. “Show me the tribute-money,” said he;—and one took +a penny out of his pocket;—if you use money which has the image of +Cæsar on it, and which he has made current and valuable, that is, _if +you are men of the State_, and gladly enjoy the advantages of Cæsar’s +government, then pay him back some of his own when he demands it; +“Render therefore to Cæsar that which is Cæsar’s and to God those +things which are God’s,”—leaving them no wiser than before as to which +was which; for they did not wish to know. + +When I converse with the freest of my neighbors, I perceive that, +whatever they may say about the magnitude and seriousness of the +question, and their regard for the public tranquillity, the long and +the short of the matter is, that they cannot spare the protection of +the existing government, and they dread the consequences of +disobedience to it to their property and families. For my own part, I +should not like to think that I ever rely on the protection of the +State. But, if I deny the authority of the State when it presents its +tax-bill, it will soon take and waste all my property, and so harass me +and my children without end. This is hard. This makes it impossible for +a man to live honestly and at the same time comfortably in outward +respects. It will not be worth the while to accumulate property; that +would be sure to go again. You must hire or squat somewhere, and raise +but a small crop, and eat that soon. You must live within yourself, and +depend upon yourself, always tucked up and ready for a start, and not +have many affairs. A man may grow rich in Turkey even, if he will be in +all respects a good subject of the Turkish government. Confucius +said,—“If a State is governed by the principles of reason, poverty and +misery are subjects of shame; if a State is not governed by the +principles of reason, riches and honors are the subjects of shame.” No: +until I want the protection of Massachusetts to be extended to me in +some distant southern port, where my liberty is endangered, or until I +am bent solely on building up an estate at home by peaceful enterprise, +I can afford to refuse allegiance to Massachusetts, and her right to my +property and life. It costs me less in every sense to incur the penalty +of disobedience to the State, than it would to obey. I should feel as +if I were worth less in that case. + +Some years ago, the State met me in behalf of the church, and commanded +me to pay a certain sum toward the support of a clergyman whose +preaching my father attended, but never I myself. “Pay it,” it said, +“or be locked up in the jail.” I declined to pay. But, unfortunately, +another man saw fit to pay it. I did not see why the schoolmaster +should be taxed to support the priest, and not the priest the +schoolmaster; for I was not the State’s schoolmaster, but I supported +myself by voluntary subscription. I did not see why the lyceum should +not present its tax-bill, and have the State to back its demand, as +well as the church. However, at the request of the selectmen, I +condescended to make some such statement as this in writing:—“Know all +men by these presents, that I, Henry Thoreau, do not wish to be +regarded as a member of any incorporated society which I have not +joined.” This I gave to the town-clerk; and he has it. The State, +having thus learned that I did not wish to be regarded as a member of +that church, has never made a like demand on me since; though it said +that it must adhere to its original presumption that time. If I had +known how to name them, I should then have signed off in detail from +all the societies which I never signed on to; but I did not know where +to find such a complete list. + +I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I was put into a jail once on +this account, for one night; and, as I stood considering the walls of +solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot +thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, I could not help +being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me +as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up. I +wondered that it should have concluded at length that this was the best +use it could put me to, and had never thought to avail itself of my +services in some way. I saw that, if there was a wall of stone between +me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or +break through, before they could get to be as free as I was. I did nor +for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone +and mortar. I felt as if I alone of all my townsmen had paid my tax. +They plainly did not know how to treat me, but behaved like persons who +are underbred. In every threat and in every compliment there was a +blunder; for they thought that my chief desire was to stand the other +side of that stone wall. I could not but smile to see how industriously +they locked the door on my meditations, which followed them out again +without let or hindrance, and _they_ were really all that was +dangerous. As they could not reach me, they had resolved to punish my +body; just as boys, if they cannot come at some person against whom +they have a spite, will abuse his dog. I saw that the State was +half-witted, that it was timid as a lone woman with her silver spoons, +and that it did not know its friends from its foes, and I lost all my +remaining respect for it, and pitied it. + +Thus the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, +intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses. It is not armed +with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength. I +was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us +see who is the strongest. What force has a multitude? They only can +force me who obey a higher law than I. They force me to become like +themselves. I do not hear of _men_ being _forced_ to live this way or +that by masses of men. What sort of life were that to live? When I meet +a government which says to me, “Your money or your life,” why should I +be in haste to give it my money? It may be in a great strait, and not +know what to do: I cannot help that. It must help itself; do as I do. +It is not worth the while to snivel about it. I am not responsible for +the successful working of the machinery of society. I am not the son of +the engineer. I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side +by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but +both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they +can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a +plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man. + + + +The night in prison was novel and interesting enough. The prisoners in +their shirt-sleeves were enjoying a chat and the evening air in the +door-way, when I entered. But the jailer said, “Come, boys, it is time +to lock up;” and so they dispersed, and I heard the sound of their +steps returning into the hollow apartments. My room-mate was introduced +to me by the jailer as “a first-rate fellow and a clever man.” When the +door was locked, he showed me where to hang my hat, and how he managed +matters there. The rooms were whitewashed once a month; and this one, +at least, was the whitest, most simply furnished, and probably the +neatest apartment in town. He naturally wanted to know where I came +from, and what brought me there; and, when I had told him, I asked him +in my turn how he came there, presuming him to be an honest man, of +course; and, as the world goes, I believe he was. “Why,” said he, “they +accuse me of burning a barn; but I never did it.” As near as I could +discover, he had probably gone to bed in a barn when drunk, and smoked +his pipe there; and so a barn was burnt. He had the reputation of being +a clever man, had been there some three months waiting for his trial to +come on, and would have to wait as much longer; but he was quite +domesticated and contented, since he got his board for nothing, and +thought that he was well treated. + +He occupied one window, and I the other; and I saw, that, if one stayed +there long, his principal business would be to look out the window. I +had soon read all the tracts that were left there, and examined where +former prisoners had broken out, and where a grate had been sawed off, +and heard the history of the various occupants of that room; for I +found that even here there was a history and a gossip which never +circulated beyond the walls of the jail. Probably this is the only +house in the town where verses are composed, which are afterward +printed in a circular form, but not published. I was shown quite a long +list of verses which were composed by some young men who had been +detected in an attempt to escape, who avenged themselves by singing +them. + +I pumped my fellow-prisoner as dry as I could, for fear I should never +see him again; but at length he showed me which was my bed, and left me +to blow out the lamp. + +It was like travelling into a far country, such as I had never expected +to behold, to lie there for one night. It seemed to me that I never had +heard the town-clock strike before, nor the evening sounds of the +village; for we slept with the windows open, which were inside the +grating. It was to see my native village in the light of the Middle +Ages, and our Concord was turned into a Rhine stream, and visions of +knights and castles passed before me. They were the voices of old +burghers that I heard in the streets. I was an involuntary spectator +and auditor of whatever was done and said in the kitchen of the +adjacent village-inn—a wholly new and rare experience to me. It was a +closer view of my native town. I was fairly inside of it. I never had +seen its institutions before. This is one of its peculiar institutions; +for it is a shire town. I began to comprehend what its inhabitants were +about. + +In the morning, our breakfasts were put through the hole in the door, +in small oblong-square tin pans, made to fit, and holding a pint of +chocolate, with brown bread, and an iron spoon. When they called for +the vessels again, I was green enough to return what bread I had left; +but my comrade seized it, and said that I should lay that up for lunch +or dinner. Soon after, he was let out to work at haying in a +neighboring field, whither he went every day, and would not be back +till noon; so he bade me good-day, saying that he doubted if he should +see me again. + +When I came out of prison,—for some one interfered, and paid the tax,—I +did not perceive that great changes had taken place on the common, such +as he observed who went in a youth, and emerged a gray-headed man; and +yet a change had to my eyes come over the scene,—the town, and State, +and country,—greater than any that mere time could effect. I saw yet +more distinctly the State in which I lived. I saw to what extent the +people among whom I lived could be trusted as good neighbors and +friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that they +did not greatly purpose to do right; that they were a distinct race +from me by their prejudices and superstitions, as the Chinamen and +Malays are; that, in their sacrifices to humanity they ran no risks, +not even to their property; that, after all, they were not so noble but +they treated the thief as he had treated them, and hoped, by a certain +outward observance and a few prayers, and by walking in a particular +straight though useless path from time to time, to save their souls. +This may be to judge my neighbors harshly; for I believe that most of +them are not aware that they have such an institution as the jail in +their village. + +It was formerly the custom in our village, when a poor debtor came out +of jail, for his acquaintances to salute him, looking through their +fingers, which were crossed to represent the grating of a jail window, +“How do ye do?” My neighbors did not thus salute me, but first looked +at me, and then at one another, as if I had returned from a long +journey. I was put into jail as I was going to the shoemaker’s to get a +shoe which was mended. When I was let out the next morning, I proceeded +to finish my errand, and, having put on my mended shoe, joined a +huckleberry party, who were impatient to put themselves under my +conduct; and in half an hour,—for the horse was soon tackled,—was in +the midst of a huckleberry field, on one of our highest hills, two +miles off; and then the State was nowhere to be seen. + +This is the whole history of “My Prisons.” + + + +I have never declined paying the highway tax, because I am as desirous +of being a good neighbor as I am of being a bad subject; and, as for +supporting schools, I am doing my part to educate my fellow-countrymen +now. It is for no particular item in the tax-bill that I refuse to pay +it. I simply wish to refuse allegiance to the State, to withdraw and +stand aloof from it effectually. I do not care to trace the course of +my dollar, if I could, till it buys a man, or a musket to shoot one +with,—the dollar is innocent,—but I am concerned to trace the effects +of my allegiance. In fact, I quietly declare war with the State, after +my fashion, though I will still make use and get what advantages of her +I can, as is usual in such cases. + +If others pay the tax which is demanded of me, from a sympathy with the +State, they do but what they have already done in their own case, or +rather they abet injustice to a greater extent than the State requires. +If they pay the tax from a mistaken interest in the individual taxed, +to save his property or prevent his going to jail, it is because they +have not considered wisely how far they let their private feelings +interfere with the public good. + +This, then, is my position at present. But one cannot be too much on +his guard in such a case, lest his actions be biassed by obstinacy, or +an undue regard for the opinions of men. Let him see that he does only +what belongs to himself and to the hour. + +I think sometimes, Why, this people mean well; they are only ignorant; +they would do better if they knew how: why give your neighbors this +pain to treat you as they are not inclined to? But I think, again, this +is no reason why I should do as they do, or permit others to suffer +much greater pain of a different kind. Again, I sometimes say to +myself, When many millions of men, without heat, without ill-will, +without personal feeling of any kind, demand of you a few shillings +only, without the possibility, such is their constitution, of +retracting or altering their present demand, and without the +possibility, on your side, of appeal to any other millions, why expose +yourself to this overwhelming brute force? You do not resist cold and +hunger, the winds and the waves, thus obstinately; you quietly submit +to a thousand similar necessities. You do not put your head into the +fire. But just in proportion as I regard this as not wholly a brute +force, but partly a human force, and consider that I have relations to +those millions as to so many millions of men, and not of mere brute or +inanimate things, I see that appeal is possible, first and +instantaneously, from them to the Maker of them, and, secondly, from +them to themselves. But, if I put my head deliberately into the fire, +there is no appeal to fire or to the Maker of fire, and I have only +myself to blame. If I could convince myself that I have any right to be +satisfied with men as they are, and to treat them accordingly, and not +according, in some respects, to my requisitions and expectations of +what they and I ought to be, then, like a good Mussulman and fatalist, +I should endeavor to be satisfied with things as they are, and say it +is the will of God. And, above all, there is this difference between +resisting this and a purely brute or natural force, that I can resist +this with some effect; but I cannot expect, like Orpheus, to change the +nature of the rocks and trees and beasts. + +I do not wish to quarrel with any man or nation. I do not wish to split +hairs, to make fine distinctions, or set myself up as better than my +neighbors. I seek rather, I may say, even an excuse for conforming to +the laws of the land. I am but too ready to conform to them. Indeed I +have reason to suspect myself on this head; and each year, as the +tax-gatherer comes round, I find myself disposed to review the acts and +position of the general and state governments, and the spirit of the +people to discover a pretext for conformity. + + “We must affect our country as our parents, + And if at any time we alienate + Out love of industry from doing it honor, + We must respect effects and teach the soul + Matter of conscience and religion, + And not desire of rule or benefit.” + +I believe that the State will soon be able to take all my work of this +sort out of my hands, and then I shall be no better patriot than my +fellow-countrymen. Seen from a lower point of view, the Constitution, +with all its faults, is very good; the law and the courts are very +respectable; even this State and this American government are, in many +respects, very admirable, and rare things, to be thankful for, such as +a great many have described them; seen from a higher still, and the +highest, who shall say what they are, or that they are worth looking at +or thinking of at all? + +However, the government does not concern me much, and I shall bestow +the fewest possible thoughts on it. It is not many moments that I live +under a government, even in this world. If a man is thought-free, +fancy-free, imagination-free, that which _is not_ never for a long time +appearing _to be_ to him, unwise rulers or reformers cannot fatally +interrupt him. + +I know that most men think differently from myself; but those whose +lives are by profession devoted to the study of these or kindred +subjects content me as little as any. Statesmen and legislators, +standing so completely within the institution, never distinctly and +nakedly behold it. They speak of moving society, but have no +resting-place without it. They may be men of a certain experience and +discrimination, and have no doubt invented ingenious and even useful +systems, for which we sincerely thank them; but all their wit and +usefulness lie within certain not very wide limits. They are wont to +forget that the world is not governed by policy and expediency. Webster +never goes behind government, and so cannot speak with authority about +it. His words are wisdom to those legislators who contemplate no +essential reform in the existing government; but for thinkers, and +those who legislate for all time, he never once glances at the subject. +I know of those whose serene and wise speculations on this theme would +soon reveal the limits of his mind’s range and hospitality. Yet, +compared with the cheap professions of most reformers, and the still +cheaper wisdom and eloquence of politicians in general, his are almost +the only sensible and valuable words, and we thank Heaven for him. +Comparatively, he is always strong, original, and, above all, +practical. Still his quality is not wisdom, but prudence. The lawyer’s +truth is not Truth, but consistency or a consistent expediency. Truth +is always in harmony with herself, and is not concerned chiefly to +reveal the justice that may consist with wrong-doing. He well deserves +to be called, as he has been called, the Defender of the Constitution. +There are really no blows to be given by him but defensive ones. He is +not a leader, but a follower. His leaders are the men of ’87. “I have +never made an effort,” he says, “and never propose to make an effort; I +have never countenanced an effort, and never mean to countenance an +effort, to disturb the arrangement as originally made, by which the +various States came into the Union.” Still thinking of the sanction +which the Constitution gives to slavery, he says, “Because it was part +of the original compact,—let it stand.” Notwithstanding his special +acuteness and ability, he is unable to take a fact out of its merely +political relations, and behold it as it lies absolutely to be disposed +of by the intellect,—what, for instance, it behoves a man to do here in +America today with regard to slavery, but ventures, or is driven, to +make some such desperate answer as the following, while professing to +speak absolutely, and as a private man,—from which what new and +singular code of social duties might be inferred?—“The manner,” says +he, “in which the governments of those States where slavery exists are +to regulate it, is for their own consideration, under the +responsibility to their constituents, to the general laws of propriety, +humanity, and justice, and to God. Associations formed elsewhere, +springing from a feeling of humanity, or any other cause, have nothing +whatever to do with it. They have never received any encouragement from +me and they never will.” + +They who know of no purer sources of truth, who have traced up its +stream no higher, stand, and wisely stand, by the Bible and the +Constitution, and drink at it there with reverence and humanity; but +they who behold where it comes trickling into this lake or that pool, +gird up their loins once more, and continue their pilgrimage toward its +fountain-head. + +No man with a genius for legislation has appeared in America. They are +rare in the history of the world. There are orators, politicians, and +eloquent men, by the thousand; but the speaker has not yet opened his +mouth to speak who is capable of settling the much-vexed questions of +the day. We love eloquence for its own sake, and not for any truth +which it may utter, or any heroism it may inspire. Our legislators have +not yet learned the comparative value of free-trade and of freedom, of +union, and of rectitude, to a nation. They have no genius or talent for +comparatively humble questions of taxation and finance, commerce and +manufactures and agriculture. If we were left solely to the wordy wit +of legislators in Congress for our guidance, uncorrected by the +seasonable experience and the effectual complaints of the people, +America would not long retain her rank among the nations. For eighteen +hundred years, though perchance I have no right to say it, the New +Testament has been written; yet where is the legislator who has wisdom +and practical talent enough to avail himself of the light which it +sheds on the science of legislation. + +The authority of government, even such as I am willing to submit +to,—for I will cheerfully obey those who know and can do better than I, +and in many things even those who neither know nor can do so well,—is +still an impure one: to be strictly just, it must have the sanction and +consent of the governed. It can have no pure right over my person and +property but what I concede to it. The progress from an absolute to a +limited monarchy, from a limited monarchy to a democracy, is a progress +toward a true respect for the individual. Even the Chinese philosopher +was wise enough to regard the individual as the basis of the empire. Is +a democracy, such as we know it, the last improvement possible in +government? Is it not possible to take a step further towards +recognizing and organizing the rights of man? There will never be a +really free and enlightened State, until the State comes to recognize +the individual as a higher and independent power, from which all its +own power and authority are derived, and treats him accordingly. I +please myself with imagining a State at last which can afford to be +just to all men, and to treat the individual with respect as a +neighbor; which even would not think it inconsistent with its own +repose, if a few were to live aloof from it, not meddling with it, nor +embraced by it, who fulfilled all the duties of neighbors and +fellow-men. A State which bore this kind of fruit, and suffered it to +drop off as fast as it ripened, would prepare the way for a still more +perfect and glorious State, which also I have imagined, but not yet +anywhere seen. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WALDEN, AND ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Winnie-the-Pooh + +Author: A. A. Milne + +Illustrator: Ernest H. Shepard + +Release date: January 3, 2022 [eBook #67098] + Most recently updated: October 18, 2024 + +Language: English + +Original publication: Canada: McClelland & Stewart, Ltd + +Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, Iona Vaughan, David T. Jones and the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINNIE-THE-POOH *** + + WINNIE-THE-POOH + + _BY A. A. MILNE_ + + + + + _JUVENILES_ + + When We Were Very Young + + "_The best book of verses for children_ _ever written._"--A. EDWARD + NEWTON in _The Atlantic Monthly_. + + Fourteen Songs from When We Were Very Young + + Words by A. A. Milne. Music by H. Fraser-Simson. Decorations by + E. H. Shepard. + + The King's Breakfast + + Words by A. A. Milne. Music by H. Fraser-Simson. Decorations by + E. H. Shepard + + + _ESSAYS_ + + Not That It Matters + The Sunny Side + If I May + + + _MYSTERY STORY_ + + The Red House Mystery + + + + + WINNIE-THE-POOH + BY A. A. MILNE + + McCLELLAND & STEWART, LTD. + + PUBLISHERS - - TORONTO + + + + + Copyright, Canada, 1926 + By McClelland & Stewart, Limited + Publishers, Toronto + + First Printing, October, 1926 + Second " July, 1927 + Third " December, 1928 + Fourth " December, 1929 + Fifth " March, 1931 + + Printed in Canada + + + + + TO HER + + HAND IN HAND WE COME + CHRISTOPHER ROBIN AND I + TO LAY THIS BOOK IN YOUR LAP. + SAY YOU'RE SURPRISED? + SAY YOU LIKE IT? + SAY IT'S JUST WHAT YOU WANTED? + BECAUSE IT'S YOURS---- + BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU. + + + + + INTRODUCTION + +If you happen to have read another book about Christopher Robin, you may +remember that he once had a swan (or the swan had Christopher Robin, I +don't know which) and that he used to call this swan Pooh. That was a +long time ago, and when we said good-bye, we took the name with us, as +we didn't think the swan would want it any more. Well, when Edward Bear +said that he would like an exciting name all to himself, Christopher +Robin said at once, without stopping to think, that he was +Winnie-the-Pooh. And he was. So, as I have explained the Pooh part, I +will now explain the rest of it. + +You can't be in London for long without going to the Zoo. There are some +people who begin the Zoo at the beginning, called WAYIN, and walk as +quickly as they can past every cage until they get to the one called +WAYOUT, but the nicest people go straight to the animal they love the +most, and stay there. So when Christopher Robin goes to the Zoo, he goes +to where the Polar Bears are, and he whispers something to the third +keeper from the left, and doors are unlocked, and we wander through dark +passages and up steep stairs, until at last we come to the special cage, +and the cage is opened, and out trots something brown and furry, and +with a happy cry of "Oh, Bear!" Christopher Robin rushes into its arms. +Now this bear's name is Winnie, which shows what a good name for bears +it is, but the funny thing is that we can't remember whether Winnie is +called after Pooh, or Pooh after Winnie. We did know once, but we have +forgotten.... + +I had written as far as this when Piglet looked up and said in his +squeaky voice, "What about _Me_?" "My dear Piglet," I said, "the whole +book is about you." "So it is about Pooh," he squeaked. You see what it +is. He is jealous because he thinks Pooh is having a Grand Introduction +all to himself. Pooh is the favourite, of course, there's no denying it, +but Piglet comes in for a good many things which Pooh misses; because +you can't take Pooh to school without everybody knowing it, but Piglet +is so small that he slips into a pocket, where it is very comforting to +feel him when you are not quite sure whether twice seven is twelve or +twenty-two. Sometimes he slips out and has a good look in the ink-pot, +and in this way he has got more education than Pooh, but Pooh doesn't +mind. Some have brains, and some haven't, he says, and there it is. + +And now all the others are saying, "What about _Us_?" So perhaps the +best thing to do is to stop writing Introductions and get on with the +book. + + A. A. M. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO WINNIE-THE-POOH AND SOME + BEES, AND THE STORIES BEGIN + + II. IN WHICH POOH GOES VISITING AND GETS INTO A TIGHT PLACE + + III. IN WHICH POOH AND PIGLET GO HUNTING AND NEARLY CATCH A + WOOZLE + + IV. IN WHICH EEYORE LOSES A TAIL AND POOH FINDS ONE + + V. IN WHICH PIGLET MEETS A HEFFALUMP + + VI. IN WHICH EEYORE HAS A BIRTHDAY AND GETS TWO PRESENTS + + VII. IN WHICH KANGA AND BABY ROO COME TO THE FOREST, AND + PIGLET HAS A BATH + + VIII. IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN LEADS AN EXPOTITION TO THE + NORTH POLE + + IX. IN WHICH PIGLET IS ENTIRELY SURROUNDED BY WATER + + X. IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN GIVES A POOH PARTY, AND WE SAY + GOOD-BYE + + + + + WINNIE-THE-POOH + + + + + CHAPTER I + + IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO + WINNIE-THE-POOH AND SOME BEES, + AND THE STORIES BEGIN + + +Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the +back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, +the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there +really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and +think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he +is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh. + +When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, "But +I thought he was a boy?" + +"So did I," said Christopher Robin. + +"Then you can't call him Winnie?" + +"I don't." + +"But you said----" + +"He's Winnie-ther-Pooh. Don't you know what '_ther_' means?" + +"Ah, yes, now I do," I said quickly; and I hope you do too, because it +is all the explanation you are going to get. + +Sometimes Winnie-the-Pooh likes a game of some sort when he comes +downstairs, and sometimes he likes to sit quietly in front of the fire +and listen to a story. This evening---- + +"What about a story?" said Christopher Robin. + +"_What_ about a story?" I said. + +"Could you very sweetly tell Winnie-the-Pooh one?" + +"I suppose I could," I said. "What sort of stories does he like?" + +"About himself. Because he's _that_ sort of Bear." + +"Oh, I see." + +"So could you very sweetly?" + +"I'll try," I said. + +So I tried. + + * * * * * + +Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, +Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of +Sanders. + +(_"What does 'under the name' mean?" asked Christopher Robin._ + +"_It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived +under it._" + +_"Winnie-the-Pooh wasn't quite sure," said Christopher Robin._ + +_"Now I am," said a growly voice._ + +_"Then I will go on," said I._) + +One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle +of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, +and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise. + +Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between +his paws and began to think. + +First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something. +You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, +without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's +making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise +that _I_ know of is because you're a bee." + +Then he thought another long time, and said: "And the only reason for +being a bee that I know of is making honey." + +And then he got up, and said: "And the only reason for making honey is +so as _I_ can eat it." So he began to climb the tree. + +He climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a +little song to himself. It went like this: + + Isn't it funny + How a bear likes honey? + Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! + I wonder why he does? + +Then he climbed a little further ... and a little further ... and +then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song. + + It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees, + They'd build their nests at the _bottom_ of trees. + And that being so (if the Bees were Bears), + We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs. + +He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a +Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that +branch ... + +_Crack!_ + +"Oh, help!" said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him. + +"If only I hadn't----" he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next +branch. + +"You see, what I _meant_ to do," he explained, as he turned +head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, +"what I _meant_ to do----" + +"Of course, it _was_ rather----" he admitted, as he slithered very +quickly through the next six branches. + +"It all comes, I suppose," he decided, as he said good-bye to the last +branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, +"it all comes of _liking_ honey so much. Oh, help!" + +He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, +and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was +Christopher Robin. + +(_"Was that me?" said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring +to believe it._ + +"_That was you._" + +_Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and +his face got pinker and pinker._) + +So Winnie-the-Pooh went round to his friend Christopher Robin, who lived +behind a green door in another part of the forest. + +"Good morning, Christopher Robin," he said. + +"Good morning, Winnie-_ther_-Pooh," said you. + +"I wonder if you've got such a thing as a balloon about you?" + +"A balloon?" + +"Yes, I just said to myself coming along: 'I wonder if Christopher Robin +has such a thing as a balloon about him?' I just said it to myself, +thinking of balloons, and wondering." + +"What do you want a balloon for?" you said. + +Winnie-the-Pooh looked round to see that nobody was listening, put his +paw to his mouth, and said in a deep whisper: "_Honey!_" + +"But you don't get honey with balloons!" + +"_I_ do," said Pooh. + +Well, it just happened that you had been to a party the day before at +the house of your friend Piglet, and you had balloons at the party. You +had had a big green balloon; and one of Rabbit's relations had had a big +blue one, and had left it behind, being really too young to go to a +party at all; and so you had brought the green one _and_ the blue one +home with you. + +"Which one would you like?" you asked Pooh. + +He put his head between his paws and thought very carefully. + +"It's like this," he said. "When you go after honey with a balloon, the +great thing is not to let the bees know you're coming. Now, if you have +a green balloon, they might think you were only part of the tree, and +not notice you, and, if you have a blue balloon, they might think you +were only part of the sky, and not notice you, and the question is: +Which is most likely?" + +"Wouldn't they notice _you_ underneath the balloon?" you asked. + +"They might or they might not," said Winnie-the-Pooh. "You never can +tell with bees." He thought for a moment and said: "I shall try to look +like a small black cloud. That will deceive them." + +"Then you had better have the blue balloon," you said; and so it was +decided. + +Well, you both went out with the blue balloon, and you took your gun +with you, just in case, as you always did, and Winnie-the-Pooh went to a +very muddy place that he knew of, and rolled and rolled until he was +black all over; and then, when the balloon was blown up as big as big, +and you and Pooh were both holding on to the string, you let go +suddenly, and Pooh Bear floated gracefully up into the sky, and stayed +there--level with the top of the tree and about twenty feet away from +it. + +"Hooray!" you shouted. + +"Isn't that fine?" shouted Winnie-the-Pooh down to you. "What do I look +like?" + +"You look like a Bear holding on to a balloon," you said. + +"Not," said Pooh anxiously, "--not like a small black cloud in a blue +sky?" + +"Not very much." + +"Ah, well, perhaps from up here it looks different. And, as I say, you +never can tell with bees." + +There was no wind to blow him nearer to the tree, so there he stayed. He +could see the honey, he could smell the honey, but he couldn't quite +reach the honey. + +After a little while he called down to you. + +"Christopher Robin!" he said in a loud whisper. + +"Hallo!" + +"I think the bees _suspect_ something!" + +"What sort of thing?" + +"I don't know. But something tells me that they're _suspicious_!" + +"Perhaps they think that you're after their honey." + +"It may be that. You never can tell with bees." + +There was another little silence, and then he called down to you again. + +"Christopher Robin!" + +"Yes?" + +"Have you an umbrella in your house?" + +"I think so." + +"I wish you would bring it out here, and walk up and down with it, and +look up at me every now and then, and say 'Tut-tut, it looks like rain.' +I think, if you did that, it would help the deception which we are +practising on these bees." + +Well, you laughed to yourself, "Silly old Bear!" but you didn't say it +aloud because you were so fond of him, and you went home for your +umbrella. + +"Oh, there you are!" called down Winnie-the-Pooh, as soon as you got +back to the tree. "I was beginning to get anxious. I have discovered +that the bees are now definitely Suspicious." + +"Shall I put my umbrella up?" you said. + +"Yes, but wait a moment. We must be practical. The important bee to +deceive is the Queen Bee. Can you see which is the Queen Bee from down +there?" + +"No." + +"A pity. Well, now, if you walk up and down with your umbrella, saying, +'Tut-tut, it looks like rain,' I shall do what I can by singing a little +Cloud Song, such as a cloud might sing.... Go!" + +So, while you walked up and down and wondered if it would rain, +Winnie-the-Pooh sang this song: + + How sweet to be a Cloud + Floating in the Blue! + Every little cloud + _Always_ sings aloud. + + "How sweet to be a Cloud + Floating in the Blue!" + It makes him very proud + To be a little cloud. + +The bees were still buzzing as suspiciously as ever. Some of them, +indeed, left their nests and flew all round the cloud as it began the +second verse of this song, and one bee sat down on the nose of the cloud +for a moment, and then got up again. + +"Christopher--_ow!_--Robin," called out the cloud. + +"Yes?" + +"I have just been thinking, and I have come to a very important +decision. _These are the wrong sort of bees._" + +"Are they?" + +"Quite the wrong sort. So I should think they would make the wrong sort +of honey, shouldn't you?" + +"Would they?" + +"Yes. So I think I shall come down." + +"How?" asked you. + +Winnie-the-Pooh hadn't thought about this. If he let go of the string, +he would fall--_bump_--and he didn't like the idea of that. So he +thought for a long time, and then he said: + +"Christopher Robin, you must shoot the balloon with your gun. Have you +got your gun?" + +"Of course I have," you said. "But if I do that, it will spoil the +balloon," you said. + +"But if you _don't_," said Pooh, "I shall have to let go, and that would +spoil _me_." + +When he put it like this, you saw how it was, and you aimed very +carefully at the balloon, and fired. + +"_Ow!_" said Pooh. + +"Did I miss?" you asked. + +"You didn't exactly _miss_," said Pooh, "but you missed the _balloon_." + +"I'm so sorry," you said, and you fired again, and this time you hit the +balloon, and the air came slowly out, and Winnie-the-Pooh floated down +to the ground. + +But his arms were so stiff from holding on to the string of the balloon +all that time that they stayed up straight in the air for more than a +week, and whenever a fly came and settled on his nose he had to blow it +off. And I think--but I am not sure--that _that_ is why he was always +called Pooh. + + * * * * * + +"Is that the end of the story?" asked Christopher Robin. + +"That's the end of that one. There are others." + +"About Pooh and Me?" + +"And Piglet and Rabbit and all of you. Don't you remember?" + +"I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget." + +"That day when Pooh and Piglet tried to catch the Heffalump----" + +"They didn't catch it, did they?" + +"No." + +"Pooh couldn't, because he hasn't any brain. Did _I_ catch it?" + +"Well, that comes into the story." + +Christopher Robin nodded. + +"I do remember," he said, "only Pooh doesn't very well, so that's why he +likes having it told to him again. Because then it's a real story and +not just a remembering." + +"That's just how _I_ feel," I said. + +Christopher Robin gave a deep sigh, picked his Bear up by the leg, and +walked off to the door, trailing Pooh behind him. At the door he turned +and said, "Coming to see me have my bath?" + +"I might," I said. + +"I didn't hurt him when I shot him, did I?" + +"Not a bit." + +He nodded and went out, and in a moment I heard Winnie-the-Pooh--_bump, +bump, bump_--going up the stairs behind him. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + IN WHICH POOH GOES VISITING AND + GETS INTO A TIGHT PLACE + + +Edward Bear, known to his friends as Winnie-the-Pooh, or Pooh for +short, was walking through the forest one day, humming proudly to +himself. He had made up a little hum that very morning, as he was doing +his Stoutness Exercises in front of the glass: _Tra-la-la, tra-la-la_, +as he stretched up as high as he could go, and then _Tra-la-la, +tra-la--oh, help!--la_, as he tried to reach his toes. After breakfast +he had said it over and over to himself until he had learnt it off by +heart, and now he was humming it right through, properly. It went like +this: + + _Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,_ + _Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,_ + _Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum._ + _Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,_ + _Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,_ + _Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um._ + +Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, +wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being +somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank +was a large hole. + +"Aha!" said Pooh. (_Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum._) "If I know anything about +anything, that hole means Rabbit," he said, "and Rabbit means Company," +he said, "and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such +like. _Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um._" + +So he bent down, put his head into the hole, and called out: + +"Is anybody at home?" + +There was a sudden scuffling noise from inside the hole, and then +silence. + +"What I said was, 'Is anybody at home?'" called out Pooh very loudly. + +"No!" said a voice; and then added, "You needn't shout so loud. I heard +you quite well the first time." + +"Bother!" said Pooh. "Isn't there anybody here at all?" + +"Nobody." + +Winnie-the-Pooh took his head out of the hole, and thought for a little, +and he thought to himself, "There must be somebody there, because +somebody must have _said_ 'Nobody.'" So he put his head back in the +hole, and said: + +"Hallo, Rabbit, isn't that you?" + +"No," said Rabbit, in a different sort of voice this time. + +"But isn't that Rabbit's voice?" + +"I don't _think_ so," said Rabbit. "It isn't _meant_ to be." + +"Oh!" said Pooh. + +He took his head out of the hole, and had another think, and then he put +it back, and said: + +"Well, could you very kindly tell me where Rabbit is?" + +"He has gone to see his friend Pooh Bear, who is a great friend of his." + +"But this _is_ Me!" said Bear, very much surprised. + +"What sort of Me?" + +"Pooh Bear." + +"Are you sure?" said Rabbit, still more surprised. + +"Quite, quite sure," said Pooh. + +"Oh, well, then, come in." + +So Pooh pushed and pushed and pushed his way through the hole, and at +last he got in. + +"You were quite right," said Rabbit, looking at him all over. "It _is_ +you. Glad to see you." + +"Who did you think it was?" + +"Well, I wasn't sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can't have +_anybody_ coming into one's house. One has to be _careful_. What about a +mouthful of something?" + +Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o'clock in the morning, +and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and +when Rabbit said, "Honey or condensed milk with your bread?" he was so +excited that he said, "Both," and then, so as not to seem greedy, he +added, "But don't bother about the bread, please." And for a long time +after that he said nothing ... until at last, humming to himself in a +rather sticky voice, he got up, shook Rabbit lovingly by the paw, and +said that he must be going on. + +"Must you?" said Rabbit politely. + +"Well," said Pooh, "I could stay a little longer if it--if you----" and +he tried very hard to look in the direction of the larder. + +"As a matter of fact," said Rabbit, "I was going out myself directly." + +"Oh, well, then, I'll be going on. Good-bye." + +"Well, good-bye, if you're sure you won't have any more." + +"_Is_ there any more?" asked Pooh quickly. + +Rabbit took the covers off the dishes, and said, "No, there wasn't." + +"I thought not," said Pooh, nodding to himself. "Well, good-bye. I must +be going on." + +So he started to climb out of the hole. He pulled with his front paws, +and pushed with his back paws, and in a little while his nose was out in +the open again ... and then his ears ... and then his front paws ... +and then his shoulders ... and then---- + +"Oh, help!" said Pooh. "I'd better go back." + +"Oh, bother!" said Pooh. "I shall have to go on." + +"I can't do either!" said Pooh. "Oh, help _and_ bother!" + +Now by this time Rabbit wanted to go for a walk too, and finding the +front door full, he went out by the back door, and came round to Pooh, +and looked at him. + +"Hallo, are you stuck?" he asked. + +"N-no," said Pooh carelessly. "Just resting and thinking and humming to +myself." + +"Here, give us a paw." + +Pooh Bear stretched out a paw, and Rabbit pulled and pulled and +pulled.... + +"_Ow!_" cried Pooh. "You're hurting!" + +"The fact is," said Rabbit, "you're stuck." + +"It all comes," said Pooh crossly, "of not having front doors big +enough." + +"It all comes," said Rabbit sternly, "of eating too much. I thought at +the time," said Rabbit, "only I didn't like to say anything," said +Rabbit, "that one of us was eating too much," said Rabbit, "and I knew +it wasn't _me_," he said. "Well, well, I shall go and fetch Christopher +Robin." + +Christopher Robin lived at the other end of the Forest, and when he came +back with Rabbit, and saw the front half of Pooh, he said, "Silly old +Bear," in such a loving voice that everybody felt quite hopeful again. + +"I was just beginning to think," said Bear, sniffing slightly, "that +Rabbit might never be able to use his front door again. And I should +_hate_ that," he said. + +"So should I," said Rabbit. + +"Use his front door again?" said Christopher Robin. "Of course he'll use +his front door again." + +"Good," said Rabbit. + +"If we can't pull you out, Pooh, we might push you back." + +Rabbit scratched his whiskers thoughtfully, and pointed out that, when +once Pooh was pushed back, he was back, and of course nobody was more +glad to see Pooh than _he_ was, still there it was, some lived in trees +and some lived underground, and---- + +"You mean I'd _never_ get out?" said Pooh. + +"I mean," said Rabbit, "that having got _so_ far, it seems a pity to +waste it." + +Christopher Robin nodded. + +"Then there's only one thing to be done," he said. "We shall have to +wait for you to get thin again." + +"How long does getting thin take?" asked Pooh anxiously. + +"About a week, I should think." + +"But I can't stay here for a _week_!" + +"You can _stay_ here all right, silly old Bear. It's getting you out +which is so difficult." + +"We'll read to you," said Rabbit cheerfully. "And I hope it won't snow," +he added. "And I say, old fellow, you're taking up a good deal of room +in my house--_do_ you mind if I use your back legs as a towel-horse? +Because, I mean, there they are--doing nothing--and it would be very +convenient just to hang the towels on them." + +"A week!" said Pooh gloomily. "_What about meals?_" + +"I'm afraid no meals," said Christopher Robin, "because of getting thin +quicker. But we _will_ read to you." + +Bear began to sigh, and then found he couldn't because he was so tightly +stuck; and a tear rolled down his eye, as he said: + +"Then would you read a Sustaining Book, such as would help and comfort a +Wedged Bear in Great Tightness?" + +So for a week Christopher Robin read that sort of book at the North end +of Pooh, and Rabbit hung his washing on the South end ... and in +between Bear felt himself getting slenderer and slenderer. And at the +end of the week Christopher Robin said, "_Now!_" + +So he took hold of Pooh's front paws and Rabbit took hold of Christopher +Robin, and all Rabbit's friends and relations took hold of Rabbit, and +they all pulled together.... + +And for a long time Pooh only said "_Ow!_" ... + +And "_Oh!_" ... + +And then, all of a sudden, he said "_Pop!_" just as if a cork were +coming out of a bottle. + +And Christopher Robin and Rabbit and all Rabbit's friends and relations +went head-over-heels backwards ... and on the top of them came +Winnie-the-Pooh--free! + +So, with a nod of thanks to his friends, he went on with his walk +through the forest, humming proudly to himself. But, Christopher Robin +looked after him lovingly, and said to himself, "Silly old Bear!" + + + + + CHAPTER III + + IN WHICH POOH AND PIGLET GO HUNTING + AND NEARLY CATCH A WOOZLE + + +The Piglet lived in a very grand house in the middle of a beech-tree, +and the beech-tree was in the middle of the forest, and the Piglet lived +in the middle of the house. Next to his house was a piece of broken +board which had: "TRESPASSERS W" on it. When Christopher Robin asked the +Piglet what it meant, he said it was his grandfather's name, and had +been in the family for a long time, Christopher Robin said you +_couldn't_ be called Trespassers W, and Piglet said yes, you could, +because his grandfather was, and it was short for Trespassers Will, +which was short for Trespassers William. And his grandfather had had two +names in case he lost one--Trespassers after an uncle, and William after +Trespassers. + +"I've got two names," said Christopher Robin carelessly. + +"Well, there you are, that proves it," said Piglet. + +One fine winter's day when Piglet was brushing away the snow in front of +his house, he happened to look up, and there was Winnie-the-Pooh. Pooh +was walking round and round in a circle, thinking of something else, and +when Piglet called to him, he just went on walking. + +"Hallo!" said Piglet, "what are _you_ doing?" + +"Hunting," said Pooh. + +"Hunting what?" + +"Tracking something," said Winnie-the-Pooh very mysteriously. + +"Tracking what?" said Piglet, coming closer. + +"That's just what I ask myself. I ask myself, What?" + +"What do you think you'll answer?" + +"I shall have to wait until I catch up with it," said Winnie-the-Pooh. +"Now, look there." He pointed to the ground in front of him. "What do +you see there?" + +"Tracks," said Piglet. "Paw-marks." He gave a little squeak of +excitement. "Oh, Pooh! Do you think it's a--a--a Woozle?" + +"It may be," said Pooh. "Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. You +never can tell with paw-marks." + +With these few words he went on tracking, and Piglet, after watching him +for a minute or two, ran after him. Winnie-the-Pooh had come to a sudden +stop, and was bending over the tracks in a puzzled sort of way. + +"What's the matter?" asked Piglet. + +"It's a very funny thing," said Bear, "but there seem to be +_two_ animals now. This--whatever-it-was--has been joined by +another--whatever-it-is--and the two of them are now proceeding +in company. Would you mind coming with me, Piglet, in case they +turn out to be Hostile Animals?" + +Piglet scratched his ear in a nice sort of way, and said that he had +nothing to do until Friday, and would be delighted to come, in case it +really _was_ a Woozle. + +"You mean, in case it really is two Woozles," said Winnie-the-Pooh, and +Piglet said that anyhow he had nothing to do until Friday. So off they +went together. + +There was a small spinney of larch trees just here, and it seemed as if +the two Woozles, if that is what they were, had been going round this +spinney; so round this spinney went Pooh and Piglet after them; Piglet +passing the time by telling Pooh what his Grandfather Trespassers W had +done to Remove Stiffness after Tracking, and how his Grandfather +Trespassers W had suffered in his later years from Shortness of Breath, +and other matters of interest, and Pooh wondering what a Grandfather was +like, and if perhaps this was Two Grandfathers they were after now, and, +if so, whether he would be allowed to take one home and keep it, and +what Christopher Robin would say. And still the tracks went on in front +of them.... + +Suddenly Winnie-the-Pooh stopped, and pointed excitedly in front of him. +"_Look!_" + +"_What?_" said Piglet, with a jump. And then, to show that he hadn't +been frightened, he jumped up and down once or twice more in an +exercising sort of way. + +"The tracks!" said Pooh. "_A third animal has joined the other two!_" + +"Pooh!" cried Piglet. "Do you think it is another Woozle?" + +"No," said Pooh, "because it makes different marks. It is either Two +Woozles and one, as it might be, Wizzle, or Two, as it might be, Wizzles +and one, if so it is, Woozle. Let us continue to follow them." + +So they went on, feeling just a little anxious now, in case the three +animals in front of them were of Hostile Intent. And Piglet wished very +much that his Grandfather T. W. were there, instead of elsewhere, and +Pooh thought how nice it would be if they met Christopher Robin suddenly +but quite accidentally, and only because he liked Christopher Robin so +much. And then, all of a sudden, Winnie-the-Pooh stopped again, and +licked the tip of his nose in a cooling manner, for he was feeling more +hot and anxious than ever in his life before. _There were four animals +in front of them!_ + +"Do you see, Piglet? Look at their tracks! Three, as it were, Woozles, +and one, as it was, Wizzle. _Another Woozle has joined them!_" + +And so it seemed to be. There were the tracks; crossing over each other +here, getting muddled up with each other there; but, quite plainly every +now and then, the tracks of four sets of paws. + +"I _think_," said Piglet, when he had licked the tip of his nose too, +and found that it brought very little comfort, "I _think_ that I have +just remembered something. I have just remembered something that I +forgot to do yesterday and shan't be able to do to-morrow. So I suppose +I really ought to go back and do it now." + +"We'll do it this afternoon, and I'll come with you," said Pooh. + +"It isn't the sort of thing you can do in the afternoon," said Piglet +quickly. "It's a very particular morning thing, that has to be done in +the morning, and, if possible, between the hours of----What would you +say the time was?" + +"About twelve," said Winnie-the-Pooh, looking at the sun. + +"Between, as I was saying, the hours of twelve and twelve five. So, +really, dear old Pooh, if you'll excuse me----_What's that?_" + +Pooh looked up at the sky, and then, as he heard the whistle again, he +looked up into the branches of a big oak-tree, and then he saw a friend +of his. + +"It's Christopher Robin," he said. + +"Ah, then you'll be all right," said Piglet. "You'll be quite safe with +_him_. Good-bye," and he trotted off home as quickly as he could, very +glad to be Out of All Danger again. + +Christopher Robin came slowly down his tree. + +"Silly old Bear," he said, "what _were_ you doing? First you went round +the spinney twice by yourself, and then Piglet ran after you and you +went round again together, and then you were just going round a fourth +time----" + +"Wait a moment," said Winnie-the-Pooh, holding up his paw. + +He sat down and thought, in the most thoughtful way he could think. Then +he fitted his paw into one of the Tracks ... and then he scratched his +nose twice, and stood up. + +"Yes," said Winnie-the-Pooh. + +"I see now," said Winnie-the-Pooh. + +"I have been Foolish and Deluded," said he, "and I am a Bear of No Brain +at All." + +"You're the Best Bear in All the World," said Christopher Robin +soothingly. + +"Am I?" said Pooh hopefully. And then he brightened up suddenly. + +"Anyhow," he said, "it is nearly Luncheon Time." + +So he went home for it. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + IN WHICH EEYORE LOSES A TAIL + AND POOH FINDS ONE + + +The Old Grey Donkey, Eeyore, stood by himself in a thistly corner of +the forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought +about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and +sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch +as which?"--and sometimes he didn't quite know what he _was_ thinking +about. So when Winnie-the-Pooh came stumping along, Eeyore was very glad +to be able to stop thinking for a little, in order to say "How do you +do?" in a gloomy manner to him. + +"And how are you?" said Winnie-the-Pooh. + +Eeyore shook his head from side to side. + +"Not very how," he said. "I don't seem to have felt at all how for a +long time." + +"Dear, dear," said Pooh, "I'm sorry about that. Let's have a look at +you." + +So Eeyore stood there, gazing sadly at the ground, and Winnie-the-Pooh +walked all round him once. + +"Why, what's happened to your tail?" he said in surprise. + +"What _has_ happened to it?" said Eeyore. + +"It isn't there!" + +"Are you sure?" + +"Well, either a tail _is_ there or it isn't there. You can't make a +mistake about it. And yours _isn't_ there!" + +"Then what is?" + +"Nothing." + +"Let's have a look," said Eeyore, and he turned slowly round to the +place where his tail had been a little while ago, and then, finding that +he couldn't catch it up, he turned round the other way, until he came +back to where he was at first, and then he put his head down and looked +between his front legs, and at last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I +believe you're right." + +"Of course I'm right," said Pooh. + +"That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains +Everything. No Wonder." + +"You must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh. + +"Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore. "How Like Them," he added, +after a long silence. + +Pooh felt that he ought to say something helpful about it, but didn't +quite know what. So he decided to do something helpful instead. + +"Eeyore," he said solemnly, "I, Winnie-the-Pooh, will find your tail for +you." + +"Thank you, Pooh," answered Eeyore. "You're a real friend," said he. +"Not like Some," he said. + +So Winnie-the-Pooh went off to find Eeyore's tail. + +It was a fine spring morning in the forest as he started out. Little +soft clouds played happily in a blue sky, skipping from time to time in +front of the sun as if they had come to put it out, and then sliding +away suddenly so that the next might have his turn. Through them and +between them the sun shone bravely; and a copse which had worn its firs +all the year round seemed old and dowdy now beside the new green lace +which the beeches had put on so prettily. Through copse and spinney +marched Bear; down open slopes of gorse and heather, over rocky beds of +streams, up steep banks of sandstone into the heather again; and so at +last, tired and hungry, to the Hundred Acre Wood. For it was in the +Hundred Acre Wood that Owl lived. + +"And if anyone knows anything about anything," said Bear to himself, +"it's Owl who knows something about something," he said, "or my name's +not Winnie-the-Pooh," he said. "Which it is," he added. "So there you +are." + +Owl lived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which +was grander than anybody else's, or seemed so to Bear, because it had +both a knocker _and_ a bell-pull. Underneath the knocker there was a +notice which said: + + PLES RING IF AN RNSER IS REQIRD. + +Underneath the bell-pull there was a notice which said: + + PLEZ CNOKE IF AN RNSR IS NOT REQID. + +These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only +one in the forest who could spell; for Owl, wise though he was in many +ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow +went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST. + +Winnie-the-Pooh read the two notices very carefully, first from left to +right, and afterwards, in case he had missed some of it, from right to +left. Then, to make quite sure, he knocked and pulled the knocker, and +he pulled and knocked the bell-rope, and he called out in a very loud +voice, "Owl! I require an answer! It's Bear speaking." And the door +opened, and Owl looked out. + +"Hallo, Pooh," he said. "How's things?" + +"Terrible and Sad," said Pooh, "because Eeyore, who is a friend of mine, +has lost his tail. And he's Moping about it. So could you very kindly +tell me how to find it for him?" + +"Well," said Owl, "the customary procedure in such cases is as follows." + +"What does Crustimoney Proseedcake mean?" said Pooh. "For I am a Bear of +Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me." + +"It means the Thing to Do." + +"As long as it means that, I don't mind," said Pooh humbly. + +"The thing to do is as follows. First, Issue a Reward. Then----" + +"Just a moment," said Pooh, holding up his paw. "_What_ do we do to +this--what you were saying? You sneezed just as you were going to tell +me." + +"I _didn't_ sneeze." + +"Yes, you did, Owl." + +"Excuse me, Pooh, I didn't. You can't sneeze without knowing it." + +"Well, you can't know it without something having been sneezed." + +"What I _said_ was, 'First _Issue_ a Reward'." + +"You're doing it again," said Pooh sadly. + +"A Reward!" said Owl very loudly. "We write a notice to say that we will +give a large something to anybody who finds Eeyore's tail." + +"I see, I see," said Pooh, nodding his head. "Talking about large +somethings," he went on dreamily, "I generally have a small something +about now--about this time in the morning," and he looked wistfully at +the cupboard in the corner of Owl's parlour; "just a mouthful of +condensed milk or whatnot, with perhaps a lick of honey----" + +"Well, then," said Owl, "we write out this notice, and we put it up all +over the forest." + +"A lick of honey," murmured Bear to himself, "or--or not, as the case +may be." And he gave a deep sigh, and tried very hard to listen to what +Owl was saying. + +But Owl went on and on, using longer and longer words, until at last he +came back to where he started, and he explained that the person to write +out this notice was Christopher Robin. + +"It was he who wrote the ones on my front door for me. Did you see them, +Pooh?" + +For some time now Pooh had been saying "Yes" and "No" in turn, with his +eyes shut, to all that Owl was saying, and having said, "Yes, yes," last +time, he said "No, not at all," now, without really knowing what Owl was +talking about. + +"Didn't you see them?" said Owl, a little surprised. "Come and look at +them now." + +So they went outside. And Pooh looked at the knocker and the notice +below it, and he looked at the bell-rope and the notice below it, and +the more he looked at the bell-rope, the more he felt that he had seen +something like it, somewhere else, sometime before. + +"Handsome bell-rope, isn't it?" said Owl. + +Pooh nodded. + +"It reminds me of something," he said, "but I can't think what. Where +did you get it?" + +"I just came across it in the Forest. It was hanging over a bush, and I +thought at first somebody lived there, so I rang it, and nothing +happened, and then I rang it again very loudly, and it came off in my +hand, and as nobody seemed to want it, I took it home, and----" + +"Owl," said Pooh solemnly, "you made a mistake. Somebody did want it." + +"Who?" + +"Eeyore. My dear friend Eeyore. He was--he was fond of it." + +"Fond of it?" + +"Attached to it," said Winnie-the-Pooh sadly. + + * * * * * + +So with these words he unhooked it, and carried it back to Eeyore; and +when Christopher Robin had nailed it on in its right place again, Eeyore +frisked about the forest, waving his tail so happily that +Winnie-the-Pooh came over all funny, and had to hurry home for a little +snack of something to sustain him. And, wiping his mouth half an hour +afterwards, he sang to himself proudly: + + _Who found the Tail?_ + "I," said Pooh, + "At a quarter to two + (Only it was quarter to eleven really), + _I_ found the Tail!" + + + + + CHAPTER V + + IN WHICH PIGLET MEETS A HEFFALUMP + + +One day, when Christopher Robin and Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet were +all talking together, Christopher Robin finished the mouthful he was +eating and said carelessly: "I saw a Heffalump to-day, Piglet." + +"What was it doing?" asked Piglet. + +"Just lumping along," said Christopher Robin. "I don't think it saw +_me_." + +"I saw one once," said Piglet. "At least, I think I did," he said. "Only +perhaps it wasn't." + +"So did I," said Pooh, wondering what a Heffalump was like. + +"You don't often see them," said Christopher Robin carelessly. + +"Not now," said Piglet. + +"Not at this time of year," said Pooh. + +Then they all talked about something else, until it was time for Pooh +and Piglet to go home together. At first as they stumped along the path +which edged the Hundred Acre Wood, they didn't say much to each other; +but when they came to the stream and had helped each other across the +stepping stones, and were able to walk side by side again over the +heather, they began to talk in a friendly way about this and that, and +Piglet said, "If you see what I mean, Pooh," and Pooh said, "It's just +what I think myself, Piglet," and Piglet said, "But, on the other hand, +Pooh, we must remember," and Pooh said, "Quite true, Piglet, although I +had forgotten it for the moment." And then, just as they came to the Six +Pine Trees, Pooh looked round to see that nobody else was listening, and +said in a very solemn voice: + +"Piglet, I have decided something." + +"What have you decided, Pooh?" + +"I have decided to catch a Heffalump." + +Pooh nodded his head several times as he said this, and waited for +Piglet to say "How?" or "Pooh, you couldn't!" or something helpful of +that sort, but Piglet said nothing. The fact was Piglet was wishing that +_he_ had thought about it first. + +"I shall do it," said Pooh, after waiting a little longer, "by means of +a trap. And it must be a Cunning Trap, so you will have to help me, +Piglet." + +"Pooh," said Piglet, feeling quite happy again now, "I will." And then +he said, "How shall we do it?" and Pooh said, "That's just it. How?" And +then they sat down together to think it out. + +Pooh's first idea was that they should dig a Very Deep Pit, and then the +Heffalump would come along and fall into the Pit, and---- + +"Why?" said Piglet. + +"Why what?" said Pooh. + +"Why would he fall in?" + +Pooh rubbed his nose with his paw, and said that the Heffalump might be +walking along, humming a little song, and looking up at the sky, +wondering if it would rain, and so he wouldn't see the Very Deep Pit +until he was half-way down, when it would be too late. + +Piglet said that this was a very good Trap, but supposing it were +raining already? + +Pooh rubbed his nose again, and said that he hadn't thought of that. And +then he brightened up, and said that, if it were raining already, the +Heffalump would be looking at the sky wondering if it would _clear up_, +and so he wouldn't see the Very Deep Pit until he was half-way +down.... When it would be too late. + +Piglet said that, now that this point had been explained, he thought it +was a Cunning Trap. + +Pooh was very proud when he heard this, and he felt that the Heffalump +was as good as caught already, but there was just one other thing which +had to be thought about, and it was this. _Where should they dig the +Very Deep Pit?_ + +Piglet said that the best place would be somewhere where a Heffalump +was, just before he fell into it, only about a foot farther on. + +"But then he would see us digging it," said Pooh. + +"Not if he was looking at the sky." + +"He would Suspect," said Pooh, "if he happened to look down." He thought +for a long time and then added sadly, "It isn't as easy as I thought. I +suppose that's why Heffalumps hardly _ever_ get caught." + +"That must be it," said Piglet. + +They sighed and got up; and when they had taken a few gorse prickles out +of themselves they sat down again; and all the time Pooh was saying to +himself, "If only I could _think_ of something!" For he felt sure that a +Very Clever Brain could catch a Heffalump if only he knew the right way +to go about it. + +"Suppose," he said to Piglet, "_you_ wanted to catch _me_, how would you +do it?" + +"Well," said Piglet, "I should do it like this. I should make a Trap, +and I should put a Jar of Honey in the Trap, and you would smell it, and +you would go in after it, and----" + +"And I would go in after it," said Pooh excitedly, "only very carefully +so as not to hurt myself, and I would get to the Jar of Honey, and I +should lick round the edges first of all, pretending that there wasn't +any more, you know, and then I should walk away and think about it a +little, and then I should come back and start licking in the middle of +the jar, and then----" + +"Yes, well never mind about that. There you would be, and there I should +catch you. Now the first thing to think of is, What do Heffalumps like? +I should think acorns, shouldn't you? We'll get a lot of----I say, wake +up, Pooh!" + +Pooh, who had gone into a happy dream, woke up with a start, and said +that Honey was a much more trappy thing than Haycorns. Piglet didn't +think so; and they were just going to argue about it, when Piglet +remembered that, if they put acorns in the Trap, _he_ would have to find +the acorns, but if they put honey, then Pooh would have to give up some +of his own honey, so he said, "All right, honey then," just as Pooh +remembered it too, and was going to say, "All right, haycorns." + +"Honey," said Piglet to himself in a thoughtful way, as if it were now +settled. "_I'll_ dig the pit, while _you_ go and get the honey." + +"Very well," said Pooh, and he stumped off. + +As soon as he got home, he went to the larder; and he stood on a chair, +and took down a very large jar of honey from the top shelf. It had HUNNY +written on it, but, just to make sure, he took off the paper cover and +looked at it, and it _looked_ just like honey. "But you never can tell," +said Pooh. "I remember my uncle saying once that he had seen cheese just +this colour." So he put his tongue in, and took a large lick. "Yes," he +said, "it is. No doubt about that. And honey, I should say, right down +to the bottom of the jar. Unless, of course," he said, "somebody put +cheese in at the bottom just for a joke. Perhaps I had better go a +_little_ further ... just in case ... in case Heffalumps _don't_ +like cheese ... same as me.... Ah!" And he gave a deep sigh. "I +_was_ right. It _is_ honey, right the way down." + +Having made certain of this, he took the jar back to Piglet, and Piglet +looked up from the bottom of his Very Deep Pit, and said, "Got it?" and +Pooh said, "Yes, but it isn't quite a full jar," and he threw it down to +Piglet, and Piglet said, "No, it isn't! Is that all you've got left?" +and Pooh said "Yes." Because it was. So Piglet put the jar at the bottom +of the Pit, and climbed out, and they went off home together. + +"Well, good night, Pooh," said Piglet, when they had got to Pooh's +house. "And we meet at six o'clock to-morrow morning by the Pine Trees, +and see how many Heffalumps we've got in our Trap." + +"Six o'clock, Piglet. And have you got any string?" + +"No. Why do you want string?" + +"To lead them home with." + +"Oh! ... I _think_ Heffalumps come if you whistle." + +"Some do and some don't. You never can tell with Heffalumps. Well, good +night!" + +"Good night!" + +And off Piglet trotted to his house TRESPASSERS W, while Pooh made his +preparations for bed. + +Some hours later, just as the night was beginning to steal away, Pooh +woke up suddenly with a sinking feeling. He had had that sinking feeling +before, and he knew what it meant. _He was hungry._ So he went to the +larder, and he stood on a chair and reached up to the top shelf, and +found--nothing. + +"That's funny," he thought. "I know I had a jar of honey there. A full +jar, full of honey right up to the top, and it had HUNNY written on it, +so that I should know it was honey. That's very funny." And then he +began to wander up and down, wondering where it was and murmuring a +murmur to himself. Like this: + + It's very, very funny, + 'Cos I _know_ I had some honey; + 'Cos it had a label on, + Saying HUNNY. + A goloptious full-up pot too, + And I don't know where it's got to, + No, I don't know where it's gone-- + Well, it's funny. + +He had murmured this to himself three times in a singing sort of way, +when suddenly he remembered. He had put it into the Cunning Trap to +catch the Heffalump. + +"Bother!" said Pooh. "It all comes of trying to be kind to Heffalumps." +And he got back into bed. + +But he couldn't sleep. The more he tried to sleep, the more he couldn't. +He tried Counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to +sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps. And that +was worse. Because every Heffalump that he counted was making straight +for a pot of Pooh's honey, _and eating it all_. For some minutes he lay +there miserably, but when the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump +was licking its jaws, and saying to itself, "Very good honey this, I +don't know when I've tasted better," Pooh could bear it no longer. He +jumped out of bed, he ran out of the house, and he ran straight to the +Six Pine Trees. + +The Sun was still in bed, but there was a lightness in the sky over the +Hundred Acre Wood which seemed to show that it was waking up and would +soon be kicking off the clothes. In the half-light the Pine Trees looked +cold and lonely, and the Very Deep Pit seemed deeper than it was, and +Pooh's jar of honey at the bottom was something mysterious, a shape and +no more. But as he got nearer to it his nose told him that it was indeed +honey, and his tongue came out and began to polish up his mouth, ready +for it. + +"Bother!" said Pooh, as he got his nose inside the jar. "A Heffalump has +been eating it!" And then he thought a little and said, "Oh, no, _I_ +did. I forgot." + +Indeed, he had eaten most of it. But there was a little left at the very +bottom of the jar, and he pushed his head right in, and began to +lick.... + +By and by Piglet woke up. As soon as he woke he said to himself, "Oh!" +Then he said bravely, "Yes," and then, still more bravely, "Quite so." +But he didn't feel very brave, for the word which was really jiggeting +about in his brain was "Heffalumps." + +What was a Heffalump like? + +Was it Fierce? + +_Did_ it come when you whistled? And _how_ did it come? + +Was it Fond of Pigs at all? + +If it was Fond of Pigs, did it make any difference _what sort of Pig_? + +Supposing it was Fierce with Pigs, would it make any difference _if the +Pig had a grandfather called TRESPASSERS WILLIAM_? + +He didn't know the answer to any of these questions ... and he was +going to see his first Heffalump in about an hour from now! + +Of course Pooh would be with him, and it was much more Friendly with +two. But suppose Heffalumps were Very Fierce with Pigs _and_ Bears? +Wouldn't it be better to pretend that he had a headache, and couldn't go +up to the Six Pine Trees this morning? But then suppose that it was a +very fine day, and there was no Heffalump in the trap, here he would be, +in bed all the morning, simply wasting his time for nothing. What should +he do? + +And then he had a Clever Idea. He would go up very quietly to the Six +Pine Trees now, peep very cautiously into the Trap, and see if there +_was_ a Heffalump there. And if there was, he would go back to bed, and +if there wasn't, he wouldn't. + +So off he went. At first he thought that there wouldn't be a Heffalump +in the Trap, and then he thought that there would, and as he got nearer +he was _sure_ that there would, because he could hear it heffalumping +about it like anything. + +"Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear!" said Piglet to himself. And he wanted to +run away. But somehow, having got so near, he felt that he must just see +what a Heffalump was like. So he crept to the side of the Trap and +looked in.... + +And all the time Winnie-the-Pooh had been trying to get the honey-jar +off his head. The more he shook it, the more tightly it stuck. + +"_Bother!_" he said, inside the jar, and "_Oh, help!_" and, mostly, +"_Ow!_" And he tried bumping it against things, but as he couldn't see +what he was bumping it against, it didn't help him; and he tried to +climb out of the Trap, but as he could see nothing but jar, and not much +of that, he couldn't find his way. So at last he lifted up his head, jar +and all, and made a loud, roaring noise of Sadness and Despair ... and +it was at that moment that Piglet looked down. + +"Help, help!" cried Piglet, "a Heffalump, a Horrible Heffalump!" and he +scampered off as hard as he could, still crying out, "Help, help, a +Herrible Hoffalump! Hoff, Hoff, a Hellible Horralump! Holl, Holl, a +Hoffable Hellerump!" And he didn't stop crying and scampering until he +got to Christopher Robin's house. + +"Whatever's the matter, Piglet?" said Christopher Robin, who was just +getting up. + +"Heff," said Piglet, breathing so hard that he could hardly speak, "a +Heff--a Heff--a Heffalump." + +"Where?" + +"Up there," said Piglet, waving his paw. + +"What did it look like?" + +"Like--like----It had the biggest head you ever saw, Christopher Robin. +A great enormous thing, like--like nothing. A huge big--well, like a--I +don't know--like an enormous big nothing. Like a jar." + +"Well," said Christopher Robin, putting on his shoes, "I shall go and +look at it. Come on." + +Piglet wasn't afraid if he had Christopher Robin with him, so off they +went.... + +"I can hear it, can't you?" said Piglet anxiously, as they got near. + +"I can hear _something_," said Christopher Robin. + +It was Pooh bumping his head against a tree-root he had found. + +"There!" said Piglet. "Isn't it _awful_?" And he held on tight to +Christopher Robin's hand. + +Suddenly Christopher Robin began to laugh ... and he laughed ... and he +laughed ... and he laughed. And while he was still laughing--_Crash_ +went the Heffalump's head against the tree-root, Smash went the jar, +and out came Pooh's head again.... + +Then Piglet saw what a Foolish Piglet he had been, and he was so ashamed +of himself that he ran straight off home and went to bed with a +headache. But Christopher Robin and Pooh went home to breakfast +together. + +"Oh, Bear!" said Christopher Robin. "How I do love you!" + +"So do I," said Pooh. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + IN WHICH EEYORE HAS A BIRTHDAY + AND GETS TWO PRESENTS + + +Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and +looked at himself in the water. + +"Pathetic," he said. "That's what it is. Pathetic." + +He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed +across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at +himself in the water again. + +"As I thought," he said. "No better from _this_ side. But nobody minds. +Nobody cares. Pathetic, that's what it is." + +There was a crackling noise in the bracken behind him, and out came +Pooh. + +"Good morning, Eeyore," said Pooh. + +"Good morning, Pooh Bear," said Eeyore gloomily. "If it _is_ a good +morning," he said. "Which I doubt," said he. + +"Why, what's the matter?" + +"Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can't all, and some of us don't. That's +all there is to it." + +"Can't all _what_?" said Pooh, rubbing his nose. + +"Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush." + +"Oh!" said Pooh. He thought for a long time, and then asked, "What +mulberry bush is that?" + +"Bon-hommy," went on Eeyore gloomily. "French word meaning bonhommy," he +explained. "I'm not complaining, but There It Is." + +Pooh sat down on a large stone, and tried to think this out. It sounded +to him like a riddle, and he was never much good at riddles, being a +Bear of Very Little Brain. So he sang _Cottleston Pie_ instead: + + Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, + A fly can't bird, but a bird can fly. + Ask me a riddle and I reply: + "_Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie._" + +That was the first verse. When he had finished it, Eeyore didn't +actually say that he didn't like it, so Pooh very kindly sang the second +verse to him: + + Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, + A fish can't whistle and neither can I. + Ask me a riddle and I reply: + "_Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie_." + +Eeyore still said nothing at all, so Pooh hummed the third verse quietly +to himself: + + Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, + Why does a chicken, I don't know why. + Ask me a riddle and I reply: + "_Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie_." + +"That's right," said Eeyore. "Sing. Umty-tiddly, umty-too. Here we go +gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself." + +"I am," said Pooh. + +"Some can," said Eeyore. + +"Why, what's the matter?" + +"_Is_ anything the matter?" + +"You seem so sad, Eeyore." + +"Sad? Why should I be sad? It's my birthday. The happiest day of the +year." + +"Your birthday?" said Pooh in great surprise. + +"Of course it is. Can't you see? Look at all the presents I have had." +He waved a foot from side to side. "Look at the birthday cake. Candles +and pink sugar." + +Pooh looked--first to the right and then to the left. + +"Presents?" said Pooh. "Birthday cake?" said Pooh. "_Where?_" + +"Can't you see them?" + +"No," said Pooh. + +"Neither can I," said Eeyore. "Joke," he explained. "Ha ha!" + +Pooh scratched his head, being a little puzzled by all this. + +"But is it really your birthday?" he asked. + +"It is." + +"Oh! Well, Many happy returns of the day, Eeyore." + +"And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear." + +"But it isn't _my_ birthday." + +"No, it's mine." + +"But you said 'Many happy returns'----" + +"Well, why not? You don't always want to be miserable on my birthday, do +you?" + +"Oh, I see," said Pooh. + +"It's bad enough," said Eeyore, almost breaking down, "being miserable +myself, what with no presents and no cake and no candles, and no proper +notice taken of me at all, but if everybody else is going to be +miserable too----" + +This was too much for Pooh. "Stay there!" he called to Eeyore, as he +turned and hurried back home as quick as he could; for he felt that he +must get poor Eeyore a present of _some_ sort at once, and he could +always think of a proper one afterwards. + +Outside his house he found Piglet, jumping up and down trying to reach +the knocker. + +"Hallo, Piglet," he said. + +"Hallo, Pooh," said Piglet. + +"What are _you_ trying to do?" + +"I was trying to reach the knocker," said Piglet. "I just came +round----" + +"Let me do it for you," said Pooh kindly. So he reached up and knocked +at the door. "I have just seen Eeyore," he began, "and poor Eeyore is in +a Very Sad Condition, because it's his birthday, and nobody has taken +any notice of it, and he's very Gloomy--you know what Eeyore is--and +there he was, and----What a long time whoever lives here is answering +this door." And he knocked again. + +"But Pooh," said Piglet, "it's your own house!" + +"Oh!" said Pooh. "So it is," he said. "Well, let's go in." + +So in they went. The first thing Pooh did was to go to the cupboard to +see if he had quite a small jar of honey left; and he had, so he took it +down. + +"I'm giving this to Eeyore," he explained, "as a present. What are _you_ +going to give?" + +"Couldn't I give it too?" said Piglet. "From both of us?" + +"No," said Pooh. "That would _not_ be a good plan." + +"All right, then, I'll give him a balloon. I've got one left from my +party. I'll go and get it now, shall I?" + +"That, Piglet, is a _very_ good idea. It is just what Eeyore wants to +cheer him up. Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon." + +So off Piglet trotted; and in the other direction went Pooh, with his +jar of honey. + +It was a warm day, and he had a long way to go. He hadn't gone more than +half-way when a sort of funny feeling began to creep all over him. It +began at the tip of his nose and trickled all through him and out at the +soles of his feet. It was just as if somebody inside him were saying, +"Now then, Pooh, time for a little something." + +"Dear, dear," said Pooh, "I didn't know it was as late as that." So he +sat down and took the top off his jar of honey. "Lucky I brought this +with me," he thought. "Many a bear going out on a warm day like this +would never have thought of bringing a little something with him." And +he began to eat. + +"Now let me see," he thought, as he took his last lick of the inside of +the jar, "where was I going? Ah, yes, Eeyore." He got up slowly. + +And then, suddenly, he remembered. He had eaten Eeyore's birthday +present! + +"_Bother!_" said Pooh. "What _shall_ I do? I _must_ give him +_something_." + +For a little while he couldn't think of anything. Then he thought: +"Well, it's a very nice pot, even if there's no honey in it, and if I +washed it clean, and got somebody to write '_A Happy Birthday_' on it, +Eeyore could keep things in it, which might be Useful." So, as he was +just passing the Hundred Acre Wood, he went inside to call on Owl, who +lived there. + +"Good morning, Owl," he said. + +"Good morning, Pooh," said Owl. + +"Many happy returns of Eeyore's birthday," said Pooh. + +"Oh, is that what it is?" + +"What are you giving him, Owl?" + +"What are _you_ giving him, Pooh?" + +"I'm giving him a Useful Pot to Keep Things In, and I wanted to ask +you----" + +"Is this it?" said Owl, taking it out of Pooh's paw. + +"Yes, and I wanted to ask you----" + +"Somebody has been keeping honey in it," said Owl. + +"You can keep _anything_ in it," said Pooh earnestly. "It's Very Useful +like that. And I wanted to ask you----" + +"You ought to write '_A Happy Birthday_' on it." + +"_That_ was what I wanted to ask you," said Pooh. "Because my spelling +is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the +wrong places. Would _you_ write 'A Happy Birthday' on it for me?" + +"It's a nice pot," said Owl, looking at it all round. "Couldn't I give +it too? From both of us?" + +"No," said Pooh. "That would _not_ be a good plan. Now I'll just wash it +first, and then you can write on it." + +Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of +his pencil, and wondered how to spell "birthday." + +"Can you read, Pooh?" he asked a little anxiously. "There's a notice +about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin +wrote. Could you read it?" + +"Christopher Robin told me what it said, and _then_ I could." + +"Well, I'll tell you what _this_ says, and then you'll be able to." + +So Owl wrote ... and this is what he wrote: + + HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY. + +Pooh looked on admiringly. + +"I'm just saying 'A Happy Birthday'," said Owl carelessly. + +"It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed by it. + +"Well, _actually_, of course, I'm saying 'A Very Happy Birthday with +love from Pooh.' Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long +thing like that." + +"Oh, I see," said Pooh. + +While all this was happening, Piglet had gone back to his own house to +get Eeyore's balloon. He held it very tightly against himself, so that +it shouldn't blow away, and he ran as fast as he could so as to get to +Eeyore before Pooh did; for he thought that he would like to be the +first one to give a present, just as if he had thought of it without +being told by anybody. And running along, and thinking how pleased +Eeyore would be, he didn't look where he was going ... and suddenly he +put his foot in a rabbit hole, and fell down flat on his face. + +BANG!!!???***!!! + +Piglet lay there, wondering what had happened. At first he thought that +the whole world had blown up; and then he thought that perhaps only the +Forest part of it had; and then he thought that perhaps only _he_ had, +and he was now alone in the moon or somewhere, and would never see +Christopher Robin or Pooh or Eeyore again. And then he thought, "Well, +even if I'm in the moon, I needn't be face downwards all the time," so +he got cautiously up and looked about him. + +He was still in the Forest! + +"Well, that's funny," he thought. "I wonder what that bang was. I +couldn't have made such a noise just falling down. And where's my +balloon? And what's that small piece of damp rag doing?" + +It was the balloon! + +"Oh, dear!" said Piglet "Oh, dear, oh, dearie, dearie, dear! Well, it's +too late now. I can't go back, and I haven't another balloon, and +perhaps Eeyore doesn't _like_ balloons so _very_ much." + +So he trotted on, rather sadly now, and down he came to the side of the +stream where Eeyore was, and called out to him. + +"Good morning, Eeyore," shouted Piglet. + +"Good morning, Little Piglet," said Eeyore. "If it _is_ a good morning," +he said. "Which I doubt," said he. "Not that it matters," he said. + +"Many happy returns of the day," said Piglet, having now got closer. + +Eeyore stopped looking at himself in the stream, and turned to stare at +Piglet. + +"Just say that again," he said. + +"Many hap----" + +"Wait a moment." + +Balancing on three legs, he began to bring his fourth leg very +cautiously up to his ear. "I did this yesterday," he explained, as he +fell down for the third time. "It's quite easy. It's so as I can hear +better.... There, that's done it! Now then, what were you saying?" He +pushed his ear forward with his hoof. + +"Many happy returns of the day," said Piglet again. + +"Meaning me?" + +"Of course, Eeyore." + +"My birthday?" + +"Yes." + +"Me having a real birthday?" + +"Yes, Eeyore, and I've brought you a present." + +Eeyore took down his right hoof from his right ear, turned round, and +with great difficulty put up his left hoof. + +"I must have that in the other ear," he said. "Now then." + +"A present," said Piglet very loudly. + +"Meaning me again?" + +"Yes." + +"My birthday still?" + +"Of course, Eeyore." + +"Me going on having a real birthday?" + +"Yes, Eeyore, and I brought you a balloon." + +"_Balloon?_" said Eeyore. "You did say balloon? One of those big +coloured things you blow up? Gaiety, song-and-dance, here we are and +there we are?" + +"Yes, but I'm afraid--I'm very sorry, Eeyore--but when I was running +along to bring it you, I fell down." + +"Dear, dear, how unlucky! You ran too fast, I expect. You didn't hurt +yourself, Little Piglet?" + +"No, but I--I--oh, Eeyore, I burst the balloon!" + +There was a very long silence. + +"My balloon?" said Eeyore at last. + +Piglet nodded. + +"My birthday balloon?" + +"Yes, Eeyore," said Piglet sniffing a little. "Here it is. With--with +many happy returns of the day." And he gave Eeyore the small piece of +damp rag. + +"Is this it?" said Eeyore, a little surprised. + +Piglet nodded. + +"My present?" + +Piglet nodded again. + +"The balloon?" + +"Yes." + +"Thank you, Piglet," said Eeyore. "You don't mind my asking," he went +on, "but what colour was this balloon when it--when it _was_ a balloon?" + +"Red." + +"I just wondered.... Red," he murmured to himself. "My favourite +colour.... How big was it?" + +"About as big as me." + +"I just wondered.... About as big as Piglet," he said to himself +sadly. "My favourite size. Well, well." + +Piglet felt very miserable, and didn't know what to say. He was still +opening his mouth to begin something, and then deciding that it wasn't +any good saying _that_, when he heard a shout from the other side of the +river, and there was Pooh. + +"Many happy returns of the day," called out Pooh, forgetting that he had +said it already. + +"Thank you, Pooh, I'm having them," said Eeyore gloomily. + +"I've brought you a little present," said Pooh excitedly. + +"I've had it," said Eeyore. + +Pooh had now splashed across the stream to Eeyore, and Piglet was +sitting a little way off, his head in his paws, snuffling to himself. + +"It's a Useful Pot," said Pooh. "Here it is. And it's got 'A Very Happy +Birthday with love from Pooh' written on it. That's what all that +writing is. And it's for putting things in. There!" + +When Eeyore saw the pot, he became quite excited. + +"Why!" he said. "I believe my Balloon will just go into that Pot!" + +"Oh, no, Eeyore," said Pooh. "Balloons are much too big to go into Pots. +What you do with a balloon is, you hold the ballon----" + +"Not mine," said Eeyore proudly. "Look, Piglet!" And as Piglet looked +sorrowfully round, Eeyore picked the balloon up with his teeth, and +placed it carefully in the pot; picked it out and put it on the ground; +and then picked it up again and put it carefully back. + +"So it does!" said Pooh. "It goes in!" + +"So it does!" said Piglet. "And it comes out!" + +"Doesn't it?" said Eeyore. "It goes in and out like anything." + +"I'm very glad," said Pooh happily, "that I thought of giving you a +Useful Pot to put things in." + +"I'm very glad," said Piglet happily, "that I thought of giving you +Something to put in a Useful Pot." + +But Eeyore wasn't listening. He was taking the balloon out, and putting +it back again, as happy as could be.... + + * * * * * + +"And didn't _I_ give him anything?" asked Christopher Robin sadly. + +"Of course you did," I said. "You gave him--don't you remember--a +little--a little----" + +"I gave him a box of paints to paint things with." + +"That was it." + +"Why didn't I give it to him in the morning?" + +"You were so busy getting his party ready for him. He had a cake with +icing on the top, and three candles, and his name in pink sugar, +and----" + +"Yes, _I_ remember," said Christopher Robin. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + IN WHICH KANGA AND BABY ROO COME + TO THE FOREST, AND PIGLET HAS A BATH + + +Nobody seemed to know where they came from, but there they were in the +Forest: Kanga and Baby Roo. When Pooh asked Christopher Robin, "How did +they come here?" Christopher Robin said, "In the Usual Way, if you know +what I mean, Pooh," and Pooh, who didn't, said "Oh!" Then he nodded his +head twice and said, "In the Usual Way. Ah!" Then he went to call upon +his friend Piglet to see what _he_ thought about it. And at Piglet's +house he found Rabbit. So they all talked about it together. + +"What I don't like about it is this," said Rabbit. "Here are we--you, +Pooh, and you, Piglet, and Me--and suddenly----" + +"And Eeyore," said Pooh. + +"And Eeyore--and then suddenly----" + +"And Owl," said Pooh. + +"And Owl--and then all of a sudden----" + +"Oh, and Eeyore," said Pooh. "I was forgetting _him_." + +"Here--we--are," said Rabbit very slowly and carefully, "all--of--us, +and then, suddenly, we wake up one morning and, what do we find? We find +a Strange Animal among us. An animal of whom we have never even heard +before! An animal who carries her family about with her in her pocket! +Suppose _I_ carried _my_ family about with me in _my_ pocket, how many +pockets should I want?" + +"Sixteen," said Piglet. + +"Seventeen, isn't it?" said Rabbit. "And one more for a +handkerchief--that's eighteen. Eighteen pockets in one suit! I haven't +time." + +There was a long and thoughtful silence ... and then Pooh, who had +been frowning very hard for some minutes, said: "_I_ make it fifteen." + +"What?" said Rabbit. + +"Fifteen." + +"Fifteen what?" + +"Your family." + +"What about them?" + +Pooh rubbed his nose and said that he thought Rabbit had been talking +about his family. + +"Did I?" said Rabbit carelessly. + +"Yes, you said----" + +"Never mind, Pooh," said Piglet impatiently. + +"The question is, What are we to do about Kanga?" + +"Oh, I see," said Pooh. + +"The best way," said Rabbit, "would be this. The best way would be to +steal Baby Roo and hide him, and then when Kanga says, 'Where's Baby +Roo?' we say, '_Aha!_'" + +"_Aha!_" said Pooh, practising. "_Aha! Aha!_ ... Of course," he went +on, "we could say 'Aha!' even if we hadn't stolen Baby Roo." + +"Pooh," said Rabbit kindly, "you haven't any brain." + +"I know," said Pooh humbly. + +"We say '_Aha!_' so that Kanga knows that _we_ know where Baby Roo is. +'_Aha!_' means 'We'll tell you where Baby Roo is, if you promise to go +away from the Forest and never come back.' Now don't talk while I +think." + +Pooh went into a corner and tried saying 'Aha!' in that sort of voice. +Sometimes it seemed to him that it did mean what Rabbit said, and +sometimes it seemed to him that it didn't. "I suppose it's just +practice," he thought. "I wonder if Kanga will have to practise too so +as to understand it." + +"There's just one thing," said Piglet, fidgeting a bit. "I was talking +to Christopher Robin, and he said that a Kanga was Generally Regarded as +One of the Fiercer Animals. I am not frightened of Fierce Animals in the +ordinary way, but it is well known that, if One of the Fiercer Animals +is Deprived of Its Young, it becomes as fierce as Two of the Fiercer +Animals. In which case '_Aha!_' is perhaps a _foolish_ thing to say." + +"Piglet," said Rabbit, taking out a pencil, and licking the end of it, +"you haven't any pluck." + +"It is hard to be brave," said Piglet, sniffing slightly, "when you're +only a Very Small Animal." + +Rabbit, who had begun to write very busily, looked up and said: + +"It is because you are a very small animal that you will be Useful in +the adventure before us." + +Piglet was so excited at the idea of being Useful, that he forgot to be +frightened any more, and when Rabbit went on to say that Kangas were +only Fierce during the winter months, being at other times of an +Affectionate Disposition, he could hardly sit still, he was so eager to +begin being useful at once. + +"What about me?" said Pooh sadly. "I suppose _I_ shan't be useful?" + +"Never mind, Pooh," said Piglet comfortingly. "Another time perhaps." + +"Without Pooh," said Rabbit solemnly as he sharpened his pencil, "the +adventure would be impossible." + +"Oh!" said Piglet, and tried not to look disappointed. But Pooh went +into a corner of the room and said proudly to himself, "Impossible +without Me! _That_ sort of Bear." + +"Now listen all of you," said Rabbit when he had finished writing, and +Pooh and Piglet sat listening very eagerly with their mouths open. This +was what Rabbit read out: + + PLAN TO CAPTURE BABY ROO + + 1. _General Remarks._ Kanga runs faster than any of Us, even Me. + + 2. _More General Remarks._ Kanga never takes her eye off Baby Roo, + except when he's safely buttoned up in her pocket. + + 3. _Therefore._ If we are to capture Baby Roo, we must get a Long + Start, because Kanga runs faster than any of Us, even Me. + (_See_ 1.) + + 4. _A Thought._ If Roo had jumped out of Kanga's pocket and Piglet + had jumped in, Kanga wouldn't know the difference, because Piglet + is a Very Small Animal. + + 5. Like Roo. + + 6. But Kanga would have to be looking the other way first, so as not + to see Piglet jumping in. + + 7. See 2. + + 8. _Another Thought._ But if Pooh was talking to her very excitedly, + she _might_ look the other way for a moment. + + 9. And then I could run away with Roo. + + 10. Quickly. + + 11. _And Kanga wouldn't discover the difference until Afterwards._ + +Well, Rabbit read this out proudly, and for a little while after he had +read it nobody said anything. And then Piglet, who had been opening and +shutting his mouth without making any noise, managed to say very +huskily: + +"And--Afterwards?" + +"How do you mean?" + +"When Kanga _does_ Discover the Difference?" + +"Then we all say '_Aha!_'" + +"All three of us?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" + +"Why, what's the trouble, Piglet?" + +"Nothing," said Piglet, "as long as _we all three_ say it. As long as we +all three say it," said Piglet, "I don't mind," he said, "but I +shouldn't care to say '_Aha!_' by myself. It wouldn't sound _nearly_ so +well. By the way," he said, "you _are_ quite sure about what you said +about the winter months?" + +"The winter months?" + +"Yes, only being Fierce in the Winter Months." + +"Oh, yes, yes, that's all right. Well, Pooh? You see what you have to +do?" + +"No," said Pooh Bear. "Not yet," he said. "What _do_ I do?" + +"Well, you just have to talk very hard to Kanga so as she doesn't notice +anything." + +"Oh! What about?" + +"Anything you like." + +"You mean like telling her a little bit of poetry or something?" + +"That's it," said Rabbit. "Splendid. Now come along." + +So they all went out to look for Kanga. + +Kanga and Roo were spending a quiet afternoon in a sandy part of the +Forest. Baby Roo was practising very small jumps in the sand, and +falling down mouse-holes and climbing out of them, and Kanga was +fidgeting about and saying "Just one more jump, dear, and then we must +go home." And at that moment who should come stumping up the hill but +Pooh. + +"Good afternoon, Kanga." + +"Good afternoon, Pooh." + +"Look at me jumping," squeaked Roo, and fell into another mouse-hole. + +"Hallo, Roo, my little fellow!" + +"We were just going home," said Kanga. "Good afternoon, Rabbit. Good +afternoon, Piglet." + +Rabbit and Piglet, who had now come up from the other side of the hill, +said "Good afternoon," and "Hallo, Roo," and Roo asked them to look at +him jumping, so they stayed and looked. + +And Kanga looked too.... + +"Oh, Kanga," said Pooh, after Rabbit had winked at him twice, "I don't +know if you are interested in Poetry at all?" + +"Hardly at all," said Kanga. + +"Oh!" said Pooh. + +"Roo, dear, just one more jump and then we must go home." + +There was a short silence while Roo fell down another mouse-hole. + +"Go on," said Rabbit in a loud whisper behind his paw. + +"Talking of Poetry," said Pooh, "I made up a little piece as I was +coming along. It went like this. Er--now let me see----" + +"Fancy!" said Kanga. "Now Roo, dear----" + +"You'll like this piece of poetry," said Rabbit. + +"You'll love it," said Piglet. + +"You must listen very carefully," said Rabbit. + +"So as not to miss any of it," said Piglet. + +"Oh, yes," said Kanga, but she still looked at Baby Roo. + +"_How_ did it go, Pooh?" said Rabbit. + +Pooh gave a little cough and began. + + LINES WRITTEN BY A BEAR OF VERY LITTLE BRAIN + + On Monday, when the sun is hot + I wonder to myself a lot: + "Now is it true, or is it not, + "That what is which and which is what?" + + On Tuesday, when it hails and snows, + The feeling on me grows and grows + That hardly anybody knows + If those are these or these are those. + + On Wednesday, when the sky is blue, + And I have nothing else to do, + I sometimes wonder if it's true + That who is what and what is who. + + On Thursday, when it starts to freeze + And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees, + How very readily one sees + That these are whose--but whose are these? + + On Friday---- + +"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Kanga, not waiting to hear what happened on +Friday. "Just one more jump, Roo, dear, and then we really _must_ be +going." + +Rabbit gave Pooh a hurrying-up sort of nudge. + +"Talking of Poetry," said Pooh quickly, "have you ever noticed that tree +right over there?" + +"Where?" said Kanga. "Now, Roo----" + +"Right over there," said Pooh, pointing behind Kanga's back. + +"No," said Kanga. "Now jump in, Roo, dear, and we'll go home." + +"You ought to look at that tree right over there," said Rabbit. "Shall I +lift you in, Roo?" And he picked up Roo in his paws. + +"I can see a bird in it from here," said Pooh. "Or is it a fish?" + +"You ought to see that bird from here," said Rabbit. "Unless it's a +fish." + +"It isn't a fish, it's a bird," said Piglet. + +"So it is," said Rabbit. + +"Is it a starling or a blackbird?" said Pooh. + +"That's the whole question," said Rabbit. "Is it a blackbird or a +starling?" + +And then at last Kanga did turn her head to look. And the moment that +her head was turned, Rabbit said in a loud voice "In you go, Roo!" and +in jumped Piglet into Kanga's pocket, and off scampered Rabbit, with Roo +in his paws, as fast as he could. + +"Why, where's Rabbit?" said Kanga, turning round again. "Are you all +right, Roo, dear?" + +Piglet made a squeaky Roo-noise from the bottom of Kanga's pocket. + +"Rabbit had to go away," said Pooh. "I think he thought of something he +had to go and see about suddenly." + +"And Piglet?" + +"I think Piglet thought of something at the same time. Suddenly." + +"Well, we must be getting home," said Kanga. "Good-bye, Pooh." And in +three large jumps she was gone. + +Pooh looked after her as she went. + +"I wish I could jump like that," he thought. "Some can and some can't. +That's how it is." + +But there were moments when Piglet wished that Kanga couldn't. Often, +when he had had a long walk home through the Forest, he had wished that +he were a bird; but now he thought jerkily to himself at the bottom of +Kanga's pocket, + + this take + "If is shall really to + flying I never it." + +And as he went up in the air he said, "_Ooooooo!_" and as he came down +he said, "_Ow!_" And he was saying, "_Ooooooo-ow, Ooooooo-ow, +Ooooooo-ow_" all the way to Kanga's house. + +Of course as soon as Kanga unbuttoned her pocket, she saw what had +happened. Just for a moment, she thought she was frightened, and then +she knew she wasn't; for she felt quite sure that Christopher Robin +would never let any harm happen to Roo. So she said to herself, "If they +are having a joke with me, I will have a joke with them." + +"Now then, Roo, dear," she said, as she took Piglet out of her pocket. +"Bed-time." + +"_Aha!_" said Piglet, as well as he could after his Terrifying Journey. +But it wasn't a very good "_Aha!_" and Kanga didn't seem to understand +what it meant. + +"Bath first," said Kanga in a cheerful voice. + +"_Aha!_" said Piglet again, looking round anxiously for the others. But +the others weren't there. Rabbit was playing with Baby Roo in his own +house, and feeling more fond of him every minute, and Pooh, who had +decided to be a Kanga, was still at the sandy place on the top of the +Forest, practising jumps. + +"I am not at all sure," said Kanga in a thoughtful voice, "that it +wouldn't be a good idea to have a _cold_ bath this evening. Would you +like that, Roo, dear?" + +Piglet, who had never been really fond of baths, shuddered a long +indignant shudder, and said in as brave a voice as he could: + +"Kanga, I see that the time has come to spleak painly." + +"Funny little Roo," said Kanga, as she got the bath-water ready. + +"I am _not_ Roo," said Piglet loudly. "I am Piglet!" + +"Yes, dear, yes," said Kanga soothingly. "And imitating Piglet's voice +too! So clever of him," she went on, as she took a large bar of yellow +soap out of the cupboard. "What _will_ he be doing next?" + +"Can't you _see_?" shouted Piglet. "Haven't you got _eyes_? _Look_ at +me!" + +"I _am_ looking, Roo, dear," said Kanga rather severely. "And you know +what I told you yesterday about making faces. If you go on making faces +like Piglet's, you will grow up to _look_ like Piglet--and _then_ think +how sorry you will be. Now then, into the bath, and don't let me have to +speak to you about it again." + +Before he knew where he was, Piglet was in the bath, and Kanga was +scrubbing him firmly with a large lathery flannel. + +"Ow!" cried Piglet. "Let me out! I'm Piglet!" + +"Don't open the mouth, dear, or the soap goes in," said Kanga. "There! +What did I tell you?" + +"You--you--you did it on purpose," spluttered Piglet, as soon as he +could speak again ... and then accidentally had another mouthful of +lathery flannel. + +"That's right, dear, don't say anything," said Kanga, and in another +minute Piglet was out of the bath, and being rubbed dry with a towel. + +"Now," said Kanga, "there's your medicine, and then bed." + +"W-w-what medicine?" said Piglet. + +"To make you grow big and strong, dear. You don't want to grow up small +and weak like Piglet, do you? Well, then!" + +At that moment there was a knock at the door. + +"Come in," said Kanga, and in came Christopher Robin. + +"Christopher Robin, Christopher Robin!" cried Piglet. "Tell Kanga who I +am! She keeps saying I'm Roo. I'm _not_ Roo, am I?" + +Christopher Robin looked at him very carefully, and shook his head. + +"You can't be Roo," he said, "because I've just seen Roo playing in +Rabbit's house." + +"Well!" said Kanga. "Fancy that! Fancy my making a mistake like that." + +"There you are!" said Piglet. "I told you so. I'm Piglet." + +Christopher Robin shook his head again. + +"Oh, you're not Piglet," he said. "I know Piglet well, and he's _quite_ +a different colour." + +Piglet began to say that this was because he had just had a bath, and +then he thought that perhaps he wouldn't say that, and as he opened his +mouth to say something else, Kanga slipped the medicine spoon in, and +then patted him on the back and told him that it was really quite a nice +taste when you got used to it. + +"I knew it wasn't Piglet," said Kanga. "I wonder who it can be." + +"Perhaps it's some relation of Pooh's," said Christopher Robin. "What +about a nephew or an uncle or something?" + +Kanga agreed that this was probably what it was, and said that they +would have to call it by some name. + +"I shall call it Pootel," said Christopher Robin. "Henry Pootel for +short." + +And just when it was decided, Henry Pootel wriggled out of Kanga's arms +and jumped to the ground. To his great joy Christopher Robin had left +the door open. Never had Henry Pootel Piglet run so fast as he ran then, +and he didn't stop running until he had got quite close to his house. +But when he was a hundred yards away he stopped running, and rolled the +rest of the way home, so as to get his own nice comfortable colour +again.... + +So Kanga and Roo stayed in the Forest. And every Tuesday Roo spent the +day with his great friend Rabbit, and every Tuesday Kanga spent the day +with her great friend Pooh, teaching him to jump, and every Tuesday +Piglet spent the day with his great friend Christopher Robin. So they +were all happy again. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN LEADS + AN EXPOTITION TO THE NORTH POLE + + +One fine day Pooh had stumped up to the top of the Forest to see if +his friend Christopher Robin was interested in Bears at all. At +breakfast that morning (a simple meal of marmalade spread lightly over a +honeycomb or two) he had suddenly thought of a new song. It began like +this: + + "_Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear._" + +When he had got as far as this, he scratched his head, and thought to +himself "That's a very good start for a song, but what about the second +line?" He tried singing "Ho," two or three times, but it didn't seem to +help. "Perhaps it would be better," he thought, "if I sang Hi for the +life of a Bear." So he sang it ... but it wasn't. "Very well, then," +he said, "I shall sing that first line twice, and perhaps if I sing it +very quickly, I shall find myself singing the third and fourth lines +before I have time to think of them, and that will be a Good Song. Now +then:" + + Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear! + Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear! + I don't much mind if it rains or snows, + 'Cos I've got a lot of honey on my nice new nose, + I don't much care if it snows or thaws, + 'Cos I've got a lot of honey on my nice clean paws! + Sing Ho! for a Bear! + Sing Ho! for a Pooh! + And I'll have a little something in an hour or two! + +He was so pleased with this song that he sang it all the way to the top +of the Forest, "and if I go on singing it much longer," he thought, "it +will be time for the little something, and then the last line won't be +true." So he turned it into a hum instead. + +Christopher Robin was sitting outside his door, putting on his Big +Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Pooh knew that an Adventure was +going to happen, and he brushed the honey off his nose with the back of +his paw, and spruced himself up as well as he could, so as to look Ready +for Anything. + +"Good-morning, Christopher Robin," he called out. + +"Hallo, Pooh Bear. I can't get this boot on." + +"That's bad," said Pooh. + +"Do you think you could very kindly lean against me, 'cos I keep pulling +so hard that I fall over backwards." + +Pooh sat down, dug his feet into the ground, and pushed hard against +Christopher Robin's back, and Christopher Robin pushed hard against his, +and pulled and pulled at his boot until he had got it on. + +"And that's that," said Pooh. "What do we do next?" + +"We are all going on an Expedition," said Christopher Robin, as he got +up and brushed himself. "Thank you, Pooh." + +"Going on an Expotition?" said Pooh eagerly. "I don't think I've ever +been on one of those. Where are we going to on this Expotition?" + +"Expedition, silly old Bear. It's got an 'x' in it." + +"Oh!" said Pooh. "I know." But he didn't really. + +"We're going to discover the North Pole." + +"Oh!" said Pooh again. "What _is_ the North Pole?" he asked. + +"It's just a thing you discover," said Christopher Robin carelessly, not +being quite sure himself. + +"Oh! I see," said Pooh. "Are bears any good at discovering it?" + +"Of course they are. And Rabbit and Kanga and all of you. It's an +Expedition. That's what an Expedition means. A long line of everybody. +You'd better tell the others to get ready, while I see if my gun's all +right. And we must all bring Provisions." + +"Bring what?" + +"Things to eat." + +"Oh!" said Pooh happily. "I thought you said Provisions. I'll go and +tell them." And he stumped off. + +The first person he met was Rabbit. + +"Hallo, Rabbit," he said, "is that you?" + +"Let's pretend it isn't," said Rabbit, "and see what happens." + +"I've got a message for you." + +"I'll give it to him." + +"We're all going on an Expotition with Christopher Robin!" + +"What is it when we're on it?" + +"A sort of boat, I think," said Pooh. + +"Oh! that sort." + +"Yes. And we're going to discover a Pole or something. Or was it a Mole? +Anyhow we're going to discover it." + +"We are, are we?" said Rabbit. + +"Yes. And we've got to bring Pro--things to eat with us. In case we want +to eat them. Now I'm going down to Piglet's. Tell Kanga, will you?" + +He left Rabbit and hurried down to Piglet's house. The Piglet was +sitting on the ground at the door of his house blowing happily at a +dandelion, and wondering whether it would be this year, next year, +sometime or never. He had just discovered that it would be never, and +was trying to remember what "_it_" was, and hoping it wasn't anything +nice, when Pooh came up. + +"Oh! Piglet," said Pooh excitedly, "we're going on an Expotition, all of +us, with things to eat. To discover something." + +"To discover what?" said Piglet anxiously. + +"Oh! just something." + +"Nothing fierce?" + +"Christopher Robin didn't say anything about fierce. He just said it had +an 'x'." + +"It isn't their necks I mind," said Piglet earnestly. "It's their teeth. +But if Christopher Robin is coming I don't mind anything." + +In a little while they were all ready at the top of the Forest, and the +Expotition started. First came Christopher Robin and Rabbit, then Piglet +and Pooh; then Kanga, with Roo in her pocket, and Owl; then Eeyore; and, +at the end, in a long line, all Rabbit's friends-and-relations. + +"I didn't ask them," explained Rabbit carelessly. "They just came. They +always do. They can march at the end, after Eeyore." + +"What I say," said Eeyore, "is that it's unsettling. I didn't want to +come on this Expo--what Pooh said. I only came to oblige. But here I +am; and if I am the end of the Expo--what we're talking about--then +let me _be_ the end. But if, every time I want to sit down for a +little rest, I have to brush away half a dozen of Rabbit's smaller +friends-and-relations first, then this isn't an Expo--whatever it +is--at all, it's simply a Confused Noise. That's what _I_ say." + +"I see what Eeyore means," said Owl. "If you ask me----" + +"I'm not asking anybody," said Eeyore. "I'm just telling everybody. We +can look for the North Pole, or we can play 'Here we go gathering Nuts +and May' with the end part of an ant's nest. It's all the same to me." + +There was a shout from the top of the line. + +"Come on!" called Christopher Robin. + +"Come on!" called Pooh and Piglet. + +"Come on!" called Owl. + +"We're starting," said Rabbit. "I must go." And he hurried off to the +front of the Expotition with Christopher Robin. + +"All right," said Eeyore. "We're going. Only Don't Blame Me." + +So off they all went to discover the Pole. And as they walked, they +chattered to each other of this and that, all except Pooh, who was +making up a song. + +"This is the first verse," he said to Piglet, when he was ready with it. + +"First verse of what?" + +"My song." + +"What song?" + +"This one." + +"Which one?" + +"Well, if you listen, Piglet, you'll hear it." + +"How do you know I'm not listening?" + +Pooh couldn't answer that one, so he began to sing. + + They all went off to discover the Pole, + Owl and Piglet and Rabbit and all; + It's a Thing you Discover, as I've been tole + By Owl and Piglet and Rabbit and all. + Eeyore, Christopher Robin and Pooh + And Rabbit's relations all went too-- + And where the Pole was none of them knew.... + Sing Hey! for Owl and Rabbit and all! + +"Hush!" said Christopher Robin turning round to Pooh, "we're just coming +to a Dangerous Place." + +"Hush!" said Pooh turning round quickly to Piglet. + +"Hush!" said Piglet to Kanga. + +"Hush!" said Kanga to Owl, while Roo said "Hush!" several times to +himself very quietly. + +"Hush!" said Owl to Eeyore. + +"_Hush!_" said Eeyore in a terrible voice to all Rabbit's +friends-and-relations, and "Hush!" they said hastily to each other all +down the line, until it got to the last one of all. And the last and +smallest friend-and-relation was so upset to find that the whole +Expotition was saying "Hush!" to _him_, that he buried himself head +downwards in a crack in the ground, and stayed there for two days until +the danger was over, and then went home in a great hurry, and lived +quietly with his Aunt ever-afterwards. His name was Alexander Beetle. + +They had come to a stream which twisted and tumbled between high rocky +banks, and Christopher Robin saw at once how dangerous it was. + +"It's just the place," he explained, "for an Ambush." + +"What sort of bush?" whispered Pooh to Piglet. "A gorse-bush?" + +"My dear Pooh," said Owl in his superior way, "don't you know what an +Ambush is?" + +"Owl," said Piglet, looking round at him severely, "Pooh's whisper was a +perfectly private whisper, and there was no need----" + +"An Ambush," said Owl, "is a sort of Surprise." + +"So is a gorse-bush sometimes," said Pooh. + +"An Ambush, as I was about to explain to Pooh," said Piglet, "is a sort +of Surprise." + +"If people jump out at you suddenly, that's an Ambush," said Owl. + +"It's an Ambush, Pooh, when people jump at you suddenly," explained +Piglet. + +Pooh, who now knew what an Ambush was, said that a gorse-bush had sprung +at him suddenly one day when he fell off a tree, and he had taken six +days to get all the prickles out of himself. + +"We are not _talking_ about gorse-bushes," said Owl a little crossly. + +"I am," said Pooh. + +They were climbing very cautiously up the stream now, going from rock to +rock, and after they had gone a little way they came to a place where +the banks widened out at each side, so that on each side of the water +there was a level strip of grass on which they could sit down and rest. +As soon as he saw this, Christopher Robin called "Halt!" and they all +sat down and rested. + +"I think," said Christopher Robin, "that we ought to eat all our +Provisions now, so that we shan't have so much to carry." + +"Eat all our what?" said Pooh. + +"All that we've brought," said Piglet, getting to work. + +"That's a good idea," said Pooh, and he got to work too. + +"Have you all got something?" asked Christopher Robin with his mouth +full. + +"All except me," said Eeyore. "As Usual." He looked round at them in his +melancholy way. "I suppose none of you are sitting on a thistle by any +chance?" + +"I believe I am," said Pooh. "Ow!" He got up, and looked behind him. +"Yes, I was. I thought so." + +"Thank you, Pooh. If you've quite finished with it." He moved across to +Pooh's place, and began to eat. + +"It don't do them any Good, you know, sitting on them," he went on, as +he looked up munching. "Takes all the Life out of them. Remember that +another time, all of you. A little Consideration, a little Thought for +Others, makes all the difference." + +As soon as he had finished his lunch Christopher Robin whispered to +Rabbit, and Rabbit said "Yes, yes, of course," and they walked a little +way up the stream together. + +"I didn't want the others to hear," said Christopher Robin. + +"Quite so," said Rabbit, looking important. + +"It's--I wondered--It's only--Rabbit, I suppose _you_ don't know, What +does the North Pole _look_ like?" + +"Well," said Rabbit, stroking his whiskers. "Now you're asking me." + +"I did know once, only I've sort of forgotten," said Christopher Robin +carelessly. + +"It's a funny thing," said Rabbit, "but I've sort of forgotten too, +although I did know _once_." + +"I suppose it's just a pole stuck in the ground?" + +"Sure to be a pole," said Rabbit, "because of calling it a pole, and if +it's a pole, well, I should think it would be sticking in the ground, +shouldn't you, because there'd be nowhere else to stick it." + +"Yes, that's what I thought." + +"The only thing," said Rabbit, "is, _where is it sticking_?" + +"That's what we're looking for," said Christopher Robin. + +They went back to the others. Piglet was lying on his back, sleeping +peacefully. Roo was washing his face and paws in the stream, while Kanga +explained to everybody proudly that this was the first time he had ever +washed his face himself, and Owl was telling Kanga an Interesting +Anecdote full of long words like Encyclop√ɬ¶dia and Rhododendron to which +Kanga wasn't listening. + +"I don't hold with all this washing," grumbled Eeyore. "This modern +Behind-the-ears nonsense. What do _you_ think, Pooh?" + +"Well," said Pooh, "_I_ think----" + +But we shall never know what Pooh thought, for there came a sudden +squeak from Roo, a splash, and a loud cry of alarm from Kanga. + +"So much for _washing_," said Eeyore. + +"Roo's fallen in!" cried Rabbit, and he and Christopher Robin came +rushing down to the rescue. + +"Look at me swimming!" squeaked Roo from the middle of his pool, and was +hurried down a waterfall into the next pool. + +"Are you all right, Roo dear?" called Kanga anxiously. + +"Yes!" said Roo. "Look at me sw----" and down he went over the next +waterfall into another pool. + +Everybody was doing something to help. Piglet, wide awake suddenly, was +jumping up and down and making "Oo, I say" noises; Owl was explaining +that in a case of Sudden and Temporary Immersion the Important Thing was +to keep the Head Above Water; Kanga was jumping along the bank, saying +"Are you _sure_ you're all right, Roo dear?" to which Roo, from whatever +pool he was in at the moment, was answering "Look at me swimming!" +Eeyore had turned round and hung his tail over the first pool into which +Roo fell, and with his back to the accident was grumbling quietly to +himself, and saying, "All this washing; but catch on to my tail, little +Roo, and you'll be all right"; and, Christopher Robin and Rabbit came +hurrying past Eeyore, and were calling out to the others in front of +them. + +"All right, Roo, I'm coming," called Christopher Robin. + +"Get something across the stream lower down, some of you fellows," +called Rabbit. + +But Pooh was getting something. Two pools below Roo he was standing with +a long pole in his paws, and Kanga came up and took one end of it, and +between them they held it across the lower part of the pool; and Roo, +still bubbling proudly, "Look at me swimming," drifted up against it, +and climbed out. + +"Did you see me swimming?" squeaked Roo excitedly, while Kanga scolded +him and rubbed him down. "Pooh, did you see me swimming? That's called +swimming, what I was doing. Rabbit, did you see what I was doing? +Swimming. Hallo, Piglet! I say, Piglet! What do you think I was doing! +Swimming! Christopher Robin, did you see me----" + +But Christopher Robin wasn't listening. He was looking at Pooh. + +"Pooh," he said, "where did you find that pole?" + +Pooh looked at the pole in his hands. + +"I just found it," he said. "I thought it ought to be useful. I just +picked it up." + +"Pooh," said Christopher Robin solemnly, "the Expedition is over. You +have found the North Pole!" + +"Oh!" said Pooh. + +Eeyore was sitting with his tail in the water when they all got back to +him. + +"Tell Roo to be quick, somebody," he said. "My tail's getting cold. I +don't want to mention it, but I just mention it. I don't want to +complain but there it is. My tail's cold." + +"Here I am!" squeaked Roo. + +"Oh, there you are." + +"Did you see me swimming?" + +Eeyore took his tail out of the water, and swished it from side to side. + +"As I expected," he said. "Lost all feeling. Numbed it. That's what it's +done. Numbed it. Well, as long as nobody minds, I suppose it's all +right." + +"Poor old Eeyore. I'll dry it for you," said Christopher Robin, and he +took out his handkerchief and rubbed it up. + +"Thank you, Christopher Robin. You're the only one who seems to +understand about tails. They don't think--that's what the matter with +some of these others. They've no imagination. A tail isn't a tail to +_them_, it's just a Little Bit Extra at the back." + +"Never mind, Eeyore," said Christopher Robin, rubbing his hardest. "Is +_that_ better?" + +"It's feeling more like a tail perhaps. It Belongs again, if you know +what I mean." + +"Hullo, Eeyore," said Pooh, coming up to them with his pole. + +"Hullo, Pooh. Thank you for asking, but I shall be able to use it again +in a day or two." + +"Use what?" said Pooh. + +"What we are talking about." + +"I wasn't talking about anything," said Pooh, looking puzzled. + +"My mistake again. I thought you were saying how sorry you were about my +tail, being all numb, and could you do anything to help?" + +"No," said Pooh. "That wasn't me," he said. He thought for a little and +then suggested helpfully, "Perhaps it was somebody else." + +"Well, thank him for me when you see him." + +Pooh looked anxiously at Christopher Robin. + +"Pooh's found the North Pole," said Christopher Robin. "Isn't that +lovely?" + +Pooh looked modestly down. + +"Is that it?" said Eeyore. + +"Yes," said Christopher Robin. + +"Is that what we were looking for?" + +"Yes," said Pooh. + +"Oh!" said Eeyore. "Well, anyhow--it didn't rain," he said. + +They stuck the pole in the ground, and Christopher Robin tied a message +on to it. + + NORTH POLE + + DISCOVERED BY POOH + + POOH FOUND IT. + +Then they all went home again. And I think, but I am not quite sure, +that Roo had a hot bath and went straight to bed. But Pooh went back to +his own house, and feeling very proud of what he had done, had a little +something to revive himself. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + IN WHICH PIGLET IS ENTIRELY + SURROUNDED BY WATER + + +It rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never +in all his life, and _he_ was goodness knows _how_ old--three, was it, +or four?--never had he seen so much rain. Days and days and days. + +"If only," he thought, as he looked out of the window, "I had been in +Pooh's house, or Christopher Robin's house, or Rabbit's house when it +began to rain, then I should have had Company all this time, instead of +being here all alone, with nothing to do except wonder when it will +stop." And he imagined himself with Pooh, saying, "Did you ever see such +rain, Pooh?" and Pooh saying, "Isn't it _awful_, Piglet?" and Piglet +saying, "I wonder how it is over Christopher Robin's way" and Pooh +saying, "I should think poor old Rabbit is about flooded out by this +time." It would have been jolly to talk like this, and really, it wasn't +much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn't share +them with somebody. + +For it was rather exciting. The little dry ditches in which Piglet had +nosed about so often had become streams, the little streams across which +he had splashed were rivers, and the river, between whose steep banks +they had played so happily, had sprawled out of its own bed and was +taking up so much room everywhere, that Piglet was beginning to wonder +whether it would be coming into _his_ bed soon. + +"It's a little Anxious," he said to himself, "to be a Very Small Animal +Entirely Surrounded by Water. Christopher Robin and Pooh could escape by +Climbing Trees, and Kanga could escape by Jumping, and Rabbit could +escape by Burrowing, and Owl could escape by Flying, and Eeyore could +escape by--by Making a Loud Noise Until Rescued, and here am I, +surrounded by water and I can't do _anything_." + +It went on raining, and every day the water got a little higher, until +now it was nearly up to Piglet's window ... and still he hadn't done +anything. + +"There's Pooh," he thought to himself. "Pooh hasn't much Brain, but he +never comes to any harm. He does silly things and they turn out right. +There's Owl. Owl hasn't exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things. He would +know the Right Thing to Do when Surrounded by Water. There's Rabbit. He +hasn't Learnt in Books, but he can always Think of a Clever Plan. +There's Kanga. She isn't Clever, Kanga isn't, but she would be so +anxious about Roo that she would do a Good Thing to Do without thinking +about It. And then there's Eeyore. And Eeyore is so miserable anyhow +that he wouldn't mind about this. But I wonder what Christopher Robin +would do?" + +Then suddenly he remembered a story which Christopher Robin had told him +about a man on a desert island who had written something in a bottle and +thrown it in the sea; and Piglet thought that if he wrote something in a +bottle and threw it in the water, perhaps somebody would come and rescue +_him_! + +He left the window and began to search his house, all of it that wasn't +under water, and at last he found a pencil and a small piece of dry +paper, and a bottle with a cork to it. And he wrote on one side of the +paper: + + HELP! + PIGLET (ME) + +and on the other side: + + IT'S ME PIGLET, HELP HELP. + +Then he put the paper in the bottle, and he corked the bottle up as +tightly as he could, and he leant out of his window as far as he could +lean without falling in, and he threw the bottle as far as he could +throw--_splash!_--and in a little while it bobbed up again on the water; +and he watched it floating slowly away in the distance, until his eyes +ached with looking, and sometimes he thought it was the bottle, and +sometimes he thought it was just a ripple on the water which he was +following, and then suddenly he knew that he would never see it again +and that he had done all that he could do to save himself. + +"So now," he thought, "somebody else will have to do something, and I +hope they will do it soon, because if they don't I shall have to swim, +which I can't, so I hope they do it soon." And then he gave a very long +sigh and said, "I wish Pooh were here. It's so much more friendly with +two." + + * * * * * + +When the rain began Pooh was asleep. It rained, and it rained, and it +rained, and he slept and he slept and he slept. He had had a tiring day. +You remember how he discovered the North Pole; well, he was so proud of +this that he asked Christopher Robin if there were any other Poles such +as a Bear of Little Brain might discover. + +"There's a South Pole," said Christopher Robin, "and I expect there's an +East Pole and a West Pole, though people don't like talking about them." + +Pooh was very excited when he heard this, and suggested that they should +have an Expotition to discover the East Pole, but Christopher Robin had +thought of something else to do with Kanga; so Pooh went out to discover +the East Pole by himself. Whether he discovered it or not, I forget; but +he was so tired when he got home that, in the very middle of his supper, +after he had been eating for little more than half-an-hour, he fell fast +asleep in his chair, and slept and slept and slept. + +Then suddenly he was dreaming. He was at the East Pole, and it was a +very cold pole with the coldest sort of snow and ice all over it. He had +found a bee-hive to sleep in, but there wasn't room for his legs, so he +had left them outside. And Wild Woozles, such as inhabit the East Pole, +came and nibbled all the fur off his legs to make nests for their Young. +And the more they nibbled, the colder his legs got, until suddenly he +woke up with an _Ow!_--and there he was, sitting in his chair with his +feet in the water, and water all round him! + +He splashed to his door and looked out.... + +"This is Serious," said Pooh. "I must have an Escape." + +So he took his largest pot of honey and escaped with it to a broad +branch of his tree, well above the water, and then he climbed down again +and escaped with another pot ... and when the whole Escape was +finished, there was Pooh sitting on his branch, dangling his legs, and +there, beside him, were ten pots of honey.... + +Two days later, there was Pooh, sitting on his branch, dangling his +legs, and there, beside him, were four pots of honey.... + +Three days later, there was Pooh, sitting on his branch, dangling his +legs, and there beside him, was one pot of honey. + +Four days later, there was Pooh ... + +And it was on the morning of the fourth day that Piglet's bottle came +floating past him, and with one loud cry of "Honey!" Pooh plunged into +the water, seized the bottle, and struggled back to his tree again. + +"Bother!" said Pooh, as he opened it. "All that wet for nothing. What's +that bit of paper doing?" + +He took it out and looked at it. + +"It's a Missage," he said to himself, "that's what it is. And that +letter is a 'P,' and so is that, and so is that, and 'P' means 'Pooh,' +so it's a very important Missage to me, and I can't read it. I must find +Christopher Robin or Owl or Piglet, one of those Clever Readers who can +read things, and they will tell me what this missage means. Only I can't +swim. Bother!" + +Then he had an idea, and I think that for a Bear of Very Little Brain, +it was a good idea. He said to himself: + +"If a bottle can float, then a jar can float, and if a jar floats, I can +sit on the top of it, if it's a very big jar." + +So he took his biggest jar, and corked it up. "All boats have to have a +name," he said, "so I shall call mine _The Floating Bear_." And with +these words he dropped his boat into the water and jumped in after it. + +For a little while Pooh and _The Floating Bear_ were uncertain as to +which of them was meant to be on the top, but after trying one or two +different positions, they settled down with _The Floating Bear_ +underneath and Pooh triumphantly astride it, paddling vigorously with +his feet. + + * * * * * + +Christopher Robin lived at the very top of the Forest. It rained, and it +rained, and it rained, but the water couldn't come up to _his_ house. It +was rather jolly to look down into the valleys and see the water all +round him, but it rained so hard that he stayed indoors most of the +time, and thought about things. Every morning he went out with his +umbrella and put a stick in the place where the water came up to, and +every next morning he went out and couldn't see his stick any more, so +he put another stick in the place where the water came up to, and then +he walked home again, and each morning he had a shorter way to walk than +he had had the morning before. On the morning of the fifth day he saw +the water all round him, and knew that for the first time in his life he +was on a real island. Which was very exciting. + +It was on this morning that Owl came flying over the water to say "How +do you do," to his friend Christopher Robin. + +"I say, Owl," said Christopher Robin, "isn't this fun? I'm on an +island!" + +"The atmospheric conditions have been very unfavourable lately," said +Owl. + +"The what?" + +"It has been raining," explained Owl. + +"Yes," said Christopher Robin. "It has." + +"The flood-level has reached an unprecedented height." + +"The who?" + +"There's a lot of water about," explained Owl. + +"Yes," said Christopher Robin, "there is." + +"However, the prospects are rapidly becoming more favourable. At any +moment----" + +"Have you seen Pooh?" + +"No. At any moment----" + +"I hope he's all right," said Christopher Robin. "I've been wondering +about him. I expect Piglet's with him. Do you think they're all right, +Owl?" + +"I expect so. You see, at any moment----" + +"Do go and see, Owl. Because Pooh hasn't got very much brain, and he +might do something silly, and I do love him so, Owl. Do you see, Owl?" + +"That's all right," said Owl. "I'll go. Back directly." And he flew off. + +In a little while he was back again. + +"Pooh isn't there," he said. + +"Not there?" + +"Has _been_ there. He's been sitting on a branch of his tree outside his +house with nine pots of honey. But he isn't there now." + +"Oh, Pooh!" cried Christopher Robin. "Where _are_ you?" + +"Here I am," said a growly voice behind him. + +"Pooh!" + +They rushed into each other's arms. + +"How did you get here, Pooh?" asked Christopher Robin, when he was ready +to talk again. + +"On my boat," said Pooh proudly. "I had a Very Important Missage sent me +in a bottle, and owing to having got some water in my eyes, I couldn't +read it, so I brought it to you. On my boat." + +With these proud words he gave Christopher Robin the missage. + +"But it's from Piglet!" cried Christopher Robin when he had read it. + +"Isn't there anything about Pooh in it?" asked Bear, looking over his +shoulder. + +Christopher Robin read the message aloud. + +"Oh, are those 'P's' piglets? I thought they were poohs." + +"We must rescue him at once! I thought he was with _you_, Pooh. Owl, +could you rescue him on your back?" + +"I don't think so," said Owl, after grave thought. "It is doubtful if +the necessary dorsal muscles----" + +"Then would you fly to him at _once_ and say that Rescue is Coming? And +Pooh and I will think of a Rescue and come as quick as ever we can. Oh, +don't _talk_, Owl, go on quick!" And, still thinking of something to +say, Owl flew off. + +"Now then, Pooh," said Christopher Robin, "where's your boat?" + +"I ought to say," explained Pooh as they walked down to the shore of the +island, "that it isn't just an ordinary sort of boat. Sometimes it's a +Boat, and sometimes it's more of an Accident. It all depends." + +"Depends on what?" + +"On whether I'm on the top of it or underneath it." + +"Oh! Well, where is it?" + +"There!" said Pooh, pointing proudly to _The Floating Bear_. + +It wasn't what Christopher Robin expected, and the more he looked at it, +the more he thought what a Brave and Clever Bear Pooh was, and the more +Christopher Robin thought this, the more Pooh looked modestly down his +nose and tried to pretend he wasn't. + +"But it's too small for two of us," said Christopher Robin sadly. + +"Three of us with Piglet." + +"That makes it smaller still. Oh, Pooh Bear, what shall we do?" + +And then this Bear, Pooh Bear, Winnie-the-Pooh, F.O.P. (Friend of +Piglet's), R.C. (Rabbit's Companion), P.D. (Pole Discoverer), E.C. and +T.F. (Eeyore's Comforter and Tail-finder)--in fact, Pooh himself--said +something so clever that Christopher Robin could only look at him with +mouth open and eyes staring, wondering if this was really the Bear of +Very Little Brain whom he had known and loved so long. + +"We might go in your umbrella," said Pooh. + +"?" + +"We might go in your umbrella," said Pooh. + +"? ?" + +"We might go in your umbrella," said Pooh. + +"!!!!!!" + +For suddenly Christopher Robin saw that they might. He opened his +umbrella and put it point downwards in the water. It floated but +wobbled. Pooh got in. He was just beginning to say that it was all right +now, when he found that it wasn't, so after a short drink which he +didn't really want he waded back to Christopher Robin. Then they both +got in together, and it wobbled no longer. + +"I shall call this boat _The Brain of Pooh_," said Christopher Robin, +and _The Brain of Pooh_ set sail forthwith in a south-westerly +direction, revolving gracefully. + +You can imagine Piglet's joy when at last the ship came in sight of him. +In after-years he liked to think that he had been in Very Great Danger +during the Terrible Flood, but the only danger he had really been in was +in the last half-hour of his imprisonment, when Owl, who had just flown +up, sat on a branch of his tree to comfort him, and told him a very long +story about an aunt who had once laid a seagull's egg by mistake, and +the story went on and on, rather like this sentence, until Piglet who +was listening out of his window without much hope, went to sleep quietly +and naturally, slipping slowly out of the window towards the water until +he was only hanging on by his toes, at which moment luckily, a sudden +loud squawk from Owl, which was really part of the story, being what his +aunt said, woke the Piglet up and just gave him time to jerk himself +back into safety and say, "How interesting, and did she?" when--well, +you can imagine his joy when at last he saw the good ship, _Brain of +Pooh_ (_Captain_, C. Robin; _1st Mate_, P. Bear) coming over the sea to +rescue him. Christopher Robin and Pooh again.... + +And that is really the end of the story, and I am very tired after that +last sentence, I think I shall stop there. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN GIVES + POOH A PARTY, AND WE SAY GOOD-BYE + + +One day when the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it +the scent of may, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling +happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little +pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had +done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying +over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and +wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy +comfortable way that it was the other fellow's fault, but it didn't +matter very much; on such a day as this Christopher Robin whistled in a +special way he had, and Owl came flying out of the Hundred Acre Wood to +see what was wanted. + +"Owl," said Christopher Robin, "I am going to give a party." + +"You are, are you?" said Owl. + +"And it's to be a special sort of party, because it's because of what +Pooh did when he did what he did to save Piglet from the flood." + +"Oh, that's what it's for, is it?" said Owl. + +"Yes, so will you tell Pooh as quickly as you can, and all the others, +because it will be to-morrow." + +"Oh, it will, will it?" said Owl, still being as helpful as possible. + +"So will you go and tell them, Owl?" + +Owl tried to think of something very wise to say, but couldn't, so he +flew off to tell the others. And the first person he told was Pooh. + +"Pooh," he said, "Christopher Robin is giving a party." + +"Oh!" said Pooh. And then seeing that Owl expected him to say something +else, he said "Will there be those little cake things with pink sugar +icing?" + +Owl felt that it was rather beneath him to talk about little cake things +with pink sugar icing, so he told Pooh exactly what Christopher Robin +had said, and flew off to Eeyore. + +"A party for Me?" thought Pooh to himself. "How grand!" And he began to +wonder if all the other animals would know that it was a special Pooh +Party, and if Christopher Robin had told them about _The Floating Bear_ +and the _Brain of Pooh_ and all the wonderful ships he had invented and +sailed on, and he began to think how awful it would be if everybody had +forgotten about it, and nobody quite knew what the party was for; and +the more he thought like this, the more the party got muddled in his +mind, like a dream when nothing goes right. And the dream began to sing +itself over in his head until it became a sort of song. It was an + + ANXIOUS POOH SONG. + + 3 Cheers for Pooh! + (_For Who?_) + For Pooh-- + (_Why what did he do?_) + I thought you knew; + He saved his friend from a wetting! + 3 Cheers for Bear! + (_For where?_) + For Bear-- + He couldn't swim, + But he rescued him! + (_He rescued who?_) + Oh, listen, do! + I am talking of Pooh-- + (_Of who?_) + Of Pooh! + (_I'm sorry I keep forgetting_). + Well, Pooh was a Bear of Enormous Brain + (_Just say it again!_) + Of enormous brain-- + (_Of enormous what?_) + Well, he ate a lot, + And I don't know if he could swim or not, + But he managed to float + On a sort of boat + (_On a sort of what?_) + Well, a sort of pot-- + So now let's give him three hearty cheers + (_So now let's give him three hearty whiches?_) + And hope he'll be with us for years and years, + And grow in health and wisdom and riches! + 3 Cheers for Pooh! + (_For who?_) + For Pooh-- + 3 Cheers for Bear! + (_For where?_) + For Bear-- + 3 Cheers for the wonderful Winnie-the-Pooh! + (_Just tell me, somebody_--WHAT DID HE DO?) + +While this was going on inside him, Owl was talking to Eeyore. + +"Eeyore," said Owl, "Christopher Robin is giving a party." + +"Very interesting," said Eeyore. "I suppose they will be sending me down +the odd bits which got trodden on. Kind and Thoughtful. Not at all, +don't mention it." + +"There is an Invitation for you." + +"What's that like?" + +"An Invitation!" + +"Yes, I heard you. Who dropped it?" + +"This isn't anything to eat, it's asking you to the party. To-morrow." + +Eeyore shook his head slowly. + +"You mean Piglet. The little fellow with the excited ears. That's +Piglet. I'll tell him." + +"No, no!" said Owl, getting quite fussy. "It's you!" + +"Are you sure?" + +"Of course I'm sure. Christopher Robin said 'All of them! Tell all of +them.'" + +"All of them, except Eeyore?" + +"All of them," said Owl sulkily. + +"Ah!" said Eeyore. "A mistake, no doubt, but still, I shall come. Only +don't blame _me_ if it rains." + +But it didn't rain. Christopher Robin had made a long table out of some +long pieces of wood, and they all sat round it. Christopher Robin sat at +one end, and Pooh sat at the other, and between them on one side were +Owl and Eeyore and Piglet, and between them on the other side were +Rabbit, and Roo and Kanga. And all Rabbit's friends and relations spread +themselves about on the grass, and waited hopefully in case anybody +spoke to them, or dropped anything, or asked them the time. + +It was the first party to which Roo had ever been, and he was very +excited. As soon as ever they had sat down he began to talk. + +"Hallo, Pooh!" he squeaked. + +"Hallo, Roo!" said Pooh. + +Roo jumped up and down in his seat for a little while and then began +again. + +"Hallo, Piglet!" he squeaked. + +Piglet waved a paw at him, being too busy to say anything. + +"Hallo, Eeyore!" said Roo. + +Eeyore nodded gloomily at him. "It will rain soon, you see if it +doesn't," he said. + +Roo looked to see if it didn't, and it didn't, so he said "Hallo, +Owl!"--and Owl said "Hallo, my little fellow," in a kindly way, and went +on telling Christopher Robin about an accident which had nearly happened +to a friend of his whom Christopher Robin didn't know, and Kanga said to +Roo, "Drink up your milk first, dear, and talk afterwards." So Roo, who +was drinking his milk, tried to say that he could do both at once ... +and had to be patted on the back and dried for quite a long time +afterwards. + +When they had all nearly eaten enough, Christopher Robin banged on the +table with his spoon, and everybody stopped talking and was very silent, +except Roo who was just finishing a loud attack of hiccups and trying to +look as if it was one of Rabbit's relations. + +"This party," said Christopher Robin, "is a party because of what +someone did, and we all know who it was, and it's his party, because of +what he did, and I've got a present for him and here it is." Then he +felt about a little and whispered, "Where is it?" + +While he was looking, Eeyore coughed in an impressive way and began to +speak. + +"Friends," he said, "including oddments, it is a great pleasure, or +perhaps I had better say it has been a pleasure so far, to see you at my +party. What I did was nothing. Any of you--except Rabbit and Owl and +Kanga--would have done the same. Oh, and Pooh. My remarks do not, of +course, apply to Piglet and Roo, because they are too small. Any of you +would have done the same. But it just happened to be Me. It was not, I +need hardly say, with an idea of getting what Christopher Robin is +looking for now"--and he put his front leg to his mouth and said in a +loud whisper, "Try under the table"--"that I did what I did--but because +I feel that we should all do what we can to help. I feel that we should +all----" + +"H--hup!" said Roo accidentally. + +"Roo, dear!" said Kanga reproachfully. + +"Was it me?" asked Roo, a little surprised. + +"What's Eeyore talking about?" Piglet whispered to Pooh. + +"I don't know," said Pooh rather dolefully. + +"I thought this was _your_ party." + +"I thought it was _once_. But I suppose it isn't." + +"I'd sooner it was yours than Eeyore's," said Piglet. + +"So would I," said Pooh. + +"H--hup!" said Roo again. + +"AS--I--WAS--SAYING," said Eeyore loudly and sternly, "as I was saying +when I was interrupted by various Loud Sounds, I feel that----" + +"Here it is!" cried Christopher Robin excitedly. "Pass it down to silly +old Pooh. It's for Pooh." + +"For Pooh?" said Eeyore. + +"Of course it is. The best bear in all the world." + +"I might have known," said Eeyore. "After all, one can't complain. I +have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And was it last +week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said 'Bother!' +The Social Round. Always something going on." + +Nobody was listening, for they were all saying "Open it, Pooh," "What is +it, Pooh?" "I know what it is," "No, you don't" and other helpful +remarks of this sort. And of course Pooh was opening it as quickly as +ever he could, but without cutting the string, because you never know +when a bit of string might be Useful. At last it was undone. + +When Pooh saw what it was, he nearly fell down, he was so pleased. It +was a Special Pencil Case. There were pencils in it marked "B" for Bear, +and pencils marked "HB" for Helping Bear, and pencils marked "BB" for +Brave Bear. There was a knife for sharpening the pencils, and +india-rubber for rubbing out anything which you had spelt wrong, and a +ruler for ruling lines for the words to walk on, and inches marked on +the ruler in case you wanted to know how many inches anything was, and +Blue Pencils and Red Pencils and Green Pencils for saying special things +in blue and red and green. And all these lovely things were in little +pockets of their own in a Special Case which shut with a click when you +clicked it. And they were all for Pooh. + +"Oh!" said Pooh. + +"Oh, Pooh!" said everybody else except Eeyore. + +"Thank-you," growled Pooh. + +But Eeyore was saying to himself, "This writing business. Pencils and +what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it." + +Later on, when they had all said "Good-bye" and "Thank-you" to +Christopher Robin, Pooh and Piglet walked home thoughtfully together in +the golden evening, and for a long time they were silent. + +"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's +the first thing you say to yourself?" + +"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do _you_ say, Piglet?" + +"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting _to-day_?" said Piglet. + +Pooh nodded thoughtfully. + +"It's the same thing," he said. + + * * * * * + +"And what did happen?" asked Christopher Robin. + +"When?" + +"Next morning." + +"I don't know." + +"Could you think and tell me and Pooh some time?" + +"If you wanted it very much." + +"Pooh does," said Christopher Robin. + +He gave a deep sigh, picked his bear up by the leg and walked off to the +door, trailing Winnie-the-Pooh behind him. At the door he turned and +said "Coming to see me have my bath?" + +"I might," I said. + +"Was Pooh's pencil case any better than mine?" + +"It was just the same," I said. + +He nodded and went out ... and in a moment I heard +Winnie-the-Pooh--_bump, bump, bump_--going up the stairs behind him. + + + + + Printed in Canada + by Warwick Bros. & Rutter, Limited + Printers and Bookbinders + Toronto + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: Near the end of Chapter VI, the reference to +Kanga was modified to read "...and every Tuesday Kanga spent the day +with her great friend Pooh ..."] + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINNIE-THE-POOH *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Wuthering Heights + +Author: Emily Brontë + +Release date: December 1, 1996 [eBook #768] + Most recently updated: January 18, 2022 + +Language: English + +Credits: David Price + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WUTHERING HEIGHTS *** + + + + +Wuthering Heights + +by Emily Brontë + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary +neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful +country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a +situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect +misanthropist’s Heaven—and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable +pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little +imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes +withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his +fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further +in his waistcoat, as I announced my name. + +“Mr. Heathcliff?” I said. + +A nod was the answer. + +“Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling +as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have +not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation +of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—” + +“Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing. “I should +not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it—walk in!” + +The “walk in” was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the +sentiment, “Go to the Deuce!” even the gate over which he leant +manifested no sympathising movement to the words; and I think that +circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested +in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. + +When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put +out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the +causeway, calling, as we entered the court,—“Joseph, take Mr. +Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.” + +“Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,” was the +reflection suggested by this compound order. “No wonder the grass grows +up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.” + +Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man, very old, perhaps, though hale +and sinewy. “The Lord help us!” he soliloquised in an undertone of +peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, +in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of +divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no +reference to my unexpected advent. + +Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. “Wuthering” +being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the +atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. +Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: +one may guess the power of the north wind, blowing over the edge, by +the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and +by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if +craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build +it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the +corners defended with large jutting stones. + +Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of +grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the +principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins +and shameless little boys, I detected the date “1500,” and the name +“Hareton Earnshaw.” I would have made a few comments, and requested a +short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at +the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, +and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting +the penetralium. + +One step brought us into the family sitting-room, without any +introductory lobby or passage: they call it here “the house” +pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I +believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat +altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of +tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I +observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge +fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on +the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat +from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and +tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very +roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay +bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with +oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. +Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of +horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily painted canisters +disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the +chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green: one or two +heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser +reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of +squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. + +The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as +belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, +and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters. +Such an individual seated in his arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on +the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six +miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But +Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of +living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a +gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: +rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, +because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. +Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of under-bred +pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of +the sort: I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to +showy displays of feeling—to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He’ll +love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of +impertinence to be loved or hated again. No, I’m running on too fast: I +bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have +entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he +meets a would-be acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope +my constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say I should +never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself +perfectly unworthy of one. + +While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown +into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my +eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I “never told my love” +vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have +guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked +a return—the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I +confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every +glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was +led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her +supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. + +By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of +deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate. + +I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which +my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by +attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and +was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and +her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, +guttural gnarl. + +“You’d better let the dog alone,” growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, +checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. “She’s not +accustomed to be spoiled—not kept for a pet.” Then, striding to a side +door, he shouted again, “Joseph!” + +Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no +intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me +_vis-à-vis_ the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, +who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not +anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, +imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately +indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my +physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and +leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the +table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen +four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens +to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects +of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I +could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance +from some of the household in re-establishing peace. + +Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious +phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second faster than usual, though +the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an +inhabitant of the kitchen made more dispatch; a lusty dame, with +tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the +midst of us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her +tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she +only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master +entered on the scene. + +“What the devil is the matter?” he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I +could ill endure after this inhospitable treatment. + +“What the devil, indeed!” I muttered. “The herd of possessed swine +could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, +sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!” + +“They won’t meddle with persons who touch nothing,” he remarked, +putting the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. “The +dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine?” + +“No, thank you.” + +“Not bitten, are you?” + +“If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.” Heathcliff’s +countenance relaxed into a grin. + +“Come, come,” he said, “you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a +little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my +dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your +health, sir?” + +I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be +foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs; besides, +I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since +his humour took that turn. He—probably swayed by prudential +consideration of the folly of offending a good tenant—relaxed a little +in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, +and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to me,—a +discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of +retirement. I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and +before I went home, I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another +visit to-morrow. He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I +shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself +compared with him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend +it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to +Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.—I dine +between twelve and one o’clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken +as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend +my request that I might be served at five)—on mounting the stairs with +this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl +on her knees surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an +infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. +This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a +four-miles’ walk, arrived at Heathcliff’s garden-gate just in time to +escape the first feathery flakes of a snow shower. + +On that bleak hill top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the +air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the +chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered +with straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till +my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled. + +“Wretched inmates!” I ejaculated, mentally, “you deserve perpetual +isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, +I would not keep my doors barred in the day-time. I don’t care—I will +get in!” So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. +Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the +barn. + +“What are ye for?” he shouted. “T’ maister’s down i’ t’ fowld. Go round +by th’ end o’ t’ laith, if ye went to spake to him.” + +“Is there nobody inside to open the door?” I hallooed, responsively. + +“There’s nobbut t’ missis; and shoo’ll not oppen ’t an ye mak’ yer +flaysome dins till neeght.” + +“Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph?” + +“Nor-ne me! I’ll hae no hend wi’t,” muttered the head, vanishing. + +The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another +trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, +appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after +marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, +pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful +apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the +radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and +near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to +observe the “missis,” an individual whose existence I had never +previously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me +take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained +motionless and mute. + +“Rough weather!” I remarked. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door +must bear the consequence of your servants’ leisure attendance: I had +hard work to make them hear me.” + +She never opened her mouth. I stared—she stared also: at any rate, she +kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly +embarrassing and disagreeable. + +“Sit down,” said the young man, gruffly. “He’ll be in soon.” + +I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this +second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of +owning my acquaintance. + +“A beautiful animal!” I commenced again. “Do you intend parting with +the little ones, madam?” + +“They are not mine,” said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than +Heathcliff himself could have replied. + +“Ah, your favourites are among these?” I continued, turning to an +obscure cushion full of something like cats. + +“A strange choice of favourites!” she observed scornfully. + +Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew +closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the +evening. + +“You should not have come out,” she said, rising and reaching from the +chimney-piece two of the painted canisters. + +Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct +view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and +apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form, and the most +exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding; +small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging +loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in +expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my +susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between +scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected +there. The canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to +aid her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one attempted +to assist him in counting his gold. + +“I don’t want your help,” she snapped; “I can get them for myself.” + +“I beg your pardon!” I hastened to reply. + +“Were you asked to tea?” she demanded, tying an apron over her neat +black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the +pot. + +“I shall be glad to have a cup,” I answered. + +“Were you asked?” she repeated. + +“No,” I said, half smiling. “You are the proper person to ask me.” + +She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; +her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a +child’s ready to cry. + +Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby +upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on +me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some +mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a +servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of +the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown +curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly +over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common +labourer: still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed +none of a domestic’s assiduity in attending on the lady of the house. +In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to +abstain from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes +afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, +from my uncomfortable state. + +“You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!” I exclaimed, assuming +the cheerful; “and I fear I shall be weather-bound for half an hour, if +you can afford me shelter during that space.” + +“Half an hour?” he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; “I +wonder you should select the thick of a snow-storm to ramble about in. +Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People +familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I +can tell you there is no chance of a change at present.” + +“Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the +Grange till morning—could you spare me one?” + +“No, I could not.” + +“Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagacity.” + +“Umph!” + +“Are you going to mak’ the tea?” demanded he of the shabby coat, +shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady. + +“Is _he_ to have any?” she asked, appealing to Heathcliff. + +“Get it ready, will you?” was the answer, uttered so savagely that I +started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad +nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. +When the preparations were finished, he invited me with—“Now, sir, +bring forward your chair.” And we all, including the rustic youth, drew +round the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our +meal. + +I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort +to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it +was impossible, however ill-tempered they might be, that the universal +scowl they wore was their every-day countenance. + +“It is strange,” I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea +and receiving another—“it is strange how custom can mould our tastes +and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life +of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; +yet, I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with +your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart—” + +“My amiable lady!” he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on +his face. “Where is she—my amiable lady?” + +“Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.” + +“Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of +ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even +when her body is gone. Is that it?” + +Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have +seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to +make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty: a +period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of +being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace +of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen. + +Then it flashed upon me—“The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea +out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her +husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being +buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer +ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware how +I cause her to regret her choice.” The last reflection may seem +conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on +repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive. + +“Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,” said Heathcliff, corroborating +my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a +look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles +that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of +his soul. + +“Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the +beneficent fairy,” I remarked, turning to my neighbour. + +This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his +fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to +recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, +muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice. + +“Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,” observed my host; “we neither of us +have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said +she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.” + +“And this young man is—” + +“Not my son, assuredly.” + +Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to +attribute the paternity of that bear to him. + +“My name is Hareton Earnshaw,” growled the other; “and I’d counsel you +to respect it!” + +“I’ve shown no disrespect,” was my reply, laughing internally at the +dignity with which he announced himself. + +He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for +fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity +audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant +family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than +neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to +be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. + +The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of +sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A +sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and +hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. + +“I don’t think it possible for me to get home now without a guide,” I +could not help exclaiming. “The roads will be buried already; and, if +they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance.” + +“Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. They’ll be +covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank before them,” +said Heathcliff. + +“How must I do?” I continued, with rising irritation. + +There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only +Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff +leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of +matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the +tea-canister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his +burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated +out—“Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness un war, +when all on ’ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and it’s no use +talking—yah’ll niver mend o’yer ill ways, but goa raight to t’ divil, +like yer mother afore ye!” + +I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was addressed to +me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an +intention of kicking him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, +checked me by her answer. + +“You scandalous old hypocrite!” she replied. “Are you not afraid of +being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devil’s name? I +warn you to refrain from provoking me, or I’ll ask your abduction as a +special favour! Stop! look here, Joseph,” she continued, taking a long, +dark book from a shelf; “I’ll show you how far I’ve progressed in the +Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The +red cow didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be +reckoned among providential visitations!” + +“Oh, wicked, wicked!” gasped the elder; “may the Lord deliver us from +evil!” + +“No, reprobate! you are a castaway—be off, or I’ll hurt you seriously! +I’ll have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes +the limits I fix shall—I’ll not say what he shall be done to—but, +you’ll see! Go, I’m looking at you!” + +The little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and +Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying, and +ejaculating “wicked” as he went. I thought her conduct must be prompted +by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured +to interest her in my distress. + +“Mrs. Heathcliff,” I said earnestly, “you must excuse me for troubling +you. I presume, because, with that face, I’m sure you cannot help being +good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way +home: I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to +get to London!” + +“Take the road you came,” she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, +with a candle, and the long book open before her. “It is brief advice, +but as sound as I can give.” + +“Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full +of snow, your conscience won’t whisper that it is partly your fault?” + +“How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn’t let me go to the end of the +garden wall.” + +“_You_! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my +convenience, on such a night,” I cried. “I want you to _tell_ me my +way, not to _show_ it: or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a +guide.” + +“Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I. Which would you +have?” + +“Are there no boys at the farm?” + +“No; those are all.” + +“Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.” + +“That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it.” + +“I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on +these hills,” cried Heathcliff’s stern voice from the kitchen entrance. +“As to staying here, I don’t keep accommodations for visitors: you must +share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.” + +“I can sleep on a chair in this room,” I replied. + +“No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will not suit +me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!” said +the unmannerly wretch. + +With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of +disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in +my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, +as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour +amongst each other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend +me. + +“I’ll go with him as far as the park,” he said. + +“You’ll go with him to hell!” exclaimed his master, or whatever +relation he bore. “And who is to look after the horses, eh?” + +“A man’s life is of more consequence than one evening’s neglect of the +horses: somebody must go,” murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I +expected. + +“Not at your command!” retorted Hareton. “If you set store on him, +you’d better be quiet.” + +“Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will +never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin,” she answered, +sharply. + +“Hearken, hearken, shoo’s cursing on ’em!” muttered Joseph, towards +whom I had been steering. + +He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, +which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it +back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern. + +“Maister, maister, he’s staling t’ lanthern!” shouted the ancient, +pursuing my retreat. “Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld him, +holld him!” + +On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, +bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw +from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and +humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching +their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me +alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie +till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then, hatless and +trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out—on their +peril to keep me one minute longer—with several incoherent threats of +retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of +King Lear. + +The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the +nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don’t know +what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at +hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my +entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued +forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some +of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack +her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger +scoundrel. + +“Well, Mr. Earnshaw,” she cried, “I wonder what you’ll have agait next? +Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones? I see this house +will never do for me—look at t’ poor lad, he’s fair choking! Wisht, +wisht; you mun’n’t go on so. Come in, and I’ll cure that: there now, +hold ye still.” + +With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my +neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, his +accidental merriment expiring quickly in his habitual moroseness. + +I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus compelled +perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a +glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she +condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, +whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the +candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about +the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there +willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had +only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, +she could not begin to be curious. + +Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced +round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a +clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top +resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked +inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, +very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of +the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little +closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a +table. + +I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them +together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, +and every one else. + +The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up +in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. +This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of +characters, large and small—_Catherine Earnshaw_, here and there varied +to _Catherine Heathcliff_, and then again to _Catherine Linton_. + +In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued +spelling over Catherine Earnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton, till my eyes +closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white +letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres—the air swarmed +with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I +discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and +perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin. + +I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and +lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. +It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a +fly-leaf bore the inscription—“Catherine Earnshaw, her book,” and a +date some quarter of a century back. + +I shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all. +Catherine’s library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it +to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: +scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen-and-ink commentary—at least the +appearance of one—covering every morsel of blank that the printer had +left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a +regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an +extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was +greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend +Joseph,—rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled +within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher +her faded hieroglyphics. + +“An awful Sunday,” commenced the paragraph beneath. “I wish my father +were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute—his conduct to +Heathcliff is atrocious—H. and I are going to rebel—we took our +initiatory step this evening. + +“All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so +Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while +Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire—doing +anything but reading their Bibles, I’ll answer for it—Heathcliff, +myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our +prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, +groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so +that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The +service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face +to exclaim, when he saw us descending, ‘What, done already?’ On Sunday +evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much +noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners. + +“‘You forget you have a master here,’ says the tyrant. ‘I’ll demolish +the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and +silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you +go by: I heard him snap his fingers.’ Frances pulled his hair heartily, +and then went and seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they +were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour—foolish +palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our +means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our +pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes +Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, +boxes my ears, and croaks: + +“‘T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o’ered, und t’ sound +o’ t’ gospel still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on ye! +sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good books eneugh if ye’ll read ’em: +sit ye down, and think o’ yer sowls!’ + +“Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might +receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the +lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my +dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I +hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there +was a hubbub! + +“‘Maister Hindley!’ shouted our chaplain. ‘Maister, coom hither! Miss +Cathy’s riven th’ back off “Th’ Helmet o’ Salvation,” un’ Heathcliff’s +pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ “T’ Brooad Way to Destruction!” +It’s fair flaysome that ye let ’em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man +wad ha’ laced ’em properly—but he’s goan!’ + +“Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of +us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the +back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, ‘owd Nick’ would fetch us as +sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a separate +nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a +shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got +the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is +impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s +cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant +suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his +prophecy verified—we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we +are here.” + +* * * * * * + + +I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took +up another subject: she waxed lachrymose. + +“How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!” she +wrote. “My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I +can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and +won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he +and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the +house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared +he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to +his right place—” + +* * * * * * + + +I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from +manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title—“Seventy Times Seven, +and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the +Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.” And while +I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez +Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell +asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else +could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember +another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of +suffering. + +I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. +I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph +for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered +on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not +brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the +house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, +which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it +absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own +residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we +were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the +text—“Seventy Times Seven;” and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had +committed the “First of the Seventy-First,” and were to be publicly +exposed and excommunicated. + +We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or +thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, +near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes +of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept +whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds +per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to +determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: +especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let +him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own +pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive +congregation; and he preached—good God! what a sermon; divided into +_four hundred and ninety_ parts, each fully equal to an ordinary +address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he +searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of +interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin +different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious +character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously. + +Oh, how weary I grew. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and +revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and +stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he +would _ever_ have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he +reached the “_First of the Seventy-First_.” At that crisis, a sudden +inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez +Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon. + +“Sir,” I exclaimed, “sitting here within these four walls, at one +stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads +of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat +and been about to depart—Seventy times seven times have you +preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and +ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, +and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no +more!” + +“_Thou art the Man!_” cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over +his cushion. “Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy +visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul—Lo, this is +human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the +Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. +Such honour have all His saints!” + +With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim’s +staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in +self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most +ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, +several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. +Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter +rappings: every man’s hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, +unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud +taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at +last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had +suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez’s part in the +row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the +blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I +listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and +dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than +before. + +This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard +distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, +the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right +cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if +possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the +casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance +observed by me when awake, but forgotten. “I must stop it, +nevertheless!” I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and +stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of +which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! + +The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my +arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, + +“Let me in—let me in!” + +“Who are you?” I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. + +“Catherine Linton,” it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of +_Linton_? I had read _Earnshaw_ twenty times for Linton)—“I’m come +home: I’d lost my way on the moor!” + +As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the +window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt +shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and +rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: +still it wailed, “Let me in!” and maintained its tenacious gripe, +almost maddening me with fear. + +“How can I!” I said at length. “Let _me_ go, if you want me to let you +in!” + +The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled +the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude +the lamentable prayer. + +I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the +instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! + +“Begone!” I shouted. “I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty +years.” + +“It is twenty years,” mourned the voice: “twenty years. I’ve been a +waif for twenty years!” + +Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved +as if thrust forward. + +I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in +a frenzy of fright. + +To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps +approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous +hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. +I sat shuddering, yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: +the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. + +At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, + +“Is any one here?” + +I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s +accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. + +With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon +forget the effect my action produced. + +Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a +candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall +behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric +shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and +his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up. + +“It is only your guest, sir,” I called out, desirous to spare him the +humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. “I had the misfortune to +scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I’m sorry I +disturbed you.” + +“Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the—” commenced +my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible +to hold it steady. “And who showed you up into this room?” he +continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to +subdue the maxillary convulsions. “Who was it? I’ve a good mind to turn +them out of the house this moment!” + +“It was your servant Zillah,” I replied, flinging myself on to the +floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. “I should not care if you did, +Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to +get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it +is—swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, +I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!” + +“What do you mean?” asked Heathcliff, “and what are you doing? Lie down +and finish out the night, since you _are_ here; but, for Heaven’s sake! +don’t repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it, unless you +were having your throat cut!” + +“If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have +strangled me!” I returned. “I’m not going to endure the persecutions of +your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham +akin to you on the mother’s side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or +Earnshaw, or however she was called—she must have been a +changeling—wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the +earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal +transgressions, I’ve no doubt!” + +Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of +Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in the book, which had completely +slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my +inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the +offence, I hastened to add—“The truth is, sir, I passed the first part +of the night in—” Here I stopped afresh—I was about to say “perusing +those old volumes,” then it would have revealed my knowledge of their +written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I +went on—“in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A +monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or—” + +“What _can_ you mean by talking in this way to _me!_” thundered +Heathcliff with savage vehemence. “How—how _dare_ you, under my +roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!” And he struck his forehead with rage. + +I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my +explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and +proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation +of “Catherine Linton” before, but reading it often over produced an +impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination +under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the +bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I +guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he +struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show +him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather +noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the +night: “Not three o’clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. +Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!” + +“Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,” said my host, suppressing +a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm’s shadow, dashing +a tear from his eyes. “Mr. Lockwood,” he added, “you may go into my +room: you’ll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your +childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.” + +“And for me, too,” I replied. “I’ll walk in the yard till daylight, and +then I’ll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. +I’m now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or +town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.” + +“Delightful company!” muttered Heathcliff. “Take the candle, and go +where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, +though, the dogs are unchained; and the house—Juno mounts sentinel +there, and—nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, +away with you! I’ll come in two minutes!” + +I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the +narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a +piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, +his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the +lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion +of tears. “Come in! come in!” he sobbed. “Cathy, do come. Oh, do—_once_ +more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me _this_ time, Catherine, at last!” +The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of +being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my +station, and blowing out the light. + +There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this +raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, +half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my +ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though _why_ was +beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, +and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly +together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except +a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a +querulous mew. + +Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the +hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the +other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and +then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the +roof, through a trap: the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a +sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between +the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in +the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with +tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of +impudence too shameful for remark: he silently applied the tube to his +lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury +unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a +profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came. + +A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a +“good-morning,” but closed it again, the salutation unachieved; for +Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison _sotto voce_, in a series of +curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a +corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over +the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of +exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat. I guessed, +by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard +couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an +inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate +sound that there was the place where I must go, if I changed my +locality. + +It opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah +urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. +Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the +blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her +eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to +chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, +now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was +surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back +towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever +and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, +and heave an indignant groan. + +“And you, you worthless—” he broke out as I entered, turning to his +daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or +sheep, but generally represented by a dash—. “There you are, at your +idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live on my +charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay +me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight—do you hear, +damnable jade?” + +“I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,” answered +the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. “But I’ll +not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I +please!” + +Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, +obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be +entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if +eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any +knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to +suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of +temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked +to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a +statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined +joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an +opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and +cold as impalpable ice. + +My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the +garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he +did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells +and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the +ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges +of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my +yesterday’s walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side +of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright +stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were +erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, +and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on +either hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing +up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my +companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the +right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings +of the road. + +We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of +Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux were +limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own +resources; for the porter’s lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance +from the gate to the Grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make +it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the +neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it +can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock +chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for +every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights. + +My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, +tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured +that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set +about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw +me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; +whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or +forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, +feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and +smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +What vain weather-cocks we are! I, who had determined to hold myself +independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my stars that, at +length, I had lighted on a spot where it was next to impracticable—I, +weak wretch, after maintaining till dusk a struggle with low spirits +and solitude, was finally compelled to strike my colours; and under +pretence of gaining information concerning the necessities of my +establishment, I desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit +down while I ate it; hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, +and either rouse me to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk. + +“You have lived here a considerable time,” I commenced; “did you not +say sixteen years?” + +“Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her; +after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper.” + +“Indeed.” + +There ensued a pause. She was not a gossip, I feared; unless about her +own affairs, and those could hardly interest me. However, having +studied for an interval, with a fist on either knee, and a cloud of +meditation over her ruddy countenance, she ejaculated—“Ah, times are +greatly changed since then!” + +“Yes,” I remarked, “you’ve seen a good many alterations, I suppose?” + +“I have: and troubles too,” she said. + +“Oh, I’ll turn the talk on my landlord’s family!” I thought to myself. +“A good subject to start! And that pretty girl-widow, I should like to +know her history: whether she be a native of the country, or, as is +more probable, an exotic that the surly _indigenae_ will not recognise +for kin.” With this intention I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff let +Thrushcross Grange, and preferred living in a situation and residence +so much inferior. “Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good +order?” I inquired. + +“Rich, sir!” she returned. “He has nobody knows what money, and every +year it increases. Yes, yes, he’s rich enough to live in a finer house +than this: but he’s very near—close-handed; and, if he had meant to +flit to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard of a good tenant he +could not have borne to miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more. +It is strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the +world!” + +“He had a son, it seems?” + +“Yes, he had one—he is dead.” + +“And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where did she come from originally?” + +“Why, sir, she is my late master’s daughter: Catherine Linton was her +maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing! I did wish Mr. Heathcliff would +remove here, and then we might have been together again.” + +“What! Catherine Linton?” I exclaimed, astonished. But a minute’s +reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine. “Then,” I +continued, “my predecessor’s name was Linton?” + +“It was.” + +“And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr. +Heathcliff? Are they relations?” + +“No; he is the late Mrs. Linton’s nephew.” + +“The young lady’s cousin, then?” + +“Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the mother’s, the +other on the father’s side: Heathcliff married Mr. Linton’s sister.” + +“I see the house at Wuthering Heights has ‘Earnshaw’ carved over the +front door. Are they an old family?” + +“Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is +of us—I mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg +pardon for asking; but I should like to hear how she is!” + +“Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I +think, not very happy.” + +“Oh dear, I don’t wonder! And how did you like the master?” + +“A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?” + +“Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone! The less you meddle with +him the better.” + +“He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl. +Do you know anything of his history?” + +“It’s a cuckoo’s, sir—I know all about it: except where he was born, +and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first. And +Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock! The unfortunate +lad is the only one in all this parish that does not guess how he has +been cheated.” + +“Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of +my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so be good +enough to sit and chat an hour.” + +“Oh, certainly, sir! I’ll just fetch a little sewing, and then I’ll sit +as long as you please. But you’ve caught cold: I saw you shivering, and +you must have some gruel to drive it out.” + +The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire; my head +felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover, I was excited, almost to +a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain. This caused me to +feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as I am still) of serious +effects from the incidents of to-day and yesterday. She returned +presently, bringing a smoking basin and a basket of work; and, having +placed the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to +find me so companionable. + +* * * * * + + +Before I came to live here, she commenced—waiting no farther invitation +to her story—I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my +mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton’s father, and +I got used to playing with the children: I ran errands too, and helped +to make hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody +would set me to. One fine summer morning—it was the beginning of +harvest, I remember—Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came downstairs, +dressed for a journey; and, after he had told Joseph what was to be +done during the day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me—for I sat +eating my porridge with them—and he said, speaking to his son, “Now, my +bonny man, I’m going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I bring you? You +may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shall walk there +and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!” Hindley named a +fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but +she could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip. He did +not forget me; for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe +sometimes. He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears, and +then he kissed his children, said good-bye, and set off. + +It seemed a long while to us all—the three days of his absence—and +often did little Cathy ask when he would be home. Mrs. Earnshaw +expected him by supper-time on the third evening, and she put the meal +off hour after hour; there were no signs of his coming, however, and at +last the children got tired of running down to the gate to look. Then +it grew dark; she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to +be allowed to stay up; and, just about eleven o’clock, the door-latch +was raised quietly, and in stepped the master. He threw himself into a +chair, laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was +nearly killed—he would not have such another walk for the three +kingdoms. + +“And at the end of it to be flighted to death!” he said, opening his +great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. “See here, wife! I +was never so beaten with anything in my life: but you must e’en take it +as a gift of God; though it’s as dark almost as if it came from the +devil.” + +We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy’s head I had a peep at a dirty, +ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk: indeed, +its face looked older than Catherine’s; yet when it was set on its +feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some +gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. +Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how +he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had +their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and +whether he were mad? The master tried to explain the matter; but he was +really half dead with fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst +her scolding, was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and +as good as dumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and +inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, he said; +and his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take +it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there: because he +was determined he would not leave it as he found it. Well, the +conclusion was, that my mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. +Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep +with the children. + +Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listening till +peace was restored: then, both began searching their father’s pockets +for the presents he had promised them. The former was a boy of +fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a fiddle, crushed to +morsels in the great-coat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she +learned the master had lost her whip in attending on the stranger, +showed her humour by grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; +earning for her pains a sound blow from her father, to teach her +cleaner manners. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or +even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing +of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or +else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw’s door, +and there he found it on quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as +to how it got there; I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my +cowardice and inhumanity was sent out of the house. + +This was Heathcliff’s first introduction to the family. On coming back +a few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishment perpetual), +I found they had christened him “Heathcliff”: it was the name of a son +who died in childhood, and it has served him ever since, both for +Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were now very thick; but +Hindley hated him: and to say the truth I did the same; and we plagued +and went on with him shamefully: for I wasn’t reasonable enough to feel +my injustice, and the mistress never put in a word on his behalf when +she saw him wronged. + +He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: +he would stand Hindley’s blows without winking or shedding a tear, and +my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if +he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This +endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son +persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to +Heathcliff strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said +precious little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above +Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward for a favourite. + +So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at +Mrs. Earnshaw’s death, which happened in less than two years after, the +young master had learned to regard his father as an oppressor rather +than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his parent’s affections +and his privileges; and he grew bitter with brooding over these +injuries. I sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the +measles, and I had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a woman at +once, I changed my idea. Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he +lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose +he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadn’t wit to guess that I +was compelled to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest +child that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him and the +others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me +terribly: _he_ was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not +gentleness, made him give little trouble. + +He got through, and the doctor affirmed it was in a great measure owing +to me, and praised me for my care. I was vain of his commendations, and +softened towards the being by whose means I earned them, and thus +Hindley lost his last ally: still I couldn’t dote on Heathcliff, and I +wondered often what my master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; +who never, to my recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of +gratitude. He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply +insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and +conscious he had only to speak and all the house would be obliged to +bend to his wishes. As an instance, I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought +a couple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads each one. +Heathcliff took the handsomest, but it soon fell lame, and when he +discovered it, he said to Hindley— + +“You must exchange horses with me: I don’t like mine; and if you won’t +I shall tell your father of the three thrashings you’ve given me this +week, and show him my arm, which is black to the shoulder.” Hindley put +out his tongue, and cuffed him over the ears. “You’d better do it at +once,” he persisted, escaping to the porch (they were in the stable): +“you will have to: and if I speak of these blows, you’ll get them again +with interest.” “Off, dog!” cried Hindley, threatening him with an iron +weight used for weighing potatoes and hay. “Throw it,” he replied, +standing still, “and then I’ll tell how you boasted that you would turn +me out of doors as soon as he died, and see whether he will not turn +you out directly.” Hindley threw it, hitting him on the breast, and +down he fell, but staggered up immediately, breathless and white; and, +had not I prevented it, he would have gone just so to the master, and +got full revenge by letting his condition plead for him, intimating who +had caused it. “Take my colt, Gipsy, then!” said young Earnshaw. “And I +pray that he may break your neck: take him, and be damned, you beggarly +interloper! and wheedle my father out of all he has: only afterwards +show him what you are, imp of Satan.—And take that, I hope he’ll kick +out your brains!” + +Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his own stall; +he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speech by knocking +him under its feet, and without stopping to examine whether his hopes +were fulfilled, ran away as fast as he could. I was surprised to +witness how coolly the child gathered himself up, and went on with his +intention; exchanging saddles and all, and then sitting down on a +bundle of hay to overcome the qualm which the violent blow occasioned, +before he entered the house. I persuaded him easily to let me lay the +blame of his bruises on the horse: he minded little what tale was told +since he had what he wanted. He complained so seldom, indeed, of such +stirs as these, that I really thought him not vindictive: I was +deceived completely, as you will hear. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active +and healthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was +confined to the chimney-corner he grew grievously irritable. A nothing +vexed him; and suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into +fits. This was especially to be remarked if any one attempted to impose +upon, or domineer over, his favourite: he was painfully jealous lest a +word should be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his head +the notion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and longed to +do him an ill-turn. It was a disadvantage to the lad; for the kinder +among us did not wish to fret the master, so we humoured his +partiality; and that humouring was rich nourishment to the child’s +pride and black tempers. Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, +or thrice, Hindley’s manifestation of scorn, while his father was near, +roused the old man to a fury: he seized his stick to strike him, and +shook with rage that he could not do it. + +At last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living answer by +teaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming his bit of land +himself) advised that the young man should be sent to college; and Mr. +Earnshaw agreed, though with a heavy spirit, for he said—“Hindley was +nought, and would never thrive as where he wandered.” + +I hoped heartily we should have peace now. It hurt me to think the +master should be made uncomfortable by his own good deed. I fancied the +discontent of age and disease arose from his family disagreements; as +he would have it that it did: really, you know, sir, it was in his +sinking frame. We might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for +two people—Miss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant: you saw him, I daresay, +up yonder. He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest +self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the +promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours. By his +knack of sermonising and pious discoursing, he contrived to make a +great impression on Mr. Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master +became, the more influence he gained. He was relentless in worrying him +about his soul’s concerns, and about ruling his children rigidly. He +encouraged him to regard Hindley as a reprobate; and, night after +night, he regularly grumbled out a long string of tales against +Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding to flatter Earnshaw’s weakness +by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter. + +Certainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child take up +before; and she put all of us past our patience fifty times and oftener +in a day: from the hour she came downstairs till the hour she went to +bed, we had not a minute’s security that she wouldn’t be in mischief. +Her spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always +going—singing, laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the +same. A wild, wicked slip she was—but she had the bonniest eye, the +sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish: and, after all, I +believe she meant no harm; for when once she made you cry in good +earnest, it seldom happened that she would not keep you company, and +oblige you to be quiet that you might comfort her. She was much too +fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was +to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than any of us +on his account. In play, she liked exceedingly to act the little +mistress; using her hands freely, and commanding her companions: she +did so to me, but I would not bear slapping and ordering; and so I let +her know. + +Now, Mr. Earnshaw did not understand jokes from his children: he had +always been strict and grave with them; and Catherine, on her part, had +no idea why her father should be crosser and less patient in his ailing +condition than he was in his prime. His peevish reproofs wakened in her +a naughty delight to provoke him: she was never so happy as when we +were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy +look, and her ready words; turning Joseph’s religious curses into +ridicule, baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most—showing +how her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over +Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do _her_ bidding in +anything, and _his_ only when it suited his own inclination. After +behaving as badly as possible all day, she sometimes came fondling to +make it up at night. “Nay, Cathy,” the old man would say, “I cannot +love thee, thou’rt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, +and ask God’s pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever +reared thee!” That made her cry, at first; and then being repulsed +continually hardened her, and she laughed if I told her to say she was +sorry for her faults, and beg to be forgiven. + +But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaw’s troubles on +earth. He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the +fire-side. A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the +chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were +all together—I, a little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, +and Joseph reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally +sat in the house then, after their work was done). Miss Cathy had been +sick, and that made her still; she leant against her father’s knee, and +Heathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap. I remember +the master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hair—it +pleased him rarely to see her gentle—and saying, “Why canst thou not +always be a good lass, Cathy?” And she turned her face up to his, and +laughed, and answered, “Why cannot you always be a good man, father?” +But as soon as she saw him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said +she would sing him to sleep. She began singing very low, till his +fingers dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast. Then I told +her to hush, and not stir, for fear she should wake him. We all kept as +mute as mice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only +Joseph, having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse +the master for prayers and bed. He stepped forward, and called him by +name, and touched his shoulder; but he would not move: so he took the +candle and looked at him. I thought there was something wrong as he set +down the light; and seizing the children each by an arm, whispered them +to “frame upstairs, and make little din—they might pray alone that +evening—he had summut to do.” + +“I shall bid father good-night first,” said Catherine, putting her arms +round his neck, before we could hinder her. The poor thing discovered +her loss directly—she screamed out—“Oh, he’s dead, Heathcliff! he’s +dead!” And they both set up a heart-breaking cry. + +I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked what we +could be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in heaven. He +told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the +parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. +However, I went, through wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, +back with me; the other said he would come in the morning. Leaving +Joseph to explain matters, I ran to the children’s room: their door was +ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but +they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls +were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit +on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they +did, in their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could +not help wishing we were all there safe together. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and—a thing that amazed us, and +set the neighbours gossiping right and left—he brought a wife with him. +What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, +she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely +have kept the union from his father. + +She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own +account. Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold, +appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about +her: except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the +mourners. I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that +went on: she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I +should have been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and +clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly—“Are they gone yet?” Then she +began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her +to see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell +a-weeping—and when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn’t +know; but she felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely +to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and +fresh-complexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did +remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very +quick; that the least sudden noise set her all in a quiver, and that +she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these +symptoms portended, and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We don’t +in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they take to +us first. + +Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his +absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and +dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told +Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the +back-kitchen, and leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have +carpeted and papered a small spare room for a parlour; but his wife +expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace, +at the pewter dishes and delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space +there was to move about in where they usually sat, that he thought it +unnecessary to her comfort, and so dropped the intention. + +She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new +acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran +about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning. +Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, +Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to +Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy. +He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the +instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of +doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the +farm. + +Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy +taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the +fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the +young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they +did, so they kept clear of him. He would not even have seen after their +going to church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his +carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to +order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or +supper. But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the +moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment +grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many chapters as +he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash +Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they +were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some +naughty plan of revenge; and many a time I’ve cried to myself to watch +them growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, +for fear of losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended +creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from +the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind; +and when I went to call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere. +We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they +were invisible: and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the +doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household +went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put +my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in +spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a while, I +distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern +glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to +prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. There was +Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone. + +“Where is Miss Catherine?” I cried hurriedly. “No accident, I hope?” +“At Thrushcross Grange,” he answered; “and I would have been there too, +but they had not the manners to ask me to stay.” “Well, you will catch +it!” I said: “you’ll never be content till you’re sent about your +business. What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange?” +“Let me get off my wet clothes, and I’ll tell you all about it, Nelly,” +he replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he +undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he continued—“Cathy and I +escaped from the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a +glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see +whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in +corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and +singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do +you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their +man-servant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they +don’t answer properly?” “Probably not,” I responded. “They are good +children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment you receive, for +your bad conduct.” “Don’t cant, Nelly,” he said: “nonsense! We ran from +the top of the Heights to the park, without stopping—Catherine +completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You’ll have to +seek for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We crept through a broken +hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a +flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; +they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half +closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement, +and clinging to the ledge, and we saw—ah! it was beautiful—a splendid +place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and +a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging +in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft +tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sister +had it entirely to themselves. Shouldn’t they have been happy? We +should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good +children were doing? Isabella—I believe she is eleven, a year younger +than Cathy—lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as +if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the +hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little +dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, +we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots! +That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm +hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to get it, +refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did +despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine +wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and +sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? I’d not +exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton’s +at Thrushcross Grange—not if I might have the privilege of flinging +Joseph off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with +Hindley’s blood!” + +“Hush, hush!” I interrupted. “Still you have not told me, Heathcliff, +how Catherine is left behind?” + +“I told you we laughed,” he answered. “The Lintons heard us, and with +one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and +then a cry, ‘Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh, +papa, oh!’ They really did howl out something in that way. We made +frightful noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off +the ledge, because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had +better flee. I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all +at once she fell down. ‘Run, Heathcliff, run!’ she whispered. ‘They +have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!’ The devil had seized her +ankle, Nelly: I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out—no! +she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns +of a mad cow. I did, though: I vociferated curses enough to annihilate +any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his +jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast +of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shouting—‘Keep fast, +Skulker, keep fast!’ He changed his note, however, when he saw +Skulker’s game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue +hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming +with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear, +I’m certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling +execrations and vengeance. ‘What prey, Robert?’ hallooed Linton from +the entrance. ‘Skulker has caught a little girl, sir,’ he replied; ‘and +there’s a lad here,’ he added, making a clutch at me, ‘who looks an +out-and-outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the +window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they +might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed +thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir, +don’t lay by your gun.’ ‘No, no, Robert,’ said the old fool. ‘The +rascals knew that yesterday was my rent-day: they thought to have me +cleverly. Come in; I’ll furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten +the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his +stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop? +Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don’t be afraid, it is but a boy—yet the +villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness to +the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as +well as features?’ He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton +placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror. The +cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lisping—‘Frightful thing! +Put him in the cellar, papa. He’s exactly like the son of the +fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. Isn’t he, Edgar?’ + +“While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech, +and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected +sufficient wit to recognise her. They see us at church, you know, +though we seldom meet them elsewhere. ‘That’s Miss Earnshaw!’ he +whispered to his mother, ‘and look how Skulker has bitten her—how her +foot bleeds!’ + +“‘Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!’ cried the dame; ‘Miss Earnshaw scouring the +country with a gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in mourning—surely +it is—and she may be lamed for life!’ + +“‘What culpable carelessness in her brother!’ exclaimed Mr. Linton, +turning from me to Catherine. ‘I’ve understood from Shielders’” (that +was the curate, sir) “‘that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism. +But who is this? Where did she pick up this companion? Oho! I declare +he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey +to Liverpool—a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway.’ + +“‘A wicked boy, at all events,’ remarked the old lady, ‘and quite unfit +for a decent house! Did you notice his language, Linton? I’m shocked +that my children should have heard it.’ + +“I recommenced cursing—don’t be angry, Nelly—and so Robert was ordered +to take me off. I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the +garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw +should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly, +secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one +corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had +wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a +million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa +quietly. Mrs. Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we +had borrowed for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with +her, I suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction +between her treatment and mine. Then the woman-servant brought a basin +of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of +negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar +stood gaping at a distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her +beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled +her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her +food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he +ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the +Lintons—a dim reflection from her own enchanting face. I saw they were +full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them—to +everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?” + +“There will more come of this business than you reckon on,” I answered, +covering him up and extinguishing the light. “You are incurable, +Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if +he won’t.” My words came truer than I desired. The luckless adventure +made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a +visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture +on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about +him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that +the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal; +and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint +when she returned home; employing art, not force: with force she would +have found it impossible. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks: till Christmas. By that +time her ankle was thoroughly cured, and her manners much improved. The +mistress visited her often in the interval, and commenced her plan of +reform by trying to raise her self-respect with fine clothes and +flattery, which she took readily; so that, instead of a wild, hatless +little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all +breathless, there lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified +person, with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered +beaver, and a long cloth habit, which she was obliged to hold up with +both hands that she might sail in. Hindley lifted her from her horse, +exclaiming delightedly, “Why, Cathy, you are quite a beauty! I should +scarcely have known you: you look like a lady now. Isabella Linton is +not to be compared with her, is she, Frances?” “Isabella has not her +natural advantages,” replied his wife: “but she must mind and not grow +wild again here. Ellen, help Miss Catherine off with her things—Stay, +dear, you will disarrange your curls—let me untie your hat.” + +I removed the habit, and there shone forth beneath a grand plaid silk +frock, white trousers, and burnished shoes; and, while her eyes +sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to welcome her, she +dared hardly touch them lest they should fawn upon her splendid +garments. She kissed me gently: I was all flour making the Christmas +cake, and it would not have done to give me a hug; and then she looked +round for Heathcliff. Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously their +meeting; thinking it would enable them to judge, in some measure, what +grounds they had for hoping to succeed in separating the two friends. + +Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first. If he were careless, and +uncared for, before Catherine’s absence, he had been ten times more so +since. Nobody but I even did him the kindness to call him a dirty boy, +and bid him wash himself, once a week; and children of his age seldom +have a natural pleasure in soap and water. Therefore, not to mention +his clothes, which had seen three months’ service in mire and dust, and +his thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and hands was dismally +beclouded. He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a +bright, graceful damsel enter the house, instead of a rough-headed +counterpart of himself, as he expected. “Is Heathcliff not here?” she +demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers wonderfully +whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors. + +“Heathcliff, you may come forward,” cried Mr. Hindley, enjoying his +discomfiture, and gratified to see what a forbidding young blackguard +he would be compelled to present himself. “You may come and wish Miss +Catherine welcome, like the other servants.” + +Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment, flew to +embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek within the +second, and then stopped, and drawing back, burst into a laugh, +exclaiming, “Why, how very black and cross you look! and how—how funny +and grim! But that’s because I’m used to Edgar and Isabella Linton. +Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?” + +She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride threw +double gloom over his countenance, and kept him immovable. + +“Shake hands, Heathcliff,” said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; “once in +a way, that is permitted.” + +“I shall not,” replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; “I shall +not stand to be laughed at. I shall not bear it!” + +And he would have broken from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him +again. + +“I did not mean to laugh at you,” she said; “I could not hinder myself: +Heathcliff, shake hands at least! What are you sulky for? It was only +that you looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it will +be all right: but you are so dirty!” + +She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and +also at her dress; which she feared had gained no embellishment from +its contact with his. + +“You needn’t have touched me!” he answered, following her eye and +snatching away his hand. “I shall be as dirty as I please: and I like +to be dirty, and I will be dirty.” + +With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the merriment of +the master and mistress, and to the serious disturbance of Catherine; +who could not comprehend how her remarks should have produced such an +exhibition of bad temper. + +After playing lady’s-maid to the new-comer, and putting my cakes in the +oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful with great fires, +befitting Christmas-eve, I prepared to sit down and amuse myself by +singing carols, all alone; regardless of Joseph’s affirmations that he +considered the merry tunes I chose as next door to songs. He had +retired to private prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw +were engaging Missy’s attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to +present to the little Lintons, as an acknowledgment of their kindness. +They had invited them to spend the morrow at Wuthering Heights, and the +invitation had been accepted, on one condition: Mrs. Linton begged that +her darlings might be kept carefully apart from that “naughty swearing +boy.” + +Under these circumstances I remained solitary. I smelt the rich scent +of the heating spices; and admired the shining kitchen utensils, the +polished clock, decked in holly, the silver mugs ranged on a tray ready +to be filled with mulled ale for supper; and above all, the speckless +purity of my particular care—the scoured and well-swept floor. I gave +due inward applause to every object, and then I remembered how old +Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant lass, +and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmas-box; and from that I +went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and his dread lest he +should suffer neglect after death had removed him: and that naturally +led me to consider the poor lad’s situation now, and from singing I +changed my mind to crying. It struck me soon, however, there would be +more sense in endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding +tears over them: I got up and walked into the court to seek him. He was +not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat of the new pony in the +stable, and feeding the other beasts, according to custom. + +“Make haste, Heathcliff!” I said, “the kitchen is so comfortable; and +Joseph is upstairs: make haste, and let me dress you smart before Miss +Cathy comes out, and then you can sit together, with the whole hearth +to yourselves, and have a long chatter till bedtime.” + +He proceeded with his task, and never turned his head towards me. + +“Come—are you coming?” I continued. “There’s a little cake for each of +you, nearly enough; and you’ll need half-an-hour’s donning.” + +I waited five minutes, but getting no answer left him. Catherine supped +with her brother and sister-in-law: Joseph and I joined at an +unsociable meal, seasoned with reproofs on one side and sauciness on +the other. His cake and cheese remained on the table all night for the +fairies. He managed to continue work till nine o’clock, and then +marched dumb and dour to his chamber. Cathy sat up late, having a world +of things to order for the reception of her new friends: she came into +the kitchen once to speak to her old one; but he was gone, and she only +stayed to ask what was the matter with him, and then went back. In the +morning he rose early; and, as it was a holiday, carried his ill-humour +on to the moors; not re-appearing till the family were departed for +church. Fasting and reflection seemed to have brought him to a better +spirit. He hung about me for a while, and having screwed up his +courage, exclaimed abruptly—“Nelly, make me decent, I’m going to be +good.” + +“High time, Heathcliff,” I said; “you _have_ grieved Catherine: she’s +sorry she ever came home, I daresay! It looks as if you envied her, +because she is more thought of than you.” + +The notion of _envying_ Catherine was incomprehensible to him, but the +notion of grieving her he understood clearly enough. + +“Did she say she was grieved?” he inquired, looking very serious. + +“She cried when I told her you were off again this morning.” + +“Well, _I_ cried last night,” he returned, “and I had more reason to +cry than she.” + +“Yes: you had the reason of going to bed with a proud heart and an +empty stomach,” said I. “Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. +But, if you be ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, +when she comes in. You must go up and offer to kiss her, and say—you +know best what to say; only do it heartily, and not as if you thought +her converted into a stranger by her grand dress. And now, though I +have dinner to get ready, I’ll steal time to arrange you so that Edgar +Linton shall look quite a doll beside you: and that he does. You are +younger, and yet, I’ll be bound, you are taller and twice as broad +across the shoulders; you could knock him down in a twinkling; don’t +you feel that you could?” + +Heathcliff’s face brightened a moment; then it was overcast afresh, and +he sighed. + +“But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn’t make him +less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, +and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich +as he will be!” + +“And cried for mamma at every turn,” I added, “and trembled if a +country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a +shower of rain. Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to +the glass, and I’ll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those +two lines between your eyes; and those thick brows, that, instead of +rising arched, sink in the middle; and that couple of black fiends, so +deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting +under them, like devil’s spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly +wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to +confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always +seeing friends where they are not sure of foes. Don’t get the +expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are +its desert, and yet hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for +what it suffers.” + +“In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton’s great blue eyes and +even forehead,” he replied. “I do—and that won’t help me to them.” + +“A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,” I continued, “if +you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into +something worse than ugly. And now that we’ve done washing, and +combing, and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself rather +handsome? I’ll tell you, I do. You’re fit for a prince in disguise. Who +knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian +queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income, Wuthering +Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by +wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would +frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should +give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little +farmer!” + +So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and began to +look quite pleasant, when all at once our conversation was interrupted +by a rumbling sound moving up the road and entering the court. He ran +to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold the two Lintons +descend from the family carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the +Earnshaws dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in +winter. Catherine took a hand of each of the children, and brought them +into the house and set them before the fire, which quickly put colour +into their white faces. + +I urged my companion to hasten now and show his amiable humour, and he +willingly obeyed; but ill luck would have it that, as he opened the +door leading from the kitchen on one side, Hindley opened it on the +other. They met, and the master, irritated at seeing him clean and +cheerful, or, perhaps, eager to keep his promise to Mrs. Linton, shoved +him back with a sudden thrust, and angrily bade Joseph “keep the fellow +out of the room—send him into the garret till dinner is over. He’ll be +cramming his fingers in the tarts and stealing the fruit, if left alone +with them a minute.” + +“Nay, sir,” I could not avoid answering, “he’ll touch nothing, not he: +and I suppose he must have his share of the dainties as well as we.” + +“He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him downstairs till +dark,” cried Hindley. “Begone, you vagabond! What! you are attempting +the coxcomb, are you? Wait till I get hold of those elegant locks—see +if I won’t pull them a bit longer!” + +“They are long enough already,” observed Master Linton, peeping from +the doorway; “I wonder they don’t make his head ache. It’s like a +colt’s mane over his eyes!” + +He ventured this remark without any intention to insult; but +Heathcliff’s violent nature was not prepared to endure the appearance +of impertinence from one whom he seemed to hate, even then, as a rival. +He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce, the first thing that came under +his gripe, and dashed it full against the speaker’s face and neck; who +instantly commenced a lament that brought Isabella and Catherine +hurrying to the place. Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit directly +and conveyed him to his chamber; where, doubtless, he administered a +rough remedy to cool the fit of passion, for he appeared red and +breathless. I got the dish-cloth, and rather spitefully scrubbed +Edgar’s nose and mouth, affirming it served him right for meddling. His +sister began weeping to go home, and Cathy stood by confounded, +blushing for all. + +“You should not have spoken to him!” she expostulated with Master +Linton. “He was in a bad temper, and now you’ve spoilt your visit; and +he’ll be flogged: I hate him to be flogged! I can’t eat my dinner. Why +did you speak to him, Edgar?” + +“I didn’t,” sobbed the youth, escaping from my hands, and finishing the +remainder of the purification with his cambric pocket-handkerchief. “I +promised mamma that I wouldn’t say one word to him, and I didn’t.” + +“Well, don’t cry,” replied Catherine, contemptuously; “you’re not +killed. Don’t make more mischief; my brother is coming: be quiet! Hush, +Isabella! Has anybody hurt _you?_” + +“There, there, children—to your seats!” cried Hindley, bustling in. +“That brute of a lad has warmed me nicely. Next time, Master Edgar, +take the law into your own fists—it will give you an appetite!” + +The little party recovered its equanimity at sight of the fragrant +feast. They were hungry after their ride, and easily consoled, since no +real harm had befallen them. Mr. Earnshaw carved bountiful platefuls, +and the mistress made them merry with lively talk. I waited behind her +chair, and was pained to behold Catherine, with dry eyes and an +indifferent air, commence cutting up the wing of a goose before her. +“An unfeeling child,” I thought to myself; “how lightly she dismisses +her old playmate’s troubles. I could not have imagined her to be so +selfish.” She lifted a mouthful to her lips: then she set it down +again: her cheeks flushed, and the tears gushed over them. She slipped +her fork to the floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to conceal her +emotion. I did not call her unfeeling long; for I perceived she was in +purgatory throughout the day, and wearying to find an opportunity of +getting by herself, or paying a visit to Heathcliff, who had been +locked up by the master: as I discovered, on endeavouring to introduce +to him a private mess of victuals. + +In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that he might be liberated +then, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her entreaties were vain, and +I was appointed to supply the deficiency. We got rid of all gloom in +the excitement of the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the +arrival of the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong: a trumpet, a +trombone, clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol, besides +singers. They go the rounds of all the respectable houses, and receive +contributions every Christmas, and we esteemed it a first-rate treat to +hear them. After the usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs +and glees. Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty. + +Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of +the steps, and she went up in the dark: I followed. They shut the house +door below, never noting our absence, it was so full of people. She +made no stay at the stairs’-head, but mounted farther, to the garret +where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly declined +answering for a while: she persevered, and finally persuaded him to +hold communion with her through the boards. I let the poor things +converse unmolested, till I supposed the songs were going to cease, and +the singers to get some refreshment: then I clambered up the ladder to +warn her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice within. The +little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, +into the skylight of the other, and it was with the utmost difficulty I +could coax her out again. When she did come, Heathcliff came with her, +and she insisted that I should take him into the kitchen, as my +fellow-servant had gone to a neighbour’s, to be removed from the sound +of our “devil’s psalmody,” as it pleased him to call it. I told them I +intended by no means to encourage their tricks: but as the prisoner had +never broken his fast since yesterday’s dinner, I would wink at his +cheating Mr. Hindley that once. He went down: I set him a stool by the +fire, and offered him a quantity of good things: but he was sick and +could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were thrown away. He +leant his two elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands, and +remained rapt in dumb meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his +thoughts, he answered gravely—“I’m trying to settle how I shall pay +Hindley back. I don’t care how long I wait, if I can only do it at +last. I hope he will not die before I do!” + +“For shame, Heathcliff!” said I. “It is for God to punish wicked +people; we should learn to forgive.” + +“No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I shall,” he returned. “I +only wish I knew the best way! Let me alone, and I’ll plan it out: +while I’m thinking of that I don’t feel pain.” + +But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert you. I’m annoyed +how I should dream of chattering on at such a rate; and your gruel +cold, and you nodding for bed! I could have told Heathcliff’s history, +all that you need hear, in half a dozen words. + +* * * * * + + +Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded to lay +aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the hearth, and I +was very far from nodding. “Sit still, Mrs. Dean,” I cried; “do sit +still another half-hour. You’ve done just right to tell the story +leisurely. That is the method I like; and you must finish it in the +same style. I am interested in every character you have mentioned, more +or less.” + +“The clock is on the stroke of eleven, sir.” + +“No matter—I’m not accustomed to go to bed in the long hours. One or +two is early enough for a person who lies till ten.” + +“You shouldn’t lie till ten. There’s the very prime of the morning gone +long before that time. A person who has not done one-half his day’s +work by ten o’clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone.” + +“Nevertheless, Mrs. Dean, resume your chair; because to-morrow I intend +lengthening the night till afternoon. I prognosticate for myself an +obstinate cold, at least.” + +“I hope not, sir. Well, you must allow me to leap over some three +years; during that space Mrs. Earnshaw—” + +“No, no, I’ll allow nothing of the sort! Are you acquainted with the +mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking +its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so +intently that puss’s neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of +temper?” + +“A terribly lazy mood, I should say.” + +“On the contrary, a tiresomely active one. It is mine, at present; and, +therefore, continue minutely. I perceive that people in these regions +acquire over people in towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does +over a spider in a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the +deepened attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the +looker-on. They _do_ live more in earnest, more in themselves, and less +in surface, change, and frivolous external things. I could fancy a love +for life here almost possible; and I was a fixed unbeliever in any love +of a year’s standing. One state resembles setting a hungry man down to +a single dish, on which he may concentrate his entire appetite and do +it justice; the other, introducing him to a table laid out by French +cooks: he can perhaps extract as much enjoyment from the whole; but +each part is a mere atom in his regard and remembrance.” + +“Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get to know us,” +observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled at my speech. + +“Excuse me,” I responded; “you, my good friend, are a striking evidence +against that assertion. Excepting a few provincialisms of slight +consequence, you have no marks of the manners which I am habituated to +consider as peculiar to your class. I am sure you have thought a great +deal more than the generality of servants think. You have been +compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions +for frittering your life away in silly trifles.” + +Mrs. Dean laughed. + +“I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of body,” she +said; “not exactly from living among the hills and seeing one set of +faces, and one series of actions, from year’s end to year’s end; but I +have undergone sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, +I have read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not open +a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got something +out of also: unless it be that range of Greek and Latin, and that of +French; and those I know one from another: it is as much as you can +expect of a poor man’s daughter. However, if I am to follow my story in +true gossip’s fashion, I had better go on; and instead of leaping three +years, I will be content to pass to the next summer—the summer of 1778, +that is nearly twenty-three years ago.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little nursling, and +the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. We were busy with the +hay in a far-away field, when the girl that usually brought our +breakfasts came running an hour too soon across the meadow and up the +lane, calling me as she ran. + +“Oh, such a grand bairn!” she panted out. “The finest lad that ever +breathed! But the doctor says missis must go: he says she’s been in a +consumption these many months. I heard him tell Mr. Hindley: and now +she has nothing to keep her, and she’ll be dead before winter. You must +come home directly. You’re to nurse it, Nelly: to feed it with sugar +and milk, and take care of it day and night. I wish I were you, because +it will be all yours when there is no missis!” + +“But is she very ill?” I asked, flinging down my rake and tying my +bonnet. + +“I guess she is; yet she looks bravely,” replied the girl, “and she +talks as if she thought of living to see it grow a man. She’s out of +her head for joy, it’s such a beauty! If I were her I’m certain I +should not die: I should get better at the bare sight of it, in spite +of Kenneth. I was fairly mad at him. Dame Archer brought the cherub +down to master, in the house, and his face just began to light up, when +the old croaker steps forward, and says he—‘Earnshaw, it’s a blessing +your wife has been spared to leave you this son. When she came, I felt +convinced we shouldn’t keep her long; and now, I must tell you, the +winter will probably finish her. Don’t take on, and fret about it too +much: it can’t be helped. And besides, you should have known better +than to choose such a rush of a lass!’” + +“And what did the master answer?” I inquired. + +“I think he swore: but I didn’t mind him, I was straining to see the +bairn,” and she began again to describe it rapturously. I, as zealous +as herself, hurried eagerly home to admire, on my part; though I was +very sad for Hindley’s sake. He had room in his heart only for two +idols—his wife and himself: he doted on both, and adored one, and I +couldn’t conceive how he would bear the loss. + +When we got to Wuthering Heights, there he stood at the front door; +and, as I passed in, I asked, “how was the baby?” + +“Nearly ready to run about, Nell!” he replied, putting on a cheerful +smile. + +“And the mistress?” I ventured to inquire; “the doctor says she’s—” + +“Damn the doctor!” he interrupted, reddening. “Frances is quite right: +she’ll be perfectly well by this time next week. Are you going +upstairs? will you tell her that I’ll come, if she’ll promise not to +talk. I left her because she would not hold her tongue; and she +must—tell her Mr. Kenneth says she must be quiet.” + +I delivered this message to Mrs. Earnshaw; she seemed in flighty +spirits, and replied merrily, “I hardly spoke a word, Ellen, and there +he has gone out twice, crying. Well, say I promise I won’t speak: but +that does not bind me not to laugh at him!” + +Poor soul! Till within a week of her death that gay heart never failed +her; and her husband persisted doggedly, nay, furiously, in affirming +her health improved every day. When Kenneth warned him that his +medicines were useless at that stage of the malady, and he needn’t put +him to further expense by attending her, he retorted, “I know you need +not—she’s well—she does not want any more attendance from you! She +never was in a consumption. It was a fever; and it is gone: her pulse +is as slow as mine now, and her cheek as cool.” + +He told his wife the same story, and she seemed to believe him; but one +night, while leaning on his shoulder, in the act of saying she thought +she should be able to get up to-morrow, a fit of coughing took her—a +very slight one—he raised her in his arms; she put her two hands about +his neck, her face changed, and she was dead. + +As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly into my +hands. Mr. Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy and never heard him +cry, was contented, as far as regarded him. For himself, he grew +desperate: his sorrow was of that kind that will not lament. He neither +wept nor prayed; he cursed and defied: execrated God and man, and gave +himself up to reckless dissipation. The servants could not bear his +tyrannical and evil conduct long: Joseph and I were the only two that +would stay. I had not the heart to leave my charge; and besides, you +know, I had been his foster-sister, and excused his behaviour more +readily than a stranger would. Joseph remained to hector over tenants +and labourers; and because it was his vocation to be where he had +plenty of wickedness to reprove. + +The master’s bad ways and bad companions formed a pretty example for +Catherine and Heathcliff. His treatment of the latter was enough to +make a fiend of a saint. And, truly, it appeared as if the lad _were_ +possessed of something diabolical at that period. He delighted to +witness Hindley degrading himself past redemption; and became daily +more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. I could not half tell +what an infernal house we had. The curate dropped calling, and nobody +decent came near us, at last; unless Edgar Linton’s visits to Miss +Cathy might be an exception. At fifteen she was the queen of the +country-side; she had no peer; and she did turn out a haughty, +headstrong creature! I own I did not like her, after infancy was past; +and I vexed her frequently by trying to bring down her arrogance: she +never took an aversion to me, though. She had a wondrous constancy to +old attachments: even Heathcliff kept his hold on her affections +unalterably; and young Linton, with all his superiority, found it +difficult to make an equally deep impression. He was my late master: +that is his portrait over the fireplace. It used to hang on one side, +and his wife’s on the other; but hers has been removed, or else you +might see something of what she was. Can you make that out? + +Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face, +exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive +and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet picture. The long light +hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; +the figure almost too graceful. I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw +could forget her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled much +how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could fancy my idea +of Catherine Earnshaw. + +“A very agreeable portrait,” I observed to the house-keeper. “Is it +like?” + +“Yes,” she answered; “but he looked better when he was animated; that +is his everyday countenance: he wanted spirit in general.” + +Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her +five-weeks’ residence among them; and as she had no temptation to show +her rough side in their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of +being rude where she experienced such invariable courtesy, she imposed +unwittingly on the old lady and gentleman by her ingenious cordiality; +gained the admiration of Isabella, and the heart and soul of her +brother: acquisitions that flattered her from the first—for she was +full of ambition—and led her to adopt a double character without +exactly intending to deceive any one. In the place where she heard +Heathcliff termed a “vulgar young ruffian,” and “worse than a brute,” +she took care not to act like him; but at home she had small +inclination to practise politeness that would only be laughed at, and +restrain an unruly nature when it would bring her neither credit nor +praise. + +Mr. Edgar seldom mustered courage to visit Wuthering Heights openly. He +had a terror of Earnshaw’s reputation, and shrunk from encountering +him; and yet he was always received with our best attempts at civility: +the master himself avoided offending him, knowing why he came; and if +he could not be gracious, kept out of the way. I rather think his +appearance there was distasteful to Catherine; she was not artful, +never played the coquette, and had evidently an objection to her two +friends meeting at all; for when Heathcliff expressed contempt of +Linton in his presence, she could not half coincide, as she did in his +absence; and when Linton evinced disgust and antipathy to Heathcliff, +she dared not treat his sentiments with indifference, as if +depreciation of her playmate were of scarcely any consequence to her. +I’ve had many a laugh at her perplexities and untold troubles, which +she vainly strove to hide from my mockery. That sounds ill-natured: but +she was so proud, it became really impossible to pity her distresses, +till she should be chastened into more humility. She did bring herself, +finally, to confess, and to confide in me: there was not a soul else +that she might fashion into an adviser. + +Mr. Hindley had gone from home one afternoon, and Heathcliff presumed +to give himself a holiday on the strength of it. He had reached the age +of sixteen then, I think, and without having bad features, or being +deficient in intellect, he contrived to convey an impression of inward +and outward repulsiveness that his present aspect retains no traces of. +In the first place, he had by that time lost the benefit of his early +education: continual hard work, begun soon and concluded late, had +extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit of knowledge, +and any love for books or learning. His childhood’s sense of +superiority, instilled into him by the favours of old Mr. Earnshaw, was +faded away. He struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine in +her studies, and yielded with poignant though silent regret: but he +yielded completely; and there was no prevailing on him to take a step +in the way of moving upward, when he found he must, necessarily, sink +beneath his former level. Then personal appearance sympathised with +mental deterioration: he acquired a slouching gait and ignoble look; +his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an almost +idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, +apparently, in exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few +acquaintance. + +Catherine and he were constant companions still at his seasons of +respite from labour; but he had ceased to express his fondness for her +in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, +as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks +of affection on him. On the before-named occasion he came into the +house to announce his intention of doing nothing, while I was assisting +Miss Cathy to arrange her dress: she had not reckoned on his taking it +into his head to be idle; and imagining she would have the whole place +to herself, she managed, by some means, to inform Mr. Edgar of her +brother’s absence, and was then preparing to receive him. + +“Cathy, are you busy this afternoon?” asked Heathcliff. “Are you going +anywhere?” + +“No, it is raining,” she answered. + +“Why have you that silk frock on, then?” he said. “Nobody coming here, +I hope?” + +“Not that I know of,” stammered Miss: “but you should be in the field +now, Heathcliff. It is an hour past dinner time; I thought you were +gone.” + +“Hindley does not often free us from his accursed presence,” observed +the boy. “I’ll not work any more to-day: I’ll stay with you.” + +“Oh, but Joseph will tell,” she suggested; “you’d better go!” + +“Joseph is loading lime on the further side of Penistone Crags; it will +take him till dark, and he’ll never know.” + +So saying, he lounged to the fire, and sat down. Catherine reflected +an instant, with knitted brows—she found it needful to smooth the way +for an intrusion. “Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this +afternoon,” she said, at the conclusion of a minute’s silence. “As it +rains, I hardly expect them; but they may come, and if they do, you run +the risk of being scolded for no good.” + +“Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy,” he persisted; “don’t turn +me out for those pitiful, silly friends of yours! I’m on the point, +sometimes, of complaining that they—but I’ll not—” + +“That they what?” cried Catherine, gazing at him with a troubled +countenance. “Oh, Nelly!” she added petulantly, jerking her head away +from my hands, “you’ve combed my hair quite out of curl! That’s enough; +let me alone. What are you on the point of complaining about, +Heathcliff?” + +“Nothing—only look at the almanack on that wall;” he pointed to a +framed sheet hanging near the window, and continued, “The crosses are +for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those +spent with me. Do you see? I’ve marked every day.” + +“Yes—very foolish: as if I took notice!” replied Catherine, in a +peevish tone. “And where is the sense of that?” + +“To show that I _do_ take notice,” said Heathcliff. + +“And should I always be sitting with you?” she demanded, growing more +irritated. “What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be +dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you +do, either!” + +“You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you +disliked my company, Cathy!” exclaimed Heathcliff, in much agitation. + +“It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,” she +muttered. + +Her companion rose up, but he hadn’t time to express his feelings +further, for a horse’s feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked +gently, young Linton entered, his face brilliant with delight at the +unexpected summons he had received. Doubtless Catherine marked the +difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out. +The contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly, coal +country for a beautiful fertile valley; and his voice and greeting were +as opposite as his aspect. He had a sweet, low manner of speaking, and +pronounced his words as you do: that’s less gruff than we talk here, +and softer. + +“I’m not come too soon, am I?” he said, casting a look at me: I had +begun to wipe the plate, and tidy some drawers at the far end in the +dresser. + +“No,” answered Catherine. “What are you doing there, Nelly?” + +“My work, Miss,” I replied. (Mr. Hindley had given me directions to +make a third party in any private visits Linton chose to pay.) + +She stepped behind me and whispered crossly, “Take yourself and your +dusters off; when company are in the house, servants don’t commence +scouring and cleaning in the room where they are!” + +“It’s a good opportunity, now that master is away,” I answered aloud: +“he hates me to be fidgeting over these things in his presence. I’m +sure Mr. Edgar will excuse me.” + +“I hate you to be fidgeting in _my_ presence,” exclaimed the young lady +imperiously, not allowing her guest time to speak: she had failed to +recover her equanimity since the little dispute with Heathcliff. + +“I’m sorry for it, Miss Catherine,” was my response; and I proceeded +assiduously with my occupation. + +She, supposing Edgar could not see her, snatched the cloth from my +hand, and pinched me, with a prolonged wrench, very spitefully on the +arm. I’ve said I did not love her, and rather relished mortifying her +vanity now and then: besides, she hurt me extremely; so I started up +from my knees, and screamed out, “Oh, Miss, that’s a nasty trick! You +have no right to nip me, and I’m not going to bear it.” + +“I didn’t touch you, you lying creature!” cried she, her fingers +tingling to repeat the act, and her ears red with rage. She never had +power to conceal her passion, it always set her whole complexion in a +blaze. + +“What’s that, then?” I retorted, showing a decided purple witness to +refute her. + +She stamped her foot, wavered a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled +by the naughty spirit within her, slapped me on the cheek: a stinging +blow that filled both eyes with water. + +“Catherine, love! Catherine!” interposed Linton, greatly shocked at the +double fault of falsehood and violence which his idol had committed. + +“Leave the room, Ellen!” she repeated, trembling all over. + +Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting near me on +the floor, at seeing my tears commenced crying himself, and sobbed out +complaints against “wicked aunt Cathy,” which drew her fury on to his +unlucky head: she seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor +child waxed livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to +deliver him. In an instant one was wrung free, and the astonished young +man felt it applied over his own ear in a way that could not be +mistaken for jest. He drew back in consternation. I lifted Hareton in +my arms, and walked off to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of +communication open, for I was curious to watch how they would settle +their disagreement. The insulted visitor moved to the spot where he had +laid his hat, pale and with a quivering lip. + +“That’s right!” I said to myself. “Take warning and begone! It’s a +kindness to let you have a glimpse of her genuine disposition.” + +“Where are you going?” demanded Catherine, advancing to the door. + +He swerved aside, and attempted to pass. + +“You must not go!” she exclaimed, energetically. + +“I must and shall!” he replied in a subdued voice. + +“No,” she persisted, grasping the handle; “not yet, Edgar Linton: sit +down; you shall not leave me in that temper. I should be miserable all +night, and I won’t be miserable for you!” + +“Can I stay after you have struck me?” asked Linton. + +Catherine was mute. + +“You’ve made me afraid and ashamed of you,” he continued; “I’ll not +come here again!” + +Her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle. + +“And you told a deliberate untruth!” he said. + +“I didn’t!” she cried, recovering her speech; “I did nothing +deliberately. Well, go, if you please—get away! And now I’ll cry—I’ll +cry myself sick!” + +She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping in serious +earnest. Edgar persevered in his resolution as far as the court; there +he lingered. I resolved to encourage him. + +“Miss is dreadfully wayward, sir,” I called out. “As bad as any marred +child: you’d better be riding home, or else she will be sick, only to +grieve us.” + +The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed the +power to depart as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse +half killed, or a bird half eaten. Ah, I thought, there will be no +saving him: he’s doomed, and flies to his fate! And so it was: he +turned abruptly, hastened into the house again, shut the door behind +him; and when I went in a while after to inform them that Earnshaw had +come home rabid drunk, ready to pull the whole place about our ears +(his ordinary frame of mind in that condition), I saw the quarrel had +merely effected a closer intimacy—had broken the outworks of youthful +timidity, and enabled them to forsake the disguise of friendship, and +confess themselves lovers. + +Intelligence of Mr. Hindley’s arrival drove Linton speedily to his +horse, and Catherine to her chamber. I went to hide little Hareton, and +to take the shot out of the master’s fowling-piece, which he was fond +of playing with in his insane excitement, to the hazard of the lives of +any who provoked, or even attracted his notice too much; and I had hit +upon the plan of removing it, that he might do less mischief if he did +go the length of firing the gun. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the +act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard. Hareton was +impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild +beast’s fondness or his madman’s rage; for in one he ran a chance of +being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung +into the fire, or dashed against the wall; and the poor thing remained +perfectly quiet wherever I chose to put him. + +“There, I’ve found it out at last!” cried Hindley, pulling me back by +the skin of my neck, like a dog. “By heaven and hell, you’ve sworn +between you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is +always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you +swallow the carving-knife, Nelly! You needn’t laugh; for I’ve just +crammed Kenneth, head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is +the same as one—and I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest +till I do!” + +“But I don’t like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley,” I answered; “it has +been cutting red herrings. I’d rather be shot, if you please.” + +“You’d rather be damned!” he said; “and so you shall. No law in England +can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mine’s abominable! +Open your mouth.” + +He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point between my teeth: +but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out, +and affirmed it tasted detestably—I would not take it on any account. + +“Oh!” said he, releasing me, “I see that hideous little villain is not +Hareton: I beg your pardon, Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive +for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin. +Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose on a +good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you think the lad would be +handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something +fierce—get me a scissors—something fierce and trim! Besides, it’s +infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears—we’re +asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my +darling! wisht, dry thy eyes—there’s a joy; kiss me. What! it won’t? +Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a +monster! As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s neck.” + +Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s arms with all +his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him upstairs and +lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the +child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley +leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost +forgetting what he had in his hands. “Who is that?” he asked, hearing +some one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the +purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come +further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a +sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him, +and fell. + +There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw +that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath just at +the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and +setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the +accident. A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five +shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand +pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding +the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed, plainer than words +could do, the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument +of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been dark, I daresay he would have +tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton’s skull on the steps; +but, we witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my +precious charge pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely, +sobered and abashed. + +“It is your fault, Ellen,” he said; “you should have kept him out of +sight: you should have taken him from me! Is he injured anywhere?” + +“Injured!” I cried angrily; “if he is not killed, he’ll be an idiot! +Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use +him. You’re worse than a heathen—treating your own flesh and blood in +that manner!” + +He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me, +sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on +him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if +he would go into convulsions. + +“You shall not meddle with him!” I continued. “He hates you—they all +hate you—that’s the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state +you’re come to!” + +“I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,” laughed the misguided man, +recovering his hardness. “At present, convey yourself and him away. And +hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing. I +wouldn’t murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire: +but that’s as my fancy goes.” + +While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and +poured some into a tumbler. + +“Nay, don’t!” I entreated. “Mr. Hindley, do take warning. Have mercy on +this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself!” + +“Any one will do better for him than I shall,” he answered. + +“Have mercy on your own soul!” I said, endeavouring to snatch the glass +from his hand. + +“Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it to +perdition to punish its Maker,” exclaimed the blasphemer. “Here’s to +its hearty damnation!” + +He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating his +command with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to repeat or +remember. + +“It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,” observed Heathcliff, +muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. “He’s doing +his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he +would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, +and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the +common course befall him.” + +I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to sleep. +Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn. It turned out +afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the settle, when +he flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed from the fire, and +remained silent. + +I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that began,— + +It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat, +The mither beneath the mools heard that, + + +when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room, put her +head in, and whispered,—“Are you alone, Nelly?” + +“Yes, Miss,” I replied. + +She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she was going to +say something, looked up. The expression of her face seemed disturbed +and anxious. Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and +she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I +resumed my song; not having forgotten her recent behaviour. + +“Where’s Heathcliff?” she said, interrupting me. + +“About his work in the stable,” was my answer. + +He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze. There +followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two +trickle from Catherine’s cheek to the flags. Is she sorry for her +shameful conduct?—I asked myself. That will be a novelty: but she may +come to the point as she will—I sha’n’t help her! No, she felt small +trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns. + +“Oh, dear!” she cried at last. “I’m very unhappy!” + +“A pity,” observed I. “You’re hard to please; so many friends and so +few cares, and can’t make yourself content!” + +“Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?” she pursued, kneeling down by +me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look +which turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the +world to indulge it. + +“Is it worth keeping?” I inquired, less sulkily. + +“Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I want to know what I +should do. To-day, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I’ve +given him an answer. Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or +denial, you tell me which it ought to have been.” + +“Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know?” I replied. “To be sure, +considering the exhibition you performed in his presence this +afternoon, I might say it would be wise to refuse him: since he asked +you after that, he must either be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome +fool.” + +“If you talk so, I won’t tell you any more,” she returned, peevishly +rising to her feet. “I accepted him, Nelly. Be quick, and say whether I +was wrong!” + +“You accepted him! Then what good is it discussing the matter? You have +pledged your word, and cannot retract.” + +“But say whether I should have done so—do!” she exclaimed in an +irritated tone; chafing her hands together, and frowning. + +“There are many things to be considered before that question can be +answered properly,” I said, sententiously. “First and foremost, do you +love Mr. Edgar?” + +“Who can help it? Of course I do,” she answered. + +Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of +twenty-two it was not injudicious. + +“Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?” + +“Nonsense, I do—that’s sufficient.” + +“By no means; you must say why?” + +“Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.” + +“Bad!” was my commentary. + +“And because he is young and cheerful.” + +“Bad, still.” + +“And because he loves me.” + +“Indifferent, coming there.” + +“And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the +neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.” + +“Worst of all. And now, say how you love him?” + +“As everybody loves—You’re silly, Nelly.” + +“Not at all—Answer.” + +“I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and +everything he touches, and every word he says. I love all his looks, +and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether. There now!” + +“And why?” + +“Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly ill-natured! It’s +no jest to me!” said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to +the fire. + +“I’m very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,” I replied. “You love Mr. +Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and +loves you. The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him +without that, probably; and with it you wouldn’t, unless he possessed +the four former attractions.” + +“No, to be sure not: I should only pity him—hate him, perhaps, if he +were ugly, and a clown.” + +“But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world: +handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is. What should hinder you from +loving them?” + +“If there be any, they are out of my way: I’ve seen none like Edgar.” + +“You may see some; and he won’t always be handsome, and young, and may +not always be rich.” + +“He is now; and I have only to do with the present. I wish you would +speak rationally.” + +“Well, that settles it: if you have only to do with the present, marry +Mr. Linton.” + +“I don’t want your permission for that—I _shall_ marry him: and yet you +have not told me whether I’m right.” + +“Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for the present. And +now, let us hear what you are unhappy about. Your brother will be +pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will +escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable +one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and +easy: where is the obstacle?” + +“_Here_! and _here_!” replied Catherine, striking one hand on her +forehead, and the other on her breast: “in whichever place the soul +lives. In my soul and in my heart, I’m convinced I’m wrong!” + +“That’s very strange! I cannot make it out.” + +“It’s my secret. But if you will not mock at me, I’ll explain it: I +can’t do it distinctly; but I’ll give you a feeling of how I feel.” + +She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder and graver, +and her clasped hands trembled. + +“Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?” she said, suddenly, after +some minutes’ reflection. + +“Yes, now and then,” I answered. + +“And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me +ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, +like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is +one: I’m going to tell it—but take care not to smile at any part of +it.” + +“Oh! don’t, Miss Catherine!” I cried. “We’re dismal enough without +conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and +like yourself! Look at little Hareton! _he’s_ dreaming nothing dreary. +How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!” + +“Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude! You remember +him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing: +nearly as young and innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to +listen: it’s not long; and I’ve no power to be merry to-night.” + +“I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” I repeated, hastily. + +I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had +an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which +I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. She was +vexed, but she did not proceed. Apparently taking up another subject, +she recommenced in a short time. + +“If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.” + +“Because you are not fit to go there,” I answered. “All sinners would +be miserable in heaven.” + +“But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there.” + +“I tell you I won’t hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine! I’ll go to +bed,” I interrupted again. + +She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair. + +“This is nothing,” cried she: “I was only going to say that heaven did +not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back +to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the +middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke +sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the +other. I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in +heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so +low, I shouldn’t have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry +Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not +because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. +Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s +is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.” + +Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff’s presence. +Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise +from the bench, and steal out noiselessly. He had listened till he +heard Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him, and then he +stayed to hear no further. My companion, sitting on the ground, was +prevented by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or +departure; but I started, and bade her hush! + +“Why?” she asked, gazing nervously round. + +“Joseph is here,” I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his +cartwheels up the road; “and Heathcliff will come in with him. I’m not +sure whether he were not at the door this moment.” + +“Oh, he couldn’t overhear me at the door!” said she. “Give me Hareton, +while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you. +I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that +Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he? He does +not know what being in love is!” + +“I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you,” I returned; +“and if _you_ are his choice, he’ll be the most unfortunate creature +that ever was born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, +and love, and all! Have you considered how you’ll bear the separation, +and how he’ll bear to be quite deserted in the world? Because, Miss +Catherine—” + +“He quite deserted! we separated!” she exclaimed, with an accent of +indignation. “Who is to separate us, pray? They’ll meet the fate of +Milo! Not as long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature. Every +Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could +consent to forsake Heathcliff. Oh, that’s not what I intend—that’s not +what I mean! I shouldn’t be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded! +He’ll be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must +shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least. He will, when he +learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a +selfish wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I +married, we should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid +Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s power.” + +“With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?” I asked. “You’ll find him +not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge, I +think that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being the wife of +young Linton.” + +“It is not,” retorted she; “it is the best! The others were the +satisfaction of my whims: and for Edgar’s sake, too, to satisfy him. +This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings +to Edgar and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody +have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond +you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained +here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, +and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in +living is himself. If all else perished, and _he_ remained, _I_ should +still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were +annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not +seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: +time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My +love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of +little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I _am_ Heathcliff! He’s +always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always +a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our +separation again: it is impracticable; and—” + +She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it +forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly! + +“If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,” I said, “it only goes +to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in +marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble +me with no more secrets: I’ll not promise to keep them.” + +“You’ll keep that?” she asked, eagerly. + +“No, I’ll not promise,” I repeated. + +She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our +conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed +Hareton, while I made the supper. After it was cooked, my +fellow-servant and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr. +Hindley; and we didn’t settle it till all was nearly cold. Then we came +to the agreement that we would let him ask, if he wanted any; for we +feared particularly to go into his presence when he had been some time +alone. + +“And how isn’t that nowt comed in fro’ th’ field, be this time? What is +he about? girt idle seeght!” demanded the old man, looking round for +Heathcliff. + +“I’ll call him,” I replied. “He’s in the barn, I’ve no doubt.” + +I went and called, but got no answer. On returning, I whispered to +Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure; +and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her +brother’s conduct regarding him. She jumped up in a fine fright, flung +Hareton on to the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not +taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk +would have affected him. She was absent such a while that Joseph +proposed we should wait no longer. He cunningly conjectured they were +staying away in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing. They +were “ill eneugh for ony fahl manners,” he affirmed. And on their +behalf he added that night a special prayer to the usual +quarter-of-an-hour’s supplication before meat, and would have tacked +another to the end of the grace, had not his young mistress broken in +upon him with a hurried command that he must run down the road, and, +wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and make him re-enter directly! + +“I want to speak to him, and I _must_, before I go upstairs,” she said. +“And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not +reply, though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.” + +Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to +suffer contradiction; and at last he placed his hat on his head, and +walked grumbling forth. Meantime, Catherine paced up and down the +floor, exclaiming—“I wonder where he is—I wonder where he _can_ be! +What did I say, Nelly? I’ve forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humour +this afternoon? Dear! tell me what I’ve said to grieve him? I do wish +he’d come. I do wish he would!” + +“What a noise for nothing!” I cried, though rather uneasy myself. “What +a trifle scares you! It’s surely no great cause of alarm that +Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie +too sulky to speak to us in the hay-loft. I’ll engage he’s lurking +there. See if I don’t ferret him out!” + +I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and +Joseph’s quest ended in the same. + +“Yon lad gets war und war!” observed he on re-entering. “He’s left th’ +gate at t’ full swing, and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two rigs o’ +corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into t’ meadow! Hahsomdiver, +t’ maister ’ull play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel. He’s patience +itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald craters—patience itsseln he is! Bud +he’ll not be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye! Yah mun’n’t drive him out +of his heead for nowt!” + +“Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?” interrupted Catherine. “Have you +been looking for him, as I ordered?” + +“I sud more likker look for th’ horse,” he replied. “It ’ud be to more +sense. Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike +this—as black as t’ chimbley! und Heathcliff’s noan t’ chap to coom at +_my_ whistle—happen he’ll be less hard o’ hearing wi’ _ye_!” + +It _was_ a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined +to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain +would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However, +Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering +to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which +permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one +side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations +and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash +around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and +then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good +passionate fit of crying. + +About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the +Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and +either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: +a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the +east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the +kitchen-fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and +Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the +patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous, +though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a +judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I +shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet +living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion +vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might +be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master. But +the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; +excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in +refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to +catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes. She came in +and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to +the back, and putting her hands before it. + +“Well, Miss!” I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; “you are not bent on +getting your death, are you? Do you know what o’clock it is? Half-past +twelve. Come, come to bed! there’s no use waiting any longer on that +foolish boy: he’ll be gone to Gimmerton, and he’ll stay there now. He +guesses we shouldn’t wait for him till this late hour: at least, he +guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and he’d rather avoid having +the door opened by the master.” + +“Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton,” said Joseph. “I’s niver wonder but +he’s at t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation worn’t for nowt, and +I wod hev’ ye to look out, Miss—yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for +all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out +fro’ th’ rubbidge! Yah knaw whet t’ Scripture ses.” And he began +quoting several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we +might find them. + +I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet +things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed +with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping +round him. I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I +distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep. + +Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing +the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the +fireplace. The house-door was ajar, too; light entered from its +unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen +hearth, haggard and drowsy. + +“What ails you, Cathy?” he was saying when I entered: “you look as +dismal as a drowned whelp. Why are you so damp and pale, child?” + +“I’ve been wet,” she answered reluctantly, “and I’m cold, that’s all.” + +“Oh, she is naughty!” I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably +sober. “She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there +she has sat the night through, and I couldn’t prevail on her to stir.” + +Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. “The night through,” he +repeated. “What kept her up? not fear of the thunder, surely? That was +over hours since.” + +Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff’s absence, as long as we +could conceal it; so I replied, I didn’t know how she took it into her +head to sit up; and she said nothing. The morning was fresh and cool; I +threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents +from the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, “Ellen, shut the +window. I’m starving!” And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to +the almost extinguished embers. + +“She’s ill,” said Hindley, taking her wrist; “I suppose that’s the +reason she would not go to bed. Damn it! I don’t want to be troubled +with more sickness here. What took you into the rain?” + +“Running after t’ lads, as usuald!” croaked Joseph, catching an +opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue. “If I war +yah, maister, I’d just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em, gentle +and simple! Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon cat o’ Linton comes +sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo’s a fine lass! shoo sits watching +for ye i’ t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s out at +t’other; and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side! It’s +bonny behaviour, lurking amang t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’ +that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think _I’m_ +blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut t’ soart!—I seed young Linton boath coming +and going, and I seed _yah_” (directing his discourse to me), “yah +gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th’ house, t’ +minute yah heard t’ maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.” + +“Silence, eavesdropper!” cried Catherine; “none of your insolence +before me! Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was +_I_ who told him to be off: because I knew you would not like to have +met him as you were.” + +“You lie, Cathy, no doubt,” answered her brother, “and you are a +confounded simpleton! But never mind Linton at present: tell me, were +you not with Heathcliff last night? Speak the truth, now. You need not +be afraid of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever, he did me +a good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of +breaking his neck. To prevent it, I shall send him about his business +this very morning; and after he’s gone, I’d advise you all to look +sharp: I shall only have the more humour for you.” + +“I never saw Heathcliff last night,” answered Catherine, beginning to +sob bitterly: “and if you do turn him out of doors, I’ll go with him. +But, perhaps, you’ll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he’s gone.” +Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her +words were inarticulate. + +Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get +to her room immediately, or she shouldn’t cry for nothing! I obliged +her to obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we +reached her chamber: it terrified me. I thought she was going mad, and +I begged Joseph to run for the doctor. It proved the commencement of +delirium: Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her +dangerously ill; she had a fever. He bled her, and he told me to let +her live on whey and water-gruel, and take care she did not throw +herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left: for he had +enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the ordinary +distance between cottage and cottage. + +Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master +were no better, and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong +as a patient could be, she weathered it through. Old Mrs. Linton paid +us several visits, to be sure, and set things to rights, and scolded +and ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted +on conveying her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were +very grateful. But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness: +she and her husband both took the fever, and died within a few days of +each other. + +Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and +haughtier than ever. Heathcliff had never been heard of since the +evening of the thunder-storm; and, one day, I had the misfortune, when +she had provoked me exceedingly, to lay the blame of his disappearance +on her: where indeed it belonged, as she well knew. From that period, +for several months, she ceased to hold any communication with me, save +in the relation of a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also: he +_would_ speak his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a +little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress, and +thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with +consideration. Then the doctor had said that she would not bear +crossing much; she ought to have her own way; and it was nothing less +than murder in her eyes for any one to presume to stand up and +contradict her. From Mr. Earnshaw and his companions she kept aloof; +and tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of a fit that often +attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to +demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper. He was +rather _too_ indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection, +but from pride: he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the +family by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him +alone she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared! Edgar +Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after him, was +infatuated: and believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he +led her to Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent to his father’s +death. + +Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights +and accompany her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I +had just begun to teach him his letters. We made a sad parting; but +Catherine’s tears were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go, +and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting +to her husband and brother. The former offered me munificent wages; the +latter ordered me to pack up: he wanted no women in the house, he said, +now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should +take him in hand, by-and-by. And so I had but one choice left: to do as +I was ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people only +to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said good-by; and +since then he has been a stranger: and it’s very queer to think it, but +I’ve no doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and +that he was ever more than all the world to her and she to him! + +* * * * * + + +At this point of the housekeeper’s story she chanced to glance towards +the time-piece over the chimney; and was in amazement on seeing the +minute-hand measure half-past one. She would not hear of staying a +second longer: in truth, I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of +her narrative myself. And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I +have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to go +also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +A charming introduction to a hermit’s life! Four weeks’ torture, +tossing, and sickness! Oh, these bleak winds and bitter northern skies, +and impassable roads, and dilatory country surgeons! And oh, this +dearth of the human physiognomy! and, worse than all, the terrible +intimation of Kenneth that I need not expect to be out of doors till +spring! + +Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call. About seven days ago +he sent me a brace of grouse—the last of the season. Scoundrel! He is +not altogether guiltless in this illness of mine; and that I had a +great mind to tell him. But, alas! how could I offend a man who was +charitable enough to sit at my bedside a good hour, and talk on some +other subject than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches? This is +quite an easy interval. I am too weak to read; yet I feel as if I could +enjoy something interesting. Why not have up Mrs. Dean to finish her +tale? I can recollect its chief incidents, as far as she had gone. Yes: +I remember her hero had run off, and never been heard of for three +years; and the heroine was married. I’ll ring: she’ll be delighted to +find me capable of talking cheerfully. Mrs. Dean came. + +“It wants twenty minutes, sir, to taking the medicine,” she commenced. + +“Away, away with it!” I replied; “I desire to have—” + +“The doctor says you must drop the powders.” + +“With all my heart! Don’t interrupt me. Come and take your seat here. +Keep your fingers from that bitter phalanx of vials. Draw your knitting +out of your pocket—that will do—now continue the history of Mr. +Heathcliff, from where you left off, to the present day. Did he finish +his education on the Continent, and come back a gentleman? or did he +get a sizar’s place at college, or escape to America, and earn honours +by drawing blood from his foster-country? or make a fortune more +promptly on the English highways?” + +“He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr. Lockwood; but I +couldn’t give my word for any. I stated before that I didn’t know how +he gained his money; neither am I aware of the means he took to raise +his mind from the savage ignorance into which it was sunk: but, with +your leave, I’ll proceed in my own fashion, if you think it will amuse +and not weary you. Are you feeling better this morning?” + +“Much.” + +“That’s good news.” + +* * * * * + + +I got Miss Catherine and myself to Thrushcross Grange; and, to my +agreeable disappointment, she behaved infinitely better than I dared to +expect. She seemed almost over-fond of Mr. Linton; and even to his +sister she showed plenty of affection. They were both very attentive to +her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the +honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. There were no +mutual concessions: one stood erect, and the others yielded: and who +_can_ be ill-natured and bad-tempered when they encounter neither +opposition nor indifference? I observed that Mr. Edgar had a +deep-rooted fear of ruffling her humour. He concealed it from her; but +if ever he heard me answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow +cloudy at some imperious order of hers, he would show his trouble by a +frown of displeasure that never darkened on his own account. He many a +time spoke sternly to me about my pertness; and averred that the stab +of a knife could not inflict a worse pang than he suffered at seeing +his lady vexed. Not to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less +touchy; and, for the space of half a year, the gunpowder lay as +harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it. Catherine +had seasons of gloom and silence now and then: they were respected with +sympathising silence by her husband, who ascribed them to an alteration +in her constitution, produced by her perilous illness; as she was never +subject to depression of spirits before. The return of sunshine was +welcomed by answering sunshine from him. I believe I may assert that +they were really in possession of deep and growing happiness. + +It ended. Well, we _must_ be for ourselves in the long run; the mild +and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering; and it +ended when circumstances caused each to feel that the one’s interest +was not the chief consideration in the other’s thoughts. On a mellow +evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket +of apples which I had been gathering. It had got dusk, and the moon +looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to +lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the +building. I set my burden on the house-steps by the kitchen-door, and +lingered to rest, and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet +air; my eyes were on the moon, and my back to the entrance, when I +heard a voice behind me say,—“Nelly, is that you?” + +It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone; yet there was something in +the manner of pronouncing my name which made it sound familiar. I +turned about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut, +and I had seen nobody on approaching the steps. Something stirred in +the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in +dark clothes, with dark face and hair. He leant against the side, and +held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself. “Who +can it be?” I thought. “Mr. Earnshaw? Oh, no! The voice has no +resemblance to his.” + +“I have waited here an hour,” he resumed, while I continued staring; +“and the whole of that time all round has been as still as death. I +dared not enter. You do not know me? Look, I’m not a stranger!” + +A ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half covered +with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deep-set and +singular. I remembered the eyes. + +“What!” I cried, uncertain whether to regard him as a worldly visitor, +and I raised my hands in amazement. “What! you come back? Is it really +you? Is it?” + +“Yes, Heathcliff,” he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, +which reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from +within. “Are they at home? where is she? Nelly, you are not glad! you +needn’t be so disturbed. Is she here? Speak! I want to have one word +with her—your mistress. Go, and say some person from Gimmerton desires +to see her.” + +“How will she take it?” I exclaimed. “What will she do? The surprise +bewilders me—it will put her out of her head! And you _are_ Heathcliff! +But altered! Nay, there’s no comprehending it. Have you been for a +soldier?” + +“Go and carry my message,” he interrupted, impatiently. “I’m in hell +till you do!” + +He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where +Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed. At +length I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the +candles lighted, and I opened the door. + +They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, +and displayed, beyond the garden trees, and the wild green park, the +valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top +(for very soon after you pass the chapel, as you may have noticed, the +sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of +the glen). Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our +old house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side. Both +the room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked +wondrously peaceful. I shrank reluctantly from performing my errand; +and was actually going away leaving it unsaid, after having put my +question about the candles, when a sense of my folly compelled me to +return, and mutter, “A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you ma’am.” + +“What does he want?” asked Mrs. Linton. + +“I did not question him,” I answered. + +“Well, close the curtains, Nelly,” she said; “and bring up tea. I’ll be +back again directly.” + +She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was. + +“Some one mistress does not expect,” I replied. “That Heathcliff—you +recollect him, sir—who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw’s.” + +“What! the gipsy—the ploughboy?” he cried. “Why did you not say so to +Catherine?” + +“Hush! you must not call him by those names, master,” I said. “She’d be +sadly grieved to hear you. She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off. +I guess his return will make a jubilee to her.” + +Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room that +overlooked the court. He unfastened it, and leant out. I suppose they +were below, for he exclaimed quickly: “Don’t stand there, love! Bring +the person in, if it be anyone particular.” Ere long, I heard the click +of the latch, and Catherine flew upstairs, breathless and wild; too +excited to show gladness: indeed, by her face, you would rather have +surmised an awful calamity. + +“Oh, Edgar, Edgar!” she panted, flinging her arms round his neck. “Oh, +Edgar darling! Heathcliff’s come back—he is!” And she tightened her +embrace to a squeeze. + +“Well, well,” cried her husband, crossly, “don’t strangle me for that! +He never struck me as such a marvellous treasure. There is no need to +be frantic!” + +“I know you didn’t like him,” she answered, repressing a little the +intensity of her delight. “Yet, for my sake, you must be friends now. +Shall I tell him to come up?” + +“Here,” he said, “into the parlour?” + +“Where else?” she asked. + +He looked vexed, and suggested the kitchen as a more suitable place for +him. Mrs. Linton eyed him with a droll expression—half angry, half +laughing at his fastidiousness. + +“No,” she added, after a while; “I cannot sit in the kitchen. Set two +tables here, Ellen: one for your master and Miss Isabella, being +gentry; the other for Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders. +Will that please you, dear? Or must I have a fire lighted elsewhere? If +so, give directions. I’ll run down and secure my guest. I’m afraid the +joy is too great to be real!” + +She was about to dart off again; but Edgar arrested her. + +“_You_ bid him step up,” he said, addressing me; “and, Catherine, try +to be glad, without being absurd. The whole household need not witness +the sight of your welcoming a runaway servant as a brother.” + +I descended, and found Heathcliff waiting under the porch, evidently +anticipating an invitation to enter. He followed my guidance without +waste of words, and I ushered him into the presence of the master and +mistress, whose flushed cheeks betrayed signs of warm talking. But the +lady’s glowed with another feeling when her friend appeared at the +door: she sprang forward, took both his hands, and led him to Linton; +and then she seized Linton’s reluctant fingers and crushed them into +his. Now, fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, +more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. He had +grown a tall, athletic, well-formed man; beside whom my master seemed +quite slender and youth-like. His upright carriage suggested the idea +of his having been in the army. His countenance was much older in +expression and decision of feature than Mr. Linton’s; it looked +intelligent, and retained no marks of former degradation. A +half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full +of black fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was even dignified: +quite divested of roughness, though too stern for grace. My master’s +surprise equalled or exceeded mine: he remained for a minute at a loss +how to address the ploughboy, as he had called him. Heathcliff dropped +his slight hand, and stood looking at him coolly till he chose to +speak. + +“Sit down, sir,” he said, at length. “Mrs. Linton, recalling old times, +would have me give you a cordial reception; and, of course, I am +gratified when anything occurs to please her.” + +“And I also,” answered Heathcliff, “especially if it be anything in +which I have a part. I shall stay an hour or two willingly.” + +He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on him as if +she feared he would vanish were she to remove it. He did not raise his +to her often: a quick glance now and then sufficed; but it flashed +back, each time more confidently, the undisguised delight he drank from +hers. They were too much absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer +embarrassment. Not so Mr. Edgar: he grew pale with pure annoyance: a +feeling that reached its climax when his lady rose, and stepping across +the rug, seized Heathcliff’s hands again, and laughed like one beside +herself. + +“I shall think it a dream to-morrow!” she cried. “I shall not be able +to believe that I have seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more. +And yet, cruel Heathcliff! you don’t deserve this welcome. To be absent +and silent for three years, and never to think of me!” + +“A little more than you have thought of me,” he murmured. “I heard of +your marriage, Cathy, not long since; and, while waiting in the yard +below, I meditated this plan—just to have one glimpse of your face, a +stare of surprise, perhaps, and pretended pleasure; afterwards settle +my score with Hindley; and then prevent the law by doing execution on +myself. Your welcome has put these ideas out of my mind; but beware of +meeting me with another aspect next time! Nay, you’ll not drive me off +again. You were really sorry for me, were you? Well, there was cause. +I’ve fought through a bitter life since I last heard your voice; and +you must forgive me, for I struggled only for you!” + +“Catherine, unless we are to have cold tea, please to come to the +table,” interrupted Linton, striving to preserve his ordinary tone, and +a due measure of politeness. “Mr. Heathcliff will have a long walk, +wherever he may lodge to-night; and I’m thirsty.” + +She took her post before the urn; and Miss Isabella came, summoned by +the bell; then, having handed their chairs forward, I left the room. +The meal hardly endured ten minutes. Catherine’s cup was never filled: +she could neither eat nor drink. Edgar had made a slop in his saucer, +and scarcely swallowed a mouthful. Their guest did not protract his +stay that evening above an hour longer. I asked, as he departed, if he +went to Gimmerton? + +“No, to Wuthering Heights,” he answered: “Mr. Earnshaw invited me, when +I called this morning.” + +Mr. Earnshaw invited _him_! and _he_ called on Mr. Earnshaw! I pondered +this sentence painfully, after he was gone. Is he turning out a bit of +a hypocrite, and coming into the country to work mischief under a +cloak? I mused: I had a presentiment in the bottom of my heart that he +had better have remained away. + +About the middle of the night, I was wakened from my first nap by Mrs. +Linton gliding into my chamber, taking a seat on my bedside, and +pulling me by the hair to rouse me. + +“I cannot rest, Ellen,” she said, by way of apology. “And I want some +living creature to keep me company in my happiness! Edgar is sulky, +because I’m glad of a thing that does not interest him: he refuses to +open his mouth, except to utter pettish, silly speeches; and he +affirmed I was cruel and selfish for wishing to talk when he was so +sick and sleepy. He always contrives to be sick at the least cross! I +gave a few sentences of commendation to Heathcliff, and he, either for +a headache or a pang of envy, began to cry: so I got up and left him.” + +“What use is it praising Heathcliff to him?” I answered. “As lads they +had an aversion to each other, and Heathcliff would hate just as much +to hear him praised: it’s human nature. Let Mr. Linton alone about him, +unless you would like an open quarrel between them.” + +“But does it not show great weakness?” pursued she. “I’m not envious: I +never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabella’s yellow hair and the +whiteness of her skin, at her dainty elegance, and the fondness all the +family exhibit for her. Even you, Nelly, if we have a dispute +sometimes, you back Isabella at once; and I yield like a foolish +mother: I call her a darling, and flatter her into a good temper. It +pleases her brother to see us cordial, and that pleases me. But they +are very much alike: they are spoiled children, and fancy the world was +made for their accommodation; and though I humour both, I think a smart +chastisement might improve them all the same.” + +“You’re mistaken, Mrs. Linton,” said I. “They humour you: I know what +there would be to do if they did not. You can well afford to indulge +their passing whims as long as their business is to anticipate all your +desires. You may, however, fall out, at last, over something of equal +consequence to both sides; and then those you term weak are very +capable of being as obstinate as you.” + +“And then we shall fight to the death, sha’n’t we, Nelly?” she +returned, laughing. “No! I tell you, I have such faith in Linton’s +love, that I believe I might kill him, and he wouldn’t wish to +retaliate.” + +I advised her to value him the more for his affection. + +“I do,” she answered, “but he needn’t resort to whining for trifles. It +is childish; and, instead of melting into tears because I said that +Heathcliff was now worthy of anyone’s regard, and it would honour the +first gentleman in the country to be his friend, he ought to have said +it for me, and been delighted from sympathy. He must get accustomed to +him, and he may as well like him: considering how Heathcliff has reason +to object to him, I’m sure he behaved excellently!” + +“What do you think of his going to Wuthering Heights?” I inquired. “He +is reformed in every respect, apparently: quite a Christian: offering +the right hand of fellowship to his enemies all around!” + +“He explained it,” she replied. “I wonder as much as you. He said he +called to gather information concerning me from you, supposing you +resided there still; and Joseph told Hindley, who came out and fell to +questioning him of what he had been doing, and how he had been living; +and finally, desired him to walk in. There were some persons sitting at +cards; Heathcliff joined them; my brother lost some money to him, and, +finding him plentifully supplied, he requested that he would come again +in the evening: to which he consented. Hindley is too reckless to +select his acquaintance prudently: he doesn’t trouble himself to +reflect on the causes he might have for mistrusting one whom he has +basely injured. But Heathcliff affirms his principal reason for +resuming a connection with his ancient persecutor is a wish to install +himself in quarters at walking distance from the Grange, and an +attachment to the house where we lived together; and likewise a hope +that I shall have more opportunities of seeing him there than I could +have if he settled in Gimmerton. He means to offer liberal payment for +permission to lodge at the Heights; and doubtless my brother’s +covetousness will prompt him to accept the terms: he was always greedy; +though what he grasps with one hand he flings away with the other.” + +“It’s a nice place for a young man to fix his dwelling in!” said I. +“Have you no fear of the consequences, Mrs. Linton?” + +“None for my friend,” she replied: “his strong head will keep him from +danger; a little for Hindley: but he can’t be made morally worse than +he is; and I stand between him and bodily harm. The event of this +evening has reconciled me to God and humanity! I had risen in angry +rebellion against Providence. Oh, I’ve endured very, very bitter +misery, Nelly! If that creature knew how bitter, he’d be ashamed to +cloud its removal with idle petulance. It was kindness for him which +induced me to bear it alone: had I expressed the agony I frequently +felt, he would have been taught to long for its alleviation as ardently +as I. However, it’s over, and I’ll take no revenge on his folly; I can +afford to suffer anything hereafter! Should the meanest thing alive +slap me on the cheek, I’d not only turn the other, but I’d ask pardon +for provoking it; and, as a proof, I’ll go make my peace with Edgar +instantly. Good-night! I’m an angel!” + +In this self-complacent conviction she departed; and the success of her +fulfilled resolution was obvious on the morrow: Mr. Linton had not only +abjured his peevishness (though his spirits seemed still subdued by +Catherine’s exuberance of vivacity), but he ventured no objection to +her taking Isabella with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and +she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in +return as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and +servants profiting from the perpetual sunshine. + +Heathcliff—Mr. Heathcliff I should say in future—used the liberty of +visiting at Thrushcross Grange cautiously, at first: he seemed +estimating how far its owner would bear his intrusion. Catherine, also, +deemed it judicious to moderate her expressions of pleasure in +receiving him; and he gradually established his right to be expected. +He retained a great deal of the reserve for which his boyhood was +remarkable; and that served to repress all startling demonstrations of +feeling. My master’s uneasiness experienced a lull, and further +circumstances diverted it into another channel for a space. + +His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated misfortune of +Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible attraction towards +the tolerated guest. She was at that time a charming young lady of +eighteen; infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen +feelings, and a keen temper, too, if irritated. Her brother, who loved +her tenderly, was appalled at this fantastic preference. Leaving aside +the degradation of an alliance with a nameless man, and the possible +fact that his property, in default of heirs male, might pass into such +a one’s power, he had sense to comprehend Heathcliff’s disposition: to +know that, though his exterior was altered, his mind was unchangeable +and unchanged. And he dreaded that mind: it revolted him: he shrank +forebodingly from the idea of committing Isabella to its keeping. He +would have recoiled still more had he been aware that her attachment +rose unsolicited, and was bestowed where it awakened no reciprocation +of sentiment; for the minute he discovered its existence he laid the +blame on Heathcliff’s deliberate designing. + +We had all remarked, during some time, that Miss Linton fretted and +pined over something. She grew cross and wearisome; snapping at and +teasing Catherine continually, at the imminent risk of exhausting her +limited patience. We excused her, to a certain extent, on the plea of +ill-health: she was dwindling and fading before our eyes. But one day, +when she had been peculiarly wayward, rejecting her breakfast, +complaining that the servants did not do what she told them; that the +mistress would allow her to be nothing in the house, and Edgar +neglected her; that she had caught a cold with the doors being left +open, and we let the parlour fire go out on purpose to vex her, with a +hundred yet more frivolous accusations, Mrs. Linton peremptorily +insisted that she should get to bed; and, having scolded her heartily, +threatened to send for the doctor. Mention of Kenneth caused her to +exclaim, instantly, that her health was perfect, and it was only +Catherine’s harshness which made her unhappy. + +“How can you say I am harsh, you naughty fondling?” cried the mistress, +amazed at the unreasonable assertion. “You are surely losing your +reason. When have I been harsh, tell me?” + +“Yesterday,” sobbed Isabella, “and now!” + +“Yesterday!” said her sister-in-law. “On what occasion?” + +“In our walk along the moor: you told me to ramble where I pleased, +while you sauntered on with Mr. Heathcliff!” + +“And that’s your notion of harshness?” said Catherine, laughing. “It +was no hint that your company was superfluous; we didn’t care whether +you kept with us or not; I merely thought Heathcliff’s talk would have +nothing entertaining for your ears.” + +“Oh, no,” wept the young lady; “you wished me away, because you knew I +liked to be there!” + +“Is she sane?” asked Mrs. Linton, appealing to me. “I’ll repeat our +conversation, word for word, Isabella; and you point out any charm it +could have had for you.” + +“I don’t mind the conversation,” she answered: “I wanted to be with—” + +“Well?” said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to complete the +sentence. + +“With him: and I won’t be always sent off!” she continued, kindling up. +“You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but +yourself!” + +“You are an impertinent little monkey!” exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in +surprise. “But I’ll not believe this idiocy! It is impossible that you +can covet the admiration of Heathcliff—that you consider him an +agreeable person! I hope I have misunderstood you, Isabella?” + +“No, you have not,” said the infatuated girl. “I love him more than +ever you loved Edgar, and he might love me, if you would let him!” + +“I wouldn’t be you for a kingdom, then!” Catherine declared, +emphatically: and she seemed to speak sincerely. “Nelly, help me to +convince her of her madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is: an +unreclaimed creature, without refinement, without cultivation; an arid +wilderness of furze and whinstone. I’d as soon put that little canary +into the park on a winter’s day, as recommend you to bestow your heart +on him! It is deplorable ignorance of his character, child, and nothing +else, which makes that dream enter your head. Pray, don’t imagine that +he conceals depths of benevolence and affection beneath a stern +exterior! He’s not a rough diamond—a pearl-containing oyster of a +rustic: he’s a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. I never say to him, ‘Let +this or that enemy alone, because it would be ungenerous or cruel to +harm them;’ I say, ‘Let them alone, because _I_ should hate them to be +wronged:’ and he’d crush you like a sparrow’s egg, Isabella, if he +found you a troublesome charge. I know he couldn’t love a Linton; and +yet he’d be quite capable of marrying your fortune and expectations: +avarice is growing with him a besetting sin. There’s my picture: and +I’m his friend—so much so, that had he thought seriously to catch you, +I should, perhaps, have held my tongue, and let you fall into his +trap.” + +Miss Linton regarded her sister-in-law with indignation. + +“For shame! for shame!” she repeated, angrily. “You are worse than +twenty foes, you poisonous friend!” + +“Ah! you won’t believe me, then?” said Catherine. “You think I speak +from wicked selfishness?” + +“I’m certain you do,” retorted Isabella; “and I shudder at you!” + +“Good!” cried the other. “Try for yourself, if that be your spirit: I +have done, and yield the argument to your saucy insolence.”— + +“And I must suffer for her egotism!” she sobbed, as Mrs. Linton left +the room. “All, all is against me: she has blighted my single +consolation. But she uttered falsehoods, didn’t she? Mr. Heathcliff is +not a fiend: he has an honourable soul, and a true one, or how could he +remember her?” + +“Banish him from your thoughts, Miss,” I said. “He’s a bird of bad +omen: no mate for you. Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet I can’t +contradict her. She is better acquainted with his heart than I, or any +one besides; and she never would represent him as worse than he is. +Honest people don’t hide their deeds. How has he been living? how has +he got rich? why is he staying at Wuthering Heights, the house of a man +whom he abhors? They say Mr. Earnshaw is worse and worse since he came. +They sit up all night together continually, and Hindley has been +borrowing money on his land, and does nothing but play and drink: I +heard only a week ago—it was Joseph who told me—I met him at Gimmerton: +‘Nelly,’ he said, ‘we’s hae a crowner’s ’quest enow, at ahr folks’. One +on ’em ’s a’most getten his finger cut off wi’ hauding t’ other fro’ +stickin’ hisseln loike a cawlf. That’s maister, yah knaw, ’at ’s soa +up o’ going tuh t’ grand ’sizes. He’s noan feared o’ t’ bench o’ +judges, norther Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on +’em, not he! He fair likes—he langs to set his brazened face agean ’em! +And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah mind, he’s a rare ’un. He can girn a +laugh as well ’s onybody at a raight divil’s jest. Does he niver say +nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes to t’ Grange? This is t’ +way on ’t:—up at sun-down: dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und +can’le-light till next day at noon: then, t’ fooil gangs banning un +raving to his cham’er, makking dacent fowks dig thur fingers i’ thur +lugs fur varry shame; un’ the knave, why he can caint his brass, un’ +ate, un’ sleep, un’ off to his neighbour’s to gossip wi’ t’ wife. I’ +course, he tells Dame Catherine how her fathur’s goold runs into his +pocket, and her fathur’s son gallops down t’ broad road, while he flees +afore to oppen t’ pikes!’ Now, Miss Linton, Joseph is an old rascal, +but no liar; and, if his account of Heathcliff’s conduct be true, you +would never think of desiring such a husband, would you?” + +“You are leagued with the rest, Ellen!” she replied. “I’ll not listen +to your slanders. What malevolence you must have to wish to convince me +that there is no happiness in the world!” + +Whether she would have got over this fancy if left to herself, or +persevered in nursing it perpetually, I cannot say: she had little time +to reflect. The day after, there was a justice-meeting at the next +town; my master was obliged to attend; and Mr. Heathcliff, aware of his +absence, called rather earlier than usual. Catherine and Isabella were +sitting in the library, on hostile terms, but silent: the latter +alarmed at her recent indiscretion, and the disclosure she had made of +her secret feelings in a transient fit of passion; the former, on +mature consideration, really offended with her companion; and, if she +laughed again at her pertness, inclined to make it no laughing matter +to _her_. She did laugh as she saw Heathcliff pass the window. I was +sweeping the hearth, and I noticed a mischievous smile on her lips. +Isabella, absorbed in her meditations, or a book, remained till the +door opened; and it was too late to attempt an escape, which she would +gladly have done had it been practicable. + +“Come in, that’s right!” exclaimed the mistress, gaily, pulling a chair +to the fire. “Here are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the +ice between them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose. +Heathcliff, I’m proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you +more than myself. I expect you to feel flattered. Nay, it’s not Nelly; +don’t look at her! My poor little sister-in-law is breaking her heart +by mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty. It lies in +your own power to be Edgar’s brother! No, no, Isabella, you sha’n’t run +off,” she continued, arresting, with feigned playfulness, the +confounded girl, who had risen indignantly. “We were quarrelling like +cats about you, Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations of +devotion and admiration: and, moreover, I was informed that if I would +but have the manners to stand aside, my rival, as she will have herself +to be, would shoot a shaft into your soul that would fix you for ever, +and send my image into eternal oblivion!” + +“Catherine!” said Isabella, calling up her dignity, and disdaining to +struggle from the tight grasp that held her, “I’d thank you to adhere +to the truth and not slander me, even in joke! Mr. Heathcliff, be kind +enough to bid this friend of yours release me: she forgets that you and +I are not intimate acquaintances; and what amuses her is painful to me +beyond expression.” + +As the guest answered nothing, but took his seat, and looked thoroughly +indifferent what sentiments she cherished concerning him, she turned +and whispered an earnest appeal for liberty to her tormentor. + +“By no means!” cried Mrs. Linton in answer. “I won’t be named a dog in +the manger again. You _shall_ stay: now then! Heathcliff, why don’t you +evince satisfaction at my pleasant news? Isabella swears that the love +Edgar has for me is nothing to that she entertains for you. I’m sure +she made some speech of the kind; did she not, Ellen? And she has +fasted ever since the day before yesterday’s walk, from sorrow and rage +that I despatched her out of your society under the idea of its being +unacceptable.” + +“I think you belie her,” said Heathcliff, twisting his chair to face +them. “She wishes to be out of my society now, at any rate!” + +And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do at a +strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for instance, +which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it +raises. The poor thing couldn’t bear that; she grew white and red in +rapid succession, and, while tears beaded her lashes, bent the strength +of her small fingers to loosen the firm clutch of Catherine; and +perceiving that as fast as she raised one finger off her arm another +closed down, and she could not remove the whole together, she began to +make use of her nails; and their sharpness presently ornamented the +detainer’s with crescents of red. + +“There’s a tigress!” exclaimed Mrs. Linton, setting her free, and +shaking her hand with pain. “Begone, for God’s sake, and hide your +vixen face! How foolish to reveal those talons to _him_. Can’t you +fancy the conclusions he’ll draw? Look, Heathcliff! they are +instruments that will do execution—you must beware of your eyes.” + +“I’d wrench them off her fingers, if they ever menaced me,” he +answered, brutally, when the door had closed after her. “But what did +you mean by teasing the creature in that manner, Cathy? You were not +speaking the truth, were you?” + +“I assure you I was,” she returned. “She has been dying for your sake +several weeks, and raving about you this morning, and pouring forth a +deluge of abuse, because I represented your failings in a plain light, +for the purpose of mitigating her adoration. But don’t notice it +further: I wished to punish her sauciness, that’s all. I like her too +well, my dear Heathcliff, to let you absolutely seize and devour her +up.” + +“And I like her too ill to attempt it,” said he, “except in a very +ghoulish fashion. You’d hear of odd things if I lived alone with that +mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white +the colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day +or two: they detestably resemble Linton’s.” + +“Delectably!” observed Catherine. “They are dove’s eyes—angel’s!” + +“She’s her brother’s heir, is she not?” he asked, after a brief +silence. + +“I should be sorry to think so,” returned his companion. “Half a dozen +nephews shall erase her title, please heaven! Abstract your mind from +the subject at present: you are too prone to covet your neighbour’s +goods; remember _this_ neighbour’s goods are mine.” + +“If they were _mine_, they would be none the less that,” said +Heathcliff; “but though Isabella Linton may be silly, she is scarcely +mad; and, in short, we’ll dismiss the matter, as you advise.” + +From their tongues they did dismiss it; and Catherine, probably, from +her thoughts. The other, I felt certain, recalled it often in the +course of the evening. I saw him smile to himself—grin rather—and lapse +into ominous musing whenever Mrs. Linton had occasion to be absent from +the apartment. + +I determined to watch his movements. My heart invariably cleaved to the +master’s, in preference to Catherine’s side: with reason I imagined, +for he was kind, and trustful, and honourable; and she—she could not be +called the _opposite_, yet she seemed to allow herself such wide +latitude, that I had little faith in her principles, and still less +sympathy for her feelings. I wanted something to happen which might +have the effect of freeing both Wuthering Heights and the Grange of Mr. +Heathcliff, quietly; leaving us as we had been prior to his advent. His +visits were a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master +also. His abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining. I +felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked +wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting +his time to spring and destroy. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude, I’ve got up in +a sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the +farm. I’ve persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how +people talked regarding his ways; and then I’ve recollected his +confirmed bad habits, and, hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched +from re-entering the dismal house, doubting if I could bear to be taken +at my word. + +One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a journey to +Gimmerton. It was about the period that my narrative has reached: a +bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare, and the road hard and dry. I +came to a stone where the highway branches off on to the moor at your +left hand; a rough sand-pillar, with the letters W. H. cut on its north +side, on the east, G., and on the south-west, T. G. It serves as a +guide-post to the Grange, the Heights, and village. The sun shone +yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, +but all at once a gush of child’s sensations flowed into my heart. +Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed +long at the weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole +near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were +fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as +reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the +withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand +scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. “Poor Hindley!” I +exclaimed, involuntarily. I started: my bodily eye was cheated into a +momentary belief that the child lifted its face and stared straight +into mine! It vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an +irresistible yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to +comply with this impulse: supposing he should be dead! I thought—or +should die soon!—supposing it were a sign of death! The nearer I got to +the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I +trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood +looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an +elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the +bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, _my_ Hareton, +not altered greatly since I left him, ten months since. + +“God bless thee, darling!” I cried, forgetting instantaneously my +foolish fears. “Hareton, it’s Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse.” + +He retreated out of arm’s length, and picked up a large flint. + +“I am come to see thy father, Hareton,” I added, guessing from the +action that Nelly, if she lived in his memory at all, was not +recognised as one with me. + +He raised his missile to hurl it; I commenced a soothing speech, but +could not stay his hand: the stone struck my bonnet; and then ensued, +from the stammering lips of the little fellow, a string of curses, +which, whether he comprehended them or not, were delivered with +practised emphasis, and distorted his baby features into a shocking +expression of malignity. You may be certain this grieved more than +angered me. Fit to cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it +to propitiate him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as +if he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I showed +another, keeping it out of his reach. + +“Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn?” I inquired. “The +curate?” + +“Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that,” he replied. + +“Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it,” said I. +“Who’s your master?” + +“Devil daddy,” was his answer. + +“And what do you learn from daddy?” I continued. + +He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. “What does he teach you?” I +asked. + +“Naught,” said he, “but to keep out of his gait. Daddy cannot bide me, +because I swear at him.” + +“Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?” I observed. + +“Ay—nay,” he drawled. + +“Who, then?” + +“Heathcliff.” + +“I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.” + +“Ay!” he answered again. + +Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the +sentences—“I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me—he curses +daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will.” + +“And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?” I pursued. + +“No, I was told the curate should have his —— teeth dashed down his —— +throat, if he stepped over the threshold—Heathcliff had promised that!” + +I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman +called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the garden gate. He +went up the walk, and entered the house; but, instead of Hindley, +Heathcliff appeared on the door-stones; and I turned directly and ran +down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I +gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a +goblin. This is not much connected with Miss Isabella’s affair: except +that it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard, and +doing my utmost to check the spread of such bad influence at the +Grange: even though I should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. +Linton’s pleasure. + +The next time Heathcliff came my young lady chanced to be feeding some +pigeons in the court. She had never spoken a word to her sister-in-law +for three days; but she had likewise dropped her fretful complaining, +and we found it a great comfort. Heathcliff had not the habit of +bestowing a single unnecessary civility on Miss Linton, I knew. Now, as +soon as he beheld her, his first precaution was to take a sweeping +survey of the house-front. I was standing by the kitchen-window, but I +drew out of sight. He then stepped across the pavement to her, and said +something: she seemed embarrassed, and desirous of getting away; to +prevent it, he laid his hand on her arm. She averted her face: he +apparently put some question which she had no mind to answer. There was +another rapid glance at the house, and supposing himself unseen, the +scoundrel had the impudence to embrace her. + +“Judas! Traitor!” I ejaculated. “You are a hypocrite, too, are you? A +deliberate deceiver.” + +“Who is, Nelly?” said Catherine’s voice at my elbow: I had been +over-intent on watching the pair outside to mark her entrance. + +“Your worthless friend!” I answered, warmly: “the sneaking rascal +yonder. Ah, he has caught a glimpse of us—he is coming in! I wonder +will he have the heart to find a plausible excuse for making love to +Miss, when he told you he hated her?” + +Mrs. Linton saw Isabella tear herself free, and run into the garden; +and a minute after, Heathcliff opened the door. I couldn’t withhold +giving some loose to my indignation; but Catherine angrily insisted on +silence, and threatened to order me out of the kitchen, if I dared to +be so presumptuous as to put in my insolent tongue. + +“To hear you, people might think you were the mistress!” she cried. +“You want setting down in your right place! Heathcliff, what are you +about, raising this stir? I said you must let Isabella alone!—I beg you +will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to +draw the bolts against you!” + +“God forbid that he should try!” answered the black villain. I detested +him just then. “God keep him meek and patient! Every day I grow madder +after sending him to heaven!” + +“Hush!” said Catherine, shutting the inner door. “Don’t vex me. Why +have you disregarded my request? Did she come across you on purpose?” + +“What is it to you?” he growled. “I have a right to kiss her, if she +chooses; and you have no right to object. I am not _your_ husband: +_you_ needn’t be jealous of me!” + +“I’m not jealous of you,” replied the mistress; “I’m jealous for you. +Clear your face: you sha’n’t scowl at me! If you like Isabella, you +shall marry her. But do you like her? Tell the truth, Heathcliff! +There, you won’t answer. I’m certain you don’t.” + +“And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying that man?” I +inquired. + +“Mr. Linton should approve,” returned my lady, decisively. + +“He might spare himself the trouble,” said Heathcliff: “I could do as +well without his approbation. And as to you, Catherine, I have a mind +to speak a few words now, while we are at it. I want you to be aware +that I _know_ you have treated me infernally—infernally! Do you hear? +And if you flatter yourself that I don’t perceive it, you are a fool; +and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an idiot: +and if you fancy I’ll suffer unrevenged, I’ll convince you of the +contrary, in a very little while! Meantime, thank you for telling me +your sister-in-law’s secret: I swear I’ll make the most of it. And +stand you aside!” + +“What new phase of his character is this?” exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in +amazement. “I’ve treated you infernally—and you’ll take your revenge! +How will you take it, ungrateful brute? How have I treated you +infernally?” + +“I seek no revenge on you,” replied Heathcliff, less vehemently. +“That’s not the plan. The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t +turn against him; they crush those beneath them. You are welcome to +torture me to death for your amusement, only allow me to amuse myself a +little in the same style, and refrain from insult as much as you are +able. Having levelled my palace, don’t erect a hovel and complacently +admire your own charity in giving me that for a home. If I imagined you +really wished me to marry Isabel, I’d cut my throat!” + +“Oh, the evil is that I am _not_ jealous, is it?” cried Catherine. +“Well, I won’t repeat my offer of a wife: it is as bad as offering +Satan a lost soul. Your bliss lies, like his, in inflicting misery. You +prove it. Edgar is restored from the ill-temper he gave way to at your +coming; I begin to be secure and tranquil; and you, restless to know us +at peace, appear resolved on exciting a quarrel. Quarrel with Edgar, if +you please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister: you’ll hit on exactly +the most efficient method of revenging yourself on me.” + +The conversation ceased. Mrs. Linton sat down by the fire, flushed and +gloomy. The spirit which served her was growing intractable: she could +neither lay nor control it. He stood on the hearth with folded arms, +brooding on his evil thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek +the master, who was wondering what kept Catherine below so long. + +“Ellen,” said he, when I entered, “have you seen your mistress?” + +“Yes; she’s in the kitchen, sir,” I answered. “She’s sadly put out by +Mr. Heathcliff’s behaviour: and, indeed, I do think it’s time to +arrange his visits on another footing. There’s harm in being too soft, +and now it’s come to this—.” And I related the scene in the court, and, +as near as I dared, the whole subsequent dispute. I fancied it could +not be very prejudicial to Mrs. Linton; unless she made it so +afterwards, by assuming the defensive for her guest. Edgar Linton had +difficulty in hearing me to the close. His first words revealed that he +did not clear his wife of blame. + +“This is insufferable!” he exclaimed. “It is disgraceful that she +should own him for a friend, and force his company on me! Call me two +men out of the hall, Ellen. Catherine shall linger no longer to argue +with the low ruffian—I have humoured her enough.” + +He descended, and bidding the servants wait in the passage, went, +followed by me, to the kitchen. Its occupants had recommenced their +angry discussion: Mrs. Linton, at least, was scolding with renewed +vigour; Heathcliff had moved to the window, and hung his head, somewhat +cowed by her violent rating apparently. He saw the master first, and +made a hasty motion that she should be silent; which she obeyed, +abruptly, on discovering the reason of his intimation. + +“How is this?” said Linton, addressing her; “what notion of propriety +must you have to remain here, after the language which has been held to +you by that blackguard? I suppose, because it is his ordinary talk you +think nothing of it: you are habituated to his baseness, and, perhaps, +imagine I can get used to it too!” + +“Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?” asked the mistress, in a +tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, implying both +carelessness and contempt of his irritation. Heathcliff, who had raised +his eyes at the former speech, gave a sneering laugh at the latter; on +purpose, it seemed, to draw Mr. Linton’s attention to him. He +succeeded; but Edgar did not mean to entertain him with any high +flights of passion. + +“I’ve been so far forbearing with you, sir,” he said quietly; “not that +I was ignorant of your miserable, degraded character, but I felt you +were only partly responsible for that; and Catherine wishing to keep up +your acquaintance, I acquiesced—foolishly. Your presence is a moral +poison that would contaminate the most virtuous: for that cause, and to +prevent worse consequences, I shall deny you hereafter admission into +this house, and give notice now that I require your instant departure. +Three minutes’ delay will render it involuntary and ignominious.” + +Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with an eye +full of derision. + +“Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!” he said. “It is in +danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, +I’m mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!” + +My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch the men: +he had no intention of hazarding a personal encounter. I obeyed the +hint; but Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I +attempted to call them, she pulled me back, slammed the door to, and +locked it. + +“Fair means!” she said, in answer to her husband’s look of angry +surprise. “If you have not courage to attack him, make an apology, or +allow yourself to be beaten. It will correct you of feigning more +valour than you possess. No, I’ll swallow the key before you shall get +it! I’m delightfully rewarded for my kindness to each! After constant +indulgence of one’s weak nature, and the other’s bad one, I earn for +thanks two samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity! Edgar, I +was defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, +for daring to think an evil thought of me!” + +It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the +master. He tried to wrest the key from Catherine’s grasp, and for +safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. +Edgar was taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew +deadly pale. For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: +mingled anguish and humiliation overcame him completely. He leant on +the back of a chair, and covered his face. + +“Oh, heavens! In old days this would win you knighthood!” exclaimed +Mrs. Linton. “We are vanquished! we are vanquished! Heathcliff would as +soon lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a +colony of mice. Cheer up! you sha’n’t be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, +it’s a sucking leveret.” + +“I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!” said her friend. “I +compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering +thing you preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but I’d +kick him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he +weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?” + +The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push. +He’d better have kept his distance: my master quickly sprang erect, and +struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a +slighter man. It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. +Linton walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to +the front entrance. + +“There! you’ve done with coming here,” cried Catherine. “Get away, now; +he’ll return with a brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants. If he +did overhear us, of course he’d never forgive you. You’ve played me an +ill turn, Heathcliff! But go—make haste! I’d rather see Edgar at bay +than you.” + +“Do you suppose I’m going with that blow burning in my gullet?” he +thundered. “By hell, no! I’ll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut +before I cross the threshold! If I don’t floor him now, I shall murder +him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him!” + +“He is not coming,” I interposed, framing a bit of a lie. “There’s the +coachman and the two gardeners; you’ll surely not wait to be thrust +into the road by them! Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very +likely, be watching from the parlour-windows to see that they fulfil +his orders.” + +The gardeners and coachman _were_ there: but Linton was with them. They +had already entered the court. Heathcliff, on the second thoughts, +resolved to avoid a struggle against three underlings: he seized the +poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as +they tramped in. + +Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her upstairs. +She did not know my share in contributing to the disturbance, and I was +anxious to keep her in ignorance. + +“I’m nearly distracted, Nelly!” she exclaimed, throwing herself on the +sofa. “A thousand smiths’ hammers are beating in my head! Tell Isabella +to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or any one else +aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild. And, Nelly, say to +Edgar, if you see him again to-night, that I’m in danger of being +seriously ill. I wish it may prove true. He has startled and distressed +me shockingly! I want to frighten him. Besides, he might come and begin +a string of abuse or complainings; I’m certain I should recriminate, +and God knows where we should end! Will you do so, my good Nelly? You +are aware that I am no way blamable in this matter. What possessed him +to turn listener? Heathcliff’s talk was outrageous, after you left us; +but I could soon have diverted him from Isabella, and the rest meant +nothing. Now all is dashed wrong; by the fool’s craving to hear evil of +self, that haunts some people like a demon! Had Edgar never gathered +our conversation, he would never have been the worse for it. Really, +when he opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I +had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse for _him;_ I did not care +hardly what they did to each other; especially as I felt that, however +the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how +long! Well, if I cannot keep Heathcliff for my friend—if Edgar will be +mean and jealous, I’ll try to break their hearts by breaking my own. +That will be a prompt way of finishing all, when I am pushed to +extremity! But it’s a deed to be reserved for a forlorn hope; I’d not +take Linton by surprise with it. To this point he has been discreet in +dreading to provoke me; you must represent the peril of quitting that +policy, and remind him of my passionate temper, verging, when kindled, +on frenzy. I wish you could dismiss that apathy out of that +countenance, and look rather more anxious about me.” + +The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no doubt, +rather exasperating: for they were delivered in perfect sincerity; but +I believed a person who could plan the turning of her fits of passion +to account, beforehand, might, by exerting her will, manage to control +herself tolerably, even while under their influence; and I did not wish +to “frighten” her husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for +the purpose of serving her selfishness. Therefore I said nothing when I +met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of +turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel +together. He began to speak first. + +“Remain where you are, Catherine,” he said; without any anger in his +voice, but with much sorrowful despondency. “I shall not stay. I am +neither come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn +whether, after this evening’s events, you intend to continue your +intimacy with—” + +“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” interrupted the mistress, stamping her foot, +“for mercy’s sake, let us hear no more of it now! Your cold blood +cannot be worked into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but +mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance.” + +“To get rid of me, answer my question,” persevered Mr. Linton. “You +_must_ answer it; and that violence does not alarm me. I have found +that you can be as stoical as anyone, when you please. Will you give up +Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me? It is impossible for you +to be _my_ friend and _his_ at the same time; and I absolutely +_require_ to know which you choose.” + +“I require to be let alone!” exclaimed Catherine, furiously. “I demand +it! Don’t you see I can scarcely stand? Edgar, you—you leave me!” + +She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered leisurely. It +was enough to try the temper of a saint, such senseless, wicked rages! +There she lay dashing her head against the arm of the sofa, and +grinding her teeth, so that you might fancy she would crash them to +splinters! Mr. Linton stood looking at her in sudden compunction and +fear. He told me to fetch some water. She had no breath for speaking. I +brought a glass full; and as she would not drink, I sprinkled it on her +face. In a few seconds she stretched herself out stiff, and turned up +her eyes, while her cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the +aspect of death. Linton looked terrified. + +“There is nothing in the world the matter,” I whispered. I did not want +him to yield, though I could not help being afraid in my heart. + +“She has blood on her lips!” he said, shuddering. + +“Never mind!” I answered, tartly. And I told him how she had resolved, +previous to his coming, on exhibiting a fit of frenzy. I incautiously +gave the account aloud, and she heard me; for she started up—her hair +flying over her shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck +and arms standing out preternaturally. I made up my mind for broken +bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant, and then +rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her +chamber-door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against +me. + +As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I went to +ask whether she would have some carried up. “No!” she replied, +peremptorily. The same question was repeated at dinner and tea; and +again on the morrow after, and received the same answer. Mr. Linton, on +his part, spent his time in the library, and did not inquire concerning +his wife’s occupations. Isabella and he had had an hour’s interview, +during which he tried to elicit from her some sentiment of proper +horror for Heathcliff’s advances: but he could make nothing of her +evasive replies, and was obliged to close the examination +unsatisfactorily; adding, however, a solemn warning, that if she were +so insane as to encourage that worthless suitor, it would dissolve all +bonds of relationship between herself and him. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always silent, and +almost always in tears; and her brother shut himself up among books +that he never opened—wearying, I guessed, with a continual vague +expectation that Catherine, repenting her conduct, would come of her +own accord to ask pardon, and seek a reconciliation—and _she_ fasted +pertinaciously, under the idea, probably, that at every meal Edgar was +ready to choke for her absence, and pride alone held him from running +to cast himself at her feet; I went about my household duties, +convinced that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and +that lodged in my body. I wasted no condolences on Miss, nor any +expostulations on my mistress; nor did I pay much attention to the +sighs of my master, who yearned to hear his lady’s name, since he might +not hear her voice. I determined they should come about as they pleased +for me; and though it was a tiresomely slow process, I began to rejoice +at length in a faint dawn of its progress: as I thought at first. + +Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished +the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a +basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying. That I set down as a +speech meant for Edgar’s ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it +to myself and brought her some tea and dry toast. She ate and drank +eagerly, and sank back on her pillow again, clenching her hands and +groaning. “Oh, I will die,” she exclaimed, “since no one cares anything +about me. I wish I had not taken that.” Then a good while after I heard +her murmur, “No, I’ll not die—he’d be glad—he does not love me at +all—he would never miss me!” + +“Did you want anything, ma’am?” I inquired, still preserving my +external composure, in spite of her ghastly countenance and strange, +exaggerated manner. + +“What is that apathetic being doing?” she demanded, pushing the thick +entangled locks from her wasted face. “Has he fallen into a lethargy, +or is he dead?” + +“Neither,” replied I; “if you mean Mr. Linton. He’s tolerably well, I +think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is +continually among his books, since he has no other society.” + +I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition, but I +could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of her disorder. + +“Among his books!” she cried, confounded. “And I dying! I on the brink +of the grave! My God! does he know how I’m altered?” continued she, +staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the opposite +wall. “Is that Catherine Linton? He imagines me in a pet—in play, +perhaps. Cannot you inform him that it is frightful earnest? Nelly, if +it be not too late, as soon as I learn how he feels, I’ll choose +between these two: either to starve at once—that would be no punishment +unless he had a heart—or to recover, and leave the country. Are you +speaking the truth about him now? Take care. Is he actually so utterly +indifferent for my life?” + +“Why, ma’am,” I answered, “the master has no idea of your being +deranged; and of course he does not fear that you will let yourself die +of hunger.” + +“You think not? Cannot you tell him I will?” she returned. “Persuade +him! speak of your own mind: say you are certain I will!” + +“No, you forget, Mrs. Linton,” I suggested, “that you have eaten some +food with a relish this evening, and to-morrow you will perceive its +good effects.” + +“If I were only sure it would kill him,” she interrupted, “I’d kill +myself directly! These three awful nights I’ve never closed my lids—and +oh, I’ve been tormented! I’ve been haunted, Nelly! But I begin to fancy +you don’t like me. How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and +despised each other, they could not avoid loving me. And they have all +turned to enemies in a few hours. _They_ have, I’m positive; the people +_here_. How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces! +Isabella, terrified and repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be +so dreadful to watch Catherine go. And Edgar standing solemnly by to +see it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace +to his house, and going back to his _books_! What in the name of all +that feels has he to do with _books_, when I am dying?” + +She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr. +Linton’s philosophical resignation. Tossing about, she increased her +feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; +then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the +window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the +north-east, and I objected. Both the expressions flitting over her +face, and the changes of her moods, began to alarm me terribly; and +brought to my recollection her former illness, and the doctor’s +injunction that she should not be crossed. A minute previously she was +violent; now, supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey +her, she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from +the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to +their different species: her mind had strayed to other associations. + +“That’s a turkey’s,” she murmured to herself; “and this is a wild +duck’s; and this is a pigeon’s. Ah, they put pigeons’ feathers in the +pillows—no wonder I couldn’t die! Let me take care to throw it on the +floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock’s; and this—I should +know it among a thousand—it’s a lapwing’s. Bonny bird; wheeling over +our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for +the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This +feather was picked up from the heath, the bird was not shot: we saw its +nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap +over it, and the old ones dared not come. I made him promise he’d never +shoot a lapwing after that, and he didn’t. Yes, here are more! Did he +shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look.” + +“Give over with that baby-work!” I interrupted, dragging the pillow +away, and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing +its contents by handfuls. “Lie down and shut your eyes: you’re +wandering. There’s a mess! The down is flying about like snow.” + +I went here and there collecting it. + +“I see in you, Nelly,” she continued dreamily, “an aged woman: you have +grey hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under +Penistone Crags, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers; +pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool. That’s +what you’ll come to fifty years hence: I know you are not so now. I’m +not wandering: you’re mistaken, or else I should believe you really +_were_ that withered hag, and I should think I _was_ under Penistone +Crags; and I’m conscious it’s night, and there are two candles on the +table making the black press shine like jet.” + +“The black press? where is that?” I asked. “You are talking in your +sleep!” + +“It’s against the wall, as it always is,” she replied. “It _does_ +appear odd—I see a face in it!” + +“There’s no press in the room, and never was,” said I, resuming my +seat, and looping up the curtain that I might watch her. + +“Don’t _you_ see that face?” she inquired, gazing earnestly at the +mirror. + +And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be +her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. + +“It’s behind there still!” she pursued, anxiously. “And it stirred. Who +is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the +room is haunted! I’m afraid of being alone!” + +I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of +shudders convulsed her frame, and she _would_ keep straining her gaze +towards the glass. + +“There’s nobody here!” I insisted. “It was _yourself_, Mrs. Linton: you +knew it a while since.” + +“Myself!” she gasped, “and the clock is striking twelve! It’s true, +then! that’s dreadful!” + +Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I +attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her +husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek—the shawl had +dropped from the frame. + +“Why, what _is_ the matter?” cried I. “Who is coward now? Wake up! That +is the glass—the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and +there am I too by your side.” + +Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually +passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to a glow of +shame. + +“Oh, dear! I thought I was at home,” she sighed. “I thought I was lying +in my chamber at Wuthering Heights. Because I’m weak, my brain got +confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Don’t say anything; but stay +with me. I dread sleeping: my dreams appal me.” + +“A sound sleep would do you good, ma’am,” I answered: “and I hope this +suffering will prevent your trying starving again.” + +“Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!” she went on +bitterly, wringing her hands. “And that wind sounding in the firs by +the lattice. Do let me feel it—it comes straight down the moor—do let +me have one breath!” + +To pacify her I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast +rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still +now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued +her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child. + +“How long is it since I shut myself in here?” she asked, suddenly +reviving. + +“It was Monday evening,” I replied, “and this is Thursday night, or +rather Friday morning, at present.” + +“What! of the same week?” she exclaimed. “Only that brief time?” + +“Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and ill-temper,” +observed I. + +“Well, it seems a weary number of hours,” she muttered doubtfully: “it +must be more. I remember being in the parlour after they had +quarrelled, and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this +room desperate. As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness +overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I couldn’t explain to Edgar +how certain I felt of having a fit, or going raging mad, if he +persisted in teasing me! I had no command of tongue, or brain, and he +did not guess my agony, perhaps: it barely left me sense to try to +escape from him and his voice. Before I recovered sufficiently to see +and hear, it began to be dawn, and, Nelly, I’ll tell you what I +thought, and what has kept recurring and recurring till I feared for my +reason. I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, +and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was +enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some +great grief which, just waking, I could not recollect. I pondered, and +worried myself to discover what it could be, and, most strangely, the +whole last seven years of my life grew a blank! I did not recall that +they had been at all. I was a child; my father was just buried, and my +misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me +and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from +a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the +panels aside: it struck the table-top! I swept it along the carpet, and +then memory burst in: my late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of +despair. I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched: it must have been +temporary derangement; for there is scarcely cause. But, supposing at +twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, and every early +association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and +been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross +Grange, and the wife of a stranger: an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, +from what had been my world. You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where +I grovelled! Shake your head as you will, Nelly, _you_ have helped to +unsettle me! You should have spoken to Edgar, indeed you should, and +compelled him to leave me quiet! Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of +doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and +laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? +why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I +should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the +window again wide: fasten it open! Quick, why don’t you move?” + +“Because I won’t give you your death of cold,” I answered. + +“You won’t give me a chance of life, you mean,” she said sullenly. +“However, I’m not helpless yet; I’ll open it myself.” + +And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she crossed the +room, walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and bent out, careless +of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife. I +entreated, and finally attempted to force her to retire. But I soon +found her delirious strength much surpassed mine (she _was_ delirious, +I became convinced by her subsequent actions and ravings). There was no +moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed +from any house, far or near; all had been extinguished long ago: and +those at Wuthering Heights were never visible—still she asserted she +caught their shining. + +“Look!” she cried eagerly, “that’s my room with the candle in it, and +the trees swaying before it; and the other candle is in Joseph’s +garret. Joseph sits up late, doesn’t he? He’s waiting till I come home +that he may lock the gate. Well, he’ll wait a while yet. It’s a rough +journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton +Kirk to go that journey! We’ve braved its ghosts often together, and +dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come. But, +Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep +you. I’ll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, +and throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you are with +me. I never will!” + +She paused, and resumed with a strange smile. “He’s considering—he’d +rather I’d come to him! Find a way, then! not through that kirkyard. +You are slow! Be content, you always followed me!” + +Perceiving it vain to argue against her insanity, I was planning how I +could reach something to wrap about her, without quitting my hold of +herself (for I could not trust her alone by the gaping lattice), when, +to my consternation, I heard the rattle of the door-handle, and Mr. +Linton entered. He had only then come from the library; and, in passing +through the lobby, had noticed our talking and been attracted by +curiosity, or fear, to examine what it signified, at that late hour. + +“Oh, sir!” I cried, checking the exclamation risen to his lips at the +sight which met him, and the bleak atmosphere of the chamber. “My poor +mistress is ill, and she quite masters me: I cannot manage her at all; +pray, come and persuade her to go to bed. Forget your anger, for she’s +hard to guide any way but her own.” + +“Catherine ill?” he said, hastening to us. “Shut the window, Ellen! +Catherine! why—” + +He was silent. The haggardness of Mrs. Linton’s appearance smote him +speechless, and he could only glance from her to me in horrified +astonishment. + +“She’s been fretting here,” I continued, “and eating scarcely anything, +and never complaining: she would admit none of us till this evening, +and so we couldn’t inform you of her state, as we were not aware of it +ourselves; but it is nothing.” + +I felt I uttered my explanations awkwardly; the master frowned. “It is +nothing, is it, Ellen Dean?” he said sternly. “You shall account more +clearly for keeping me ignorant of this!” And he took his wife in his +arms, and looked at her with anguish. + +At first she gave him no glance of recognition: he was invisible to her +abstracted gaze. The delirium was not fixed, however; having weaned her +eyes from contemplating the outer darkness, by degrees she centred her +attention on him, and discovered who it was that held her. + +“Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?” she said, with angry +animation. “You are one of those things that are ever found when least +wanted, and when you are wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty +of lamentations now—I see we shall—but they can’t keep me from my +narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I’m bound before spring +is over! There it is: not among the Lintons, mind, under the +chapel-roof, but in the open air, with a head-stone; and you may please +yourself whether you go to them or come to me!” + +“Catherine, what have you done?” commenced the master. “Am I nothing to +you any more? Do you love that wretch Heath—” + +“Hush!” cried Mrs. Linton. “Hush, this moment! You mention that name +and I end the matter instantly by a spring from the window! What you +touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill-top +before you lay hands on me again. I don’t want you, Edgar: I’m past +wanting you. Return to your books. I’m glad you possess a consolation, +for all you had in me is gone.” + +“Her mind wanders, sir,” I interposed. “She has been talking nonsense +the whole evening; but let her have quiet, and proper attendance, and +she’ll rally. Hereafter, we must be cautious how we vex her.” + +“I desire no further advice from you,” answered Mr. Linton. “You knew +your mistress’s nature, and you encouraged me to harass her. And not to +give me one hint of how she has been these three days! It was +heartless! Months of sickness could not cause such a change!” + +I began to defend myself, thinking it too bad to be blamed for +another’s wicked waywardness. “I knew Mrs. Linton’s nature to be +headstrong and domineering,” cried I: “but I didn’t know that you +wished to foster her fierce temper! I didn’t know that, to humour her, +I should wink at Mr. Heathcliff. I performed the duty of a faithful +servant in telling you, and I have got a faithful servant’s wages! +Well, it will teach me to be careful next time. Next time you may +gather intelligence for yourself!” + +“The next time you bring a tale to me you shall quit my service, Ellen +Dean,” he replied. + +“You’d rather hear nothing about it, I suppose, then, Mr. Linton?” said +I. “Heathcliff has your permission to come a-courting to Miss, and to +drop in at every opportunity your absence offers, on purpose to poison +the mistress against you?” + +Confused as Catherine was, her wits were alert at applying our +conversation. + +“Ah! Nelly has played traitor,” she exclaimed, passionately. “Nelly is +my hidden enemy. You witch! So you do seek elf-bolts to hurt us! Let me +go, and I’ll make her rue! I’ll make her howl a recantation!” + +A maniac’s fury kindled under her brows; she struggled desperately to +disengage herself from Linton’s arms. I felt no inclination to tarry +the event; and, resolving to seek medical aid on my own responsibility, +I quitted the chamber. + +In passing the garden to reach the road, at a place where a bridle hook +is driven into the wall, I saw something white moved irregularly, +evidently by another agent than the wind. Notwithstanding my hurry, I +stayed to examine it, lest ever after I should have the conviction +impressed on my imagination that it was a creature of the other world. +My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more +than vision, Miss Isabella’s springer, Fanny, suspended by a +handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. I quickly released the +animal, and lifted it into the garden. I had seen it follow its +mistress upstairs when she went to bed; and wondered much how it could +have got out there, and what mischievous person had treated it so. +While untying the knot round the hook, it seemed to me that I +repeatedly caught the beat of horses’ feet galloping at some distance; +but there were such a number of things to occupy my reflections that I +hardly gave the circumstance a thought: though it was a strange sound, +in that place, at two o’clock in the morning. + +Mr. Kenneth was fortunately just issuing from his house to see a +patient in the village as I came up the street; and my account of +Catherine Linton’s malady induced him to accompany me back immediately. +He was a plain rough man; and he made no scruple to speak his doubts of +her surviving this second attack; unless she were more submissive to +his directions than she had shown herself before. + +“Nelly Dean,” said he, “I can’t help fancying there’s an extra cause +for this. What has there been to do at the Grange? We’ve odd reports up +here. A stout, hearty lass like Catherine does not fall ill for a +trifle; and that sort of people should not either. It’s hard work +bringing them through fevers, and such things. How did it begin?” + +“The master will inform you,” I answered; “but you are acquainted with +the Earnshaws’ violent dispositions, and Mrs. Linton caps them all. I +may say this; it commenced in a quarrel. She was struck during a +tempest of passion with a kind of fit. That’s her account, at least: +for she flew off in the height of it, and locked herself up. +Afterwards, she refused to eat, and now she alternately raves and +remains in a half dream; knowing those about her, but having her mind +filled with all sorts of strange ideas and illusions.” + +“Mr. Linton will be sorry?” observed Kenneth, interrogatively. + +“Sorry? he’ll break his heart should anything happen!” I replied. +“Don’t alarm him more than necessary.” + +“Well, I told him to beware,” said my companion; “and he must bide the +consequences of neglecting my warning! Hasn’t he been intimate with Mr. +Heathcliff lately?” + +“Heathcliff frequently visits at the Grange,” answered I, “though more +on the strength of the mistress having known him when a boy, than +because the master likes his company. At present he’s discharged from +the trouble of calling; owing to some presumptuous aspirations after +Miss Linton which he manifested. I hardly think he’ll be taken in +again.” + +“And does Miss Linton turn a cold shoulder on him?” was the doctor’s +next question. + +“I’m not in her confidence,” returned I, reluctant to continue the +subject. + +“No, she’s a sly one,” he remarked, shaking his head. “She keeps her +own counsel! But she’s a real little fool. I have it from good +authority that last night (and a pretty night it was!) she and +Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house +above two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount +his horse and away with him! My informant said she could only put him +off by pledging her word of honour to be prepared on their first +meeting after that: when it was to be he didn’t hear; but you urge Mr. +Linton to look sharp!” + +This news filled me with fresh fears; I outstripped Kenneth, and ran +most of the way back. The little dog was yelping in the garden yet. I +spared a minute to open the gate for it, but instead of going to the +house door, it coursed up and down snuffing the grass, and would have +escaped to the road, had I not seized it and conveyed it in with me. On +ascending to Isabella’s room, my suspicions were confirmed: it was +empty. Had I been a few hours sooner Mrs. Linton’s illness might have +arrested her rash step. But what could be done now? There was a bare +possibility of overtaking them if pursued instantly. _I_ could not +pursue them, however; and I dared not rouse the family, and fill the +place with confusion; still less unfold the business to my master, +absorbed as he was in his present calamity, and having no heart to +spare for a second grief! I saw nothing for it but to hold my tongue, +and suffer matters to take their course; and Kenneth being arrived, I +went with a badly composed countenance to announce him. Catherine lay +in a troubled sleep: her husband had succeeded in soothing the excess +of frenzy; he now hung over her pillow, watching every shade and every +change of her painfully expressive features. + +The doctor, on examining the case for himself, spoke hopefully to him +of its having a favourable termination, if we could only preserve +around her perfect and constant tranquillity. To me, he signified the +threatening danger was not so much death, as permanent alienation of +intellect. + +I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton: indeed, we +never went to bed; and the servants were all up long before the usual +hour, moving through the house with stealthy tread, and exchanging +whispers as they encountered each other in their vocations. Every one +was active but Miss Isabella; and they began to remark how sound she +slept: her brother, too, asked if she had risen, and seemed impatient +for her presence, and hurt that she showed so little anxiety for her +sister-in-law. I trembled lest he should send me to call her; but I was +spared the pain of being the first proclaimant of her flight. One of +the maids, a thoughtless girl, who had been on an early errand to +Gimmerton, came panting upstairs, open-mouthed, and dashed into the +chamber, crying: “Oh, dear, dear! What mun we have next? Master, +master, our young lady—” + +“Hold your noise!” cried I hastily, enraged at her clamorous manner. + +“Speak lower, Mary—What is the matter?” said Mr. Linton. “What ails +your young lady?” + +“She’s gone, she’s gone! Yon’ Heathcliff’s run off wi’ her!” gasped the +girl. + +“That is not true!” exclaimed Linton, rising in agitation. “It cannot +be: how has the idea entered your head? Ellen Dean, go and seek her. It +is incredible: it cannot be.” + +As he spoke he took the servant to the door, and then repeated his +demand to know her reasons for such an assertion. + +“Why, I met on the road a lad that fetches milk here,” she stammered, +“and he asked whether we weren’t in trouble at the Grange. I thought he +meant for missis’s sickness, so I answered, yes. Then says he, ‘There’s +somebody gone after ’em, I guess?’ I stared. He saw I knew nought about +it, and he told how a gentleman and lady had stopped to have a horse’s +shoe fastened at a blacksmith’s shop, two miles out of Gimmerton, not +very long after midnight! and how the blacksmith’s lass had got up to +spy who they were: she knew them both directly. And she noticed the +man—Heathcliff it was, she felt certain: nob’dy could mistake him, +besides—put a sovereign in her father’s hand for payment. The lady had +a cloak about her face; but having desired a sup of water, while she +drank it fell back, and she saw her very plain. Heathcliff held both +bridles as they rode on, and they set their faces from the village, and +went as fast as the rough roads would let them. The lass said nothing +to her father, but she told it all over Gimmerton this morning.” + +I ran and peeped, for form’s sake, into Isabella’s room; confirming, +when I returned, the servant’s statement. Mr. Linton had resumed his +seat by the bed; on my re-entrance, he raised his eyes, read the +meaning of my blank aspect, and dropped them without giving an order, +or uttering a word. + +“Are we to try any measures for overtaking and bringing her back,” I +inquired. “How should we do?” + +“She went of her own accord,” answered the master; “she had a right to +go if she pleased. Trouble me no more about her. Hereafter she is only +my sister in name: not because I disown her, but because she has +disowned me.” + +And that was all he said on the subject: he did not make a single inquiry +further, or mention her in any way, except directing me to send what +property she had in the house to her fresh home, wherever it was, when +I knew it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +For two months the fugitives remained absent; in those two months, Mrs. +Linton encountered and conquered the worst shock of what was +denominated a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child +more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he was watching, +and patiently enduring all the annoyances that irritable nerves and a +shaken reason could inflict; and, though Kenneth remarked that what he +saved from the grave would only recompense his care by forming the +source of constant future anxiety—in fact, that his health and strength +were being sacrificed to preserve a mere ruin of humanity—he knew no +limits in gratitude and joy when Catherine’s life was declared out of +danger; and hour after hour he would sit beside her, tracing the +gradual return to bodily health, and flattering his too sanguine hopes +with the illusion that her mind would settle back to its right balance +also, and she would soon be entirely her former self. + +The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of the +following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a +handful of golden crocuses; her eye, long stranger to any gleam of +pleasure, caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered +them eagerly together. + +“These are the earliest flowers at the Heights,” she exclaimed. “They +remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted +snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost +gone?” + +“The snow is quite gone down here, darling,” replied her husband; “and +I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors: the sky is +blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim +full. Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you +under this roof; now, I wish you were a mile or two up those hills: the +air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you.” + +“I shall never be there but once more,” said the invalid; “and then +you’ll leave me, and I shall remain for ever. Next spring you’ll long +again to have me under this roof, and you’ll look back and think you +were happy to-day.” + +Linton lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to cheer her by +the fondest words; but, vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the +tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. We +knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that long +confinement to a single place produced much of this despondency, and it +might be partially removed by a change of scene. The master told me to +light a fire in the many-weeks’ deserted parlour, and to set an +easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, +and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, +revived by the objects round her: which, though familiar, were free +from the dreary associations investing her hated sick chamber. By +evening she seemed greatly exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade +her to return to that apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa +for her bed, till another room could be prepared. To obviate the +fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where +you lie at present—on the same floor with the parlour; and she was soon +strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning on Edgar’s arm. +Ah, I thought myself, she might recover, so waited on as she was. And +there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that +of another: we cherished the hope that in a little while Mr. Linton’s +heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a stranger’s +gripe, by the birth of an heir. + +I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from +her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. +It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil +an obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and +reconciliation, if her proceeding had offended him: asserting that she +could not help it then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal +it. Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, +I got a long letter, which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a +bride just out of the honeymoon. I’ll read it: for I keep it yet. Any +relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living. + +* * * * * + + +DEAR ELLEN, it begins,—I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and +heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and is yet, very +ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too +angry or too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must write +to somebody, and the only choice left me is you. + +Inform Edgar that I’d give the world to see his face again—that my +heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left +it, and is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for him, and +Catherine! _I can’t follow it though_—(these words are underlined)—they +need not expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please; +taking care, however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or +deficient affection. + +The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you +two questions: the first is,—How did you contrive to preserve the +common sympathies of human nature when you resided here? I cannot +recognise any sentiment which those around share with me. + +The second question I have great interest in; it is this—Is Mr. +Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? I +sha’n’t tell my reasons for making this inquiry; but I beseech you to +explain, if you can, what I have married: that is, when you call to see +me; and you must call, Ellen, very soon. Don’t write, but come, and +bring me something from Edgar. + +Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home, as I am +led to imagine the Heights will be. It is to amuse myself that I dwell +on such subjects as the lack of external comforts: they never occupy my +thoughts, except at the moment when I miss them. I should laugh and +dance for joy, if I found their absence was the total of my miseries, +and the rest was an unnatural dream! + +The sun set behind the Grange as we turned on to the moors; by that, I +judged it to be six o’clock; and my companion halted half an hour, to +inspect the park, and the gardens, and, probably, the place itself, as +well as he could; so it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard +of the farmhouse, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, issued out to +receive us by the light of a dip candle. He did it with a courtesy that +redounded to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a +level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under-lip, and turn +away. Then he took the two horses, and led them into the stables; +reappearing for the purpose of locking the outer gate, as if we lived +in an ancient castle. + +Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen—a dingy, +untidy hole; I daresay you would not know it, it is so changed since it +was in your charge. By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb +and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his +mouth. + +“This is Edgar’s legal nephew,” I reflected—“mine in a manner; I must +shake hands, and—yes—I must kiss him. It is right to establish a good +understanding at the beginning.” + +I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said—“How do you +do, my dear?” + +He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend. + +“Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?” was my next essay at +conversation. + +An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not “frame off” +rewarded my perseverance. + +“Hey, Throttler, lad!” whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred +bull-dog from its lair in a corner. “Now, wilt thou be ganging?” he +asked authoritatively. + +Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to +wait till the others should enter. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible; +and Joseph, whom I followed to the stables, and requested to accompany +me in, after staring and muttering to himself, screwed up his nose and +replied—“Mim! mim! mim! Did iver Christian body hear aught like it? +Mincing un’ munching! How can I tell whet ye say?” + +“I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!” I cried, thinking +him deaf, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness. + +“None o’ me! I getten summut else to do,” he answered, and continued +his work; moving his lantern jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and +countenance (the former a great deal too fine, but the latter, I’m +sure, as sad as he could desire) with sovereign contempt. + +I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at +which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant +might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, +gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; his +features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; +and _his_ eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine’s with all their +beauty annihilated. + +“What’s your business here?” he demanded, grimly. “Who are you?” + +“My name _was_ Isabella Linton,” I replied. “You’ve seen me before, +sir. I’m lately married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here—I +suppose by your permission.” + +“Is he come back, then?” asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf. + +“Yes—we came just now,” I said; “but he left me by the kitchen door; +and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the +place, and frightened me off by the help of a bull-dog.” + +“It’s well the hellish villain has kept his word!” growled my future +host, searching the darkness beyond me in expectation of discovering +Heathcliff; and then he indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and +threats of what he would have done had the “fiend” deceived him. + +I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined +to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that +intention, he ordered me in, and shut and re-fastened the door. There +was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, +whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant +pewter-dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook +of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether +I might call the maid, and be conducted to a bedroom! Mr. Earnshaw +vouchsafed no answer. He walked up and down, with his hands in his +pockets, apparently quite forgetting my presence; and his abstraction +was evidently so deep, and his whole aspect so misanthropical, that I +shrank from disturbing him again. + +You’ll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling particularly cheerless, +seated in worse than solitude on that inhospitable hearth, and +remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing +the only people I loved on earth; and there might as well be the +Atlantic to part us, instead of those four miles: I could not overpass +them! I questioned with myself—where must I turn for comfort? and—mind +you don’t tell Edgar, or Catherine—above every sorrow beside, this rose +pre-eminent: despair at finding nobody who could or would be my ally +against Heathcliff! I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights, almost +gladly, because I was secured by that arrangement from living alone +with him; but he knew the people we were coming amongst, and he did not +fear their intermeddling. + +I sat and thought a doleful time: the clock struck eight, and nine, and +still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent on his breast, and +perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself +out at intervals. I listened to detect a woman’s voice in the house, +and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, +which, at last, spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I +was not aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in +his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise. +Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimed—“I’m tired +with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant? +Direct me to her, as she won’t come to me!” + +“We have none,” he answered; “you must wait on yourself!” + +“Where must I sleep, then?” I sobbed; I was beyond regarding +self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness. + +“Joseph will show you Heathcliff’s chamber,” said he; “open that +door—he’s in there.” + +I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the +strangest tone—“Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your +bolt—don’t omit it!” + +“Well!” I said. “But why, Mr. Earnshaw?” I did not relish the notion of +deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff. + +“Look here!” he replied, pulling from his waistcoat a +curiously-constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife +attached to the barrel. “That’s a great tempter to a desperate man, is +it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his +door. If once I find it open he’s done for; I do it invariably, even +though the minute before I have been recalling a hundred reasons that +should make me refrain: it is some devil that urges me to thwart my own +schemes by killing him. You fight against that devil for love as long +as you may; when the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall +save him!” + +I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion struck me: how +powerful I should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his +hand, and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the expression my +face assumed during a brief second: it was not horror, it was +covetousness. He snatched the pistol back, jealously; shut the knife, +and returned it to its concealment. + +“I don’t care if you tell him,” said he. “Put him on his guard, and +watch for him. You know the terms we are on, I see: his danger does not +shock you.” + +“What has Heathcliff done to you?” I asked. “In what has he wronged +you, to warrant this appalling hatred? Wouldn’t it be wiser to bid him +quit the house?” + +“No!” thundered Earnshaw; “should he offer to leave me, he’s a dead +man: persuade him to attempt it, and you are a murderess! Am I to lose +_all_, without a chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, +damnation! I _will_ have it back; and I’ll have _his_ gold too; and +then his blood; and hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times +blacker with that guest than ever it was before!” + +You’ve acquainted me, Ellen, with your old master’s habits. He is +clearly on the verge of madness: he was so last night at least. I +shuddered to be near him, and thought on the servant’s ill-bred +moroseness as comparatively agreeable. He now recommenced his moody +walk, and I raised the latch, and escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was +bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it; +and a wooden bowl of oatmeal stood on the settle close by. The contents +of the pan began to boil, and he turned to plunge his hand into the +bowl; I conjectured that this preparation was probably for our supper, +and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out +sharply, “_I’ll_ make the porridge!” I removed the vessel out of his +reach, and proceeded to take off my hat and riding-habit. “Mr. +Earnshaw,” I continued, “directs me to wait on myself: I will. I’m not +going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve.” + +“Gooid Lord!” he muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed +stockings from the knee to the ankle. “If there’s to be fresh +ortherings—just when I getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev’ a +_mistress_ set o’er my heead, it’s like time to be flitting. I niver +_did_ think to see t’ day that I mud lave th’ owld place—but I doubt +it’s nigh at hand!” + +This lamentation drew no notice from me: I went briskly to work, +sighing to remember a period when it would have been all merry fun; but +compelled speedily to drive off the remembrance. It racked me to recall +past happiness and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its +apparition, the quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the +handfuls of meal fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery +with growing indignation. + +“Thear!” he ejaculated. “Hareton, thou willn’t sup thy porridge +to-neeght; they’ll be naught but lumps as big as my neive. Thear, +agean! I’d fling in bowl un’ all, if I wer ye! There, pale t’ guilp +off, un’ then ye’ll hae done wi’t. Bang, bang. It’s a mercy t’ bothom +isn’t deaved out!” + +It _was_ rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four +had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from +the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling +from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have +his in a mug; affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so +dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety; +assuring me, repeatedly, that “the barn was every bit as good” as I, +“and every bit as wollsome,” and wondering how I could fashion to be so +conceited. Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and +glowered up at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug. + +“I shall have my supper in another room,” I said. “Have you no place +you call a parlour?” + +“_Parlour_!” he echoed, sneeringly, “_parlour_! Nay, we’ve noa +_parlours_. If yah dunnut loike wer company, there’s maister’s; un’ if +yah dunnut loike maister, there’s us.” + +“Then I shall go upstairs,” I answered; “show me a chamber.” + +I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With +great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent: we +mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into +the apartments we passed. + +“Here’s a rahm,” he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on +hinges. “It’s weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in. There’s a pack o’ +corn i’ t’ corner, thear, meeterly clane; if ye’re feared o’ muckying +yer grand silk cloes, spread yer hankerchir o’ t’ top on’t.” + +The “rahm” was a kind of lumber-hole smelling strong of malt and grain; +various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide, bare +space in the middle. + +“Why, man,” I exclaimed, facing him angrily, “this is not a place to +sleep in. I wish to see my bed-room.” + +“_Bed-rume_!” he repeated, in a tone of mockery. “Yah’s see all t’ +_bed-rumes_ thear is—yon’s mine.” + +He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the first in +being more naked about the walls, and having a large, low, curtainless +bed, with an indigo-coloured quilt, at one end. + +“What do I want with yours?” I retorted. “I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does +not lodge at the top of the house, does he?” + +“Oh! it’s Maister _Hathecliff’s_ ye’re wanting?” cried he, as if making +a new discovery. “Couldn’t ye ha’ said soa, at onst? un’ then, I mud +ha’ telled ye, baht all this wark, that that’s just one ye cannut +see—he allas keeps it locked, un’ nob’dy iver mells on’t but hisseln.” + +“You’ve a nice house, Joseph,” I could not refrain from observing, “and +pleasant inmates; and I think the concentrated essence of all the +madness in the world took up its abode in my brain the day I linked my +fate with theirs! However, that is not to the present purpose—there are +other rooms. For heaven’s sake be quick, and let me settle somewhere!” + +He made no reply to this adjuration; only plodding doggedly down the +wooden steps, and halting before an apartment which, from that halt +and the superior quality of its furniture, I conjectured to be the best +one. There was a carpet—a good one, but the pattern was obliterated by +dust; a fireplace hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; a handsome +oak-bedstead with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material +and modern make; but they had evidently experienced rough usage: the +vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rod +supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing the drapery to +trail upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, many of them +severely; and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls. I was +endeavouring to gather resolution for entering and taking possession, +when my fool of a guide announced,—“This here is t’ maister’s.” My +supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience +exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of +refuge, and means of repose. + +“Whear the divil?” began the religious elder. “The Lord bless us! The +Lord forgie us! Whear the _hell_ wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome +nowt! Ye’ve seen all but Hareton’s bit of a cham’er. There’s not +another hoile to lig down in i’ th’ hahse!” + +I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and +then seated myself at the stairs’-head, hid my face in my hands, and +cried. + +“Ech! ech!” exclaimed Joseph. “Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss +Cathy! Howsiver, t’ maister sall just tum’le o’er them brocken pots; +un’ then we’s hear summut; we’s hear how it’s to be. Gooid-for-naught +madling! ye desarve pining fro’ this to Churstmas, flinging t’ precious +gifts uh God under fooit i’ yer flaysome rages! But I’m mista’en if ye +shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? +I nobbut wish he may catch ye i’ that plisky. I nobbut wish he may.” + +And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with +him; and I remained in the dark. The period of reflection succeeding +this silly action compelled me to admit the necessity of smothering my +pride and choking my wrath, and bestirring myself to remove its +effects. An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of +Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Skulker: it had +spent its whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr. +Hindley. I fancy it knew me: it pushed its nose against mine by way of +salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge; while I groped from +step to step, collecting the shattered earthenware, and drying the +spatters of milk from the banister with my pocket-handkerchief. Our +labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw’s tread in the +passage; my assistant tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I +stole into the nearest doorway. The dog’s endeavour to avoid him was +unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter downstairs, and a prolonged, +piteous yelping. I had better luck: he passed on, entered his chamber, +and shut the door. Directly after Joseph came up with Hareton, to put +him to bed. I had found shelter in Hareton’s room, and the old man, on +seeing me, said,—“They’s rahm for boath ye un’ yer pride, now, I sud +think i’ the hahse. It’s empty; ye may hev’ it all to yerseln, un’ Him +as allas maks a third, i’ sich ill company!” + +Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation; and the minute I flung +myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and slept. My slumber was +deep and sweet, though over far too soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me; he +had just come in, and demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing +there? I told him the cause of my staying up so late—that he had the +key of our room in his pocket. The adjective _our_ gave mortal offence. +He swore it was not, nor ever should be, mine; and he’d—but I’ll not +repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct: he is ingenious +and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence! I sometimes wonder at +him with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet, I assure you, a tiger +or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which +he wakens. He told me of Catherine’s illness, and accused my brother of +causing it; promising that I should be Edgar’s proxy in suffering, till +he could get hold of him. + +I do hate him—I am wretched—I have been a fool! Beware of uttering one +breath of this to any one at the Grange. I shall expect you every +day—don’t disappoint me!—ISABELLA. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +As soon as I had perused this epistle I went to the master, and +informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and sent me a +letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Linton’s situation, and her +ardent desire to see him; with a wish that he would transmit to her, as +early as possible, some token of forgiveness by me. + +“Forgiveness!” said Linton. “I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You +may call at Wuthering Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that +I am not _angry_, but I’m _sorry_ to have lost her; especially as I can +never think she’ll be happy. It is out of the question my going to see +her, however: we are eternally divided; and should she really wish to +oblige me, let her persuade the villain she has married to leave the +country.” + +“And you won’t write her a little note, sir?” I asked, imploringly. + +“No,” he answered. “It is needless. My communication with Heathcliff’s +family shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not exist!” + +Mr. Edgar’s coldness depressed me exceedingly; and all the way from the +Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart into what he said, +when I repeated it; and how to soften his refusal of even a few lines +to console Isabella. I daresay she had been on the watch for me since +morning: I saw her looking through the lattice as I came up the garden +causeway, and I nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being +observed. I entered without knocking. There never was such a dreary, +dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house presented! I must confess, +that if I had been in the young lady’s place, I would, at least, have +swept the hearth, and wiped the tables with a duster. But she already +partook of the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her +pretty face was wan and listless; her hair uncurled: some locks hanging +lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she +had not touched her dress since yester evening. Hindley was not there. +Mr. Heathcliff sat at a table, turning over some papers in his +pocket-book; but he rose when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite +friendly, and offered me a chair. He was the only thing there that +seemed decent; and I thought he never looked better. So much had +circumstances altered their positions, that he would certainly have +struck a stranger as a born and bred gentleman; and his wife as a +thorough little slattern! She came forward eagerly to greet me, and +held out one hand to take the expected letter. I shook my head. She +wouldn’t understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard, where I +went to lay my bonnet, and importuned me in a whisper to give her +directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning of her +manœuvres, and said—“If you have got anything for Isabella (as no +doubt you have, Nelly), give it to her. You needn’t make a secret of +it: we have no secrets between us.” + +“Oh, I have nothing,” I replied, thinking it best to speak the truth at +once. “My master bid me tell his sister that she must not expect either +a letter or a visit from him at present. He sends his love, ma’am, and +his wishes for your happiness, and his pardon for the grief you have +occasioned; but he thinks that after this time his household and the +household here should drop intercommunication, as nothing could come of +keeping it up.” + +Mrs. Heathcliff’s lip quivered slightly, and she returned to her seat +in the window. Her husband took his stand on the hearthstone, near me, +and began to put questions concerning Catherine. I told him as much as +I thought proper of her illness, and he extorted from me, by +cross-examination, most of the facts connected with its origin. I +blamed her, as she deserved, for bringing it all on herself; and ended +by hoping that he would follow Mr. Linton’s example and avoid future +interference with his family, for good or evil. + +“Mrs. Linton is now just recovering,” I said; “she’ll never be like she +was, but her life is spared; and if you really have a regard for her, +you’ll shun crossing her way again: nay, you’ll move out of this +country entirely; and that you may not regret it, I’ll inform you +Catherine Linton is as different now from your old friend Catherine +Earnshaw, as that young lady is different from me. Her appearance is +changed greatly, her character much more so; and the person who is +compelled, of necessity, to be her companion, will only sustain his +affection hereafter by the remembrance of what she once was, by common +humanity, and a sense of duty!” + +“That is quite possible,” remarked Heathcliff, forcing himself to seem +calm: “quite possible that your master should have nothing but common +humanity and a sense of duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that +I shall leave Catherine to his _duty_ and _humanity_? and can you +compare my feelings respecting Catherine to his? Before you leave this +house, I must exact a promise from you that you’ll get me an interview +with her: consent, or refuse, I _will_ see her! What do you say?” + +“I say, Mr. Heathcliff,” I replied, “you must not: you never shall, +through my means. Another encounter between you and the master would +kill her altogether.” + +“With your aid that may be avoided,” he continued; “and should there be +danger of such an event—should he be the cause of adding a single +trouble more to her existence—why, I think I shall be justified in +going to extremes! I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me whether +Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss: the fear that she would +restrains me. And there you see the distinction between our feelings: +had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred +that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against +him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have +banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment +her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out, and drunk his +blood! But, till then—if you don’t believe me, you don’t know me—till +then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his +head!” + +“And yet,” I interrupted, “you have no scruples in completely ruining +all hopes of her perfect restoration, by thrusting yourself into her +remembrance now, when she has nearly forgotten you, and involving her +in a new tumult of discord and distress.” + +“You suppose she has nearly forgotten me?” he said. “Oh, Nelly! you +know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she +spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me! At a most miserable +period of my life, I had a notion of the kind: it haunted me on my +return to the neighbourhood last summer; but only her own assurance +could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then, Linton would be +nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words +would comprehend my future—_death_ and _hell_: existence, after losing +her, would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she +valued Edgar Linton’s attachment more than mine. If he loved with all +the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years +as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the +sea could be as readily contained in that horse-trough as her whole +affection be monopolised by him. Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer +to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like +me: how can she love in him what he has not?” + +“Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can +be,” cried Isabella, with sudden vivacity. “No one has a right to talk +in that manner, and I won’t hear my brother depreciated in silence!” + +“Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isn’t he?” observed +Heathcliff, scornfully. “He turns you adrift on the world with +surprising alacrity.” + +“He is not aware of what I suffer,” she replied. “I didn’t tell him +that.” + +“You have been telling him something, then: you have written, have +you?” + +“To say that I was married, I did write—you saw the note.” + +“And nothing since?” + +“No.” + +“My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition,” +I remarked. “Somebody’s love comes short in her case, obviously; whose, +I may guess; but, perhaps, I shouldn’t say.” + +“I should guess it was her own,” said Heathcliff. “She degenerates into +a mere slut! She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early. +You’d hardly credit it, but the very morrow of our wedding she was +weeping to go home. However, she’ll suit this house so much the better +for not being over nice, and I’ll take care she does not disgrace me by +rambling abroad.” + +“Well, sir,” returned I, “I hope you’ll consider that Mrs. Heathcliff +is accustomed to be looked after and waited on; and that she has been +brought up like an only daughter, whom every one was ready to serve. +You must let her have a maid to keep things tidy about her, and you +must treat her kindly. Whatever be your notion of Mr. Edgar, you cannot +doubt that she has a capacity for strong attachments, or she wouldn’t +have abandoned the elegancies, and comforts, and friends of her former +home, to fix contentedly, in such a wilderness as this, with you.” + +“She abandoned them under a delusion,” he answered; “picturing in me a +hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous +devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, +so obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my +character and acting on the false impressions she cherished. But, at +last, I think she begins to know me: I don’t perceive the silly smiles +and grimaces that provoked me at first; and the senseless incapability +of discerning that I was in earnest when I gave her my opinion of her +infatuation and herself. It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to +discover that I did not love her. I believed, at one time, no lessons +could teach her that! And yet it is poorly learnt; for this morning she +announced, as a piece of appalling intelligence, that I had actually +succeeded in making her hate me! A positive labour of Hercules, I +assure you! If it be achieved, I have cause to return thanks. Can I +trust your assertion, Isabella? Are you sure you hate me? If I let you +alone for half a day, won’t you come sighing and wheedling to me again? +I daresay she would rather I had seemed all tenderness before you: it +wounds her vanity to have the truth exposed. But I don’t care who knows +that the passion was wholly on one side: and I never told her a lie +about it. She cannot accuse me of showing one bit of deceitful +softness. The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, +was to hang up her little dog; and when she pleaded for it, the first +words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being +belonging to her, except one: possibly she took that exception for +herself. But no brutality disgusted her: I suppose she has an innate +admiration of it, if only her precious person were secure from injury! +Now, was it not the depth of absurdity—of genuine idiocy, for that +pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brach to dream that I could love her? +Tell your master, Nelly, that I never, in all my life, met with such an +abject thing as she is. She even disgraces the name of Linton; and I’ve +sometimes relented, from pure lack of invention, in my experiments on +what she could endure, and still creep shamefully cringing back! But +tell him, also, to set his fraternal and magisterial heart at ease: +that I keep strictly within the limits of the law. I have avoided, up +to this period, giving her the slightest right to claim a separation; +and, what’s more, she’d thank nobody for dividing us. If she desired to +go, she might: the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification +to be derived from tormenting her!” + +“Mr. Heathcliff,” said I, “this is the talk of a madman; your wife, +most likely, is convinced you are mad; and, for that reason, she has +borne with you hitherto: but now that you say she may go, she’ll +doubtless avail herself of the permission. You are not so bewitched, +ma’am, are you, as to remain with him of your own accord?” + +“Take care, Ellen!” answered Isabella, her eyes sparkling irefully; +there was no misdoubting by their expression the full success of her +partner’s endeavours to make himself detested. “Don’t put faith in a +single word he speaks. He’s a lying fiend! a monster, and not a human +being! I’ve been told I might leave him before; and I’ve made the +attempt, but I dare not repeat it! Only, Ellen, promise you’ll not +mention a syllable of his infamous conversation to my brother or +Catherine. Whatever he may pretend, he wishes to provoke Edgar to +desperation: he says he has married me on purpose to obtain power over +him; and he sha’n’t obtain it—I’ll die first! I just hope, I pray, that +he may forget his diabolical prudence and kill me! The single pleasure +I can imagine is to die, or to see him dead!” + +“There—that will do for the present!” said Heathcliff. “If you are +called upon in a court of law, you’ll remember her language, Nelly! And +take a good look at that countenance: she’s near the point which would +suit me. No; you’re not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now; and +I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however +distasteful the obligation may be. Go upstairs; I have something to say +to Ellen Dean in private. That’s not the way: upstairs, I tell you! +Why, this is the road upstairs, child!” + +He seized, and thrust her from the room; and returned muttering—“I have +no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to +crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind with +greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain.” + +“Do you understand what the word pity means?” I said, hastening to +resume my bonnet. “Did you ever feel a touch of it in your life?” + +“Put that down!” he interrupted, perceiving my intention to depart. +“You are not going yet. Come here now, Nelly: I must either persuade or +compel you to aid me in fulfilling my determination to see Catherine, +and that without delay. I swear that I meditate no harm: I don’t desire +to cause any disturbance, or to exasperate or insult Mr. Linton; I only +wish to hear from herself how she is, and why she has been ill; and to +ask if anything that I could do would be of use to her. Last night I +was in the Grange garden six hours, and I’ll return there to-night; and +every night I’ll haunt the place, and every day, till I find an +opportunity of entering. If Edgar Linton meets me, I shall not hesitate +to knock him down, and give him enough to insure his quiescence while I +stay. If his servants oppose me, I shall threaten them off with these +pistols. But wouldn’t it be better to prevent my coming in contact with +them, or their master? And you could do it so easily. I’d warn you when +I came, and then you might let me in unobserved, as soon as she was +alone, and watch till I departed, your conscience quite calm: you would +be hindering mischief.” + +I protested against playing that treacherous part in my employer’s +house: and, besides, I urged the cruelty and selfishness of his +destroying Mrs. Linton’s tranquillity for his satisfaction. “The +commonest occurrence startles her painfully,” I said. “She’s all +nerves, and she couldn’t bear the surprise, I’m positive. Don’t +persist, sir! or else I shall be obliged to inform my master of your +designs; and he’ll take measures to secure his house and its inmates +from any such unwarrantable intrusions!” + +“In that case I’ll take measures to secure you, woman!” exclaimed +Heathcliff; “you shall not leave Wuthering Heights till to-morrow +morning. It is a foolish story to assert that Catherine could not bear +to see me; and as to surprising her, I don’t desire it: you must +prepare her—ask her if I may come. You say she never mentions my name, +and that I am never mentioned to her. To whom should she mention me if +I am a forbidden topic in the house? She thinks you are all spies for +her husband. Oh, I’ve no doubt she’s in hell among you! I guess by her +silence, as much as anything, what she feels. You say she is often +restless, and anxious-looking: is that a proof of tranquillity? You +talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise +in her frightful isolation? And that insipid, paltry creature attending +her from _duty_ and _humanity_! From _pity_ and _charity_! He might as +well plant an oak in a flower-pot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine +he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares! Let us +settle it at once: will you stay here, and am I to fight my way to +Catherine over Linton and his footman? Or will you be my friend, as you +have been hitherto, and do what I request? Decide! because there is no +reason for my lingering another minute, if you persist in your stubborn +ill-nature!” + +Well, Mr. Lockwood, I argued and complained, and flatly refused him +fifty times; but in the long run he forced me to an agreement. I +engaged to carry a letter from him to my mistress; and should she +consent, I promised to let him have intelligence of Linton’s next +absence from home, when he might come, and get in as he was able: I +wouldn’t be there, and my fellow-servants should be equally out of the +way. Was it right or wrong? I fear it was wrong, though expedient. I +thought I prevented another explosion by my compliance; and I thought, +too, it might create a favourable crisis in Catherine’s mental illness: +and then I remembered Mr. Edgar’s stern rebuke of my carrying tales; +and I tried to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, by +affirming, with frequent iteration, that that betrayal of trust, if it +merited so harsh an appellation, should be the last. Notwithstanding, +my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither; and many +misgivings I had, ere I could prevail on myself to put the missive into +Mrs. Linton’s hand. + +But here is Kenneth; I’ll go down, and tell him how much better you +are. My history is _dree_, as we say, and will serve to while away +another morning. + +* * * * * + + +Dree, and dreary! I reflected as the good woman descended to receive +the doctor: and not exactly of the kind which I should have chosen to +amuse me. But never mind! I’ll extract wholesome medicines from Mrs. +Dean’s bitter herbs; and firstly, let me beware of the fascination that +lurks in Catherine Heathcliff’s brilliant eyes. I should be in a +curious taking if I surrendered my heart to that young person, and the +daughter turned out a second edition of the mother. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Another week over—and I am so many days nearer health, and spring! I +have now heard all my neighbour’s history, at different sittings, as +the housekeeper could spare time from more important occupations. I’ll +continue it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is, on the +whole, a very fair narrator, and I don’t think I could improve her +style. + +* * * * * + + +In the evening, she said, the evening of my visit to the Heights, I +knew, as well as if I saw him, that Mr. Heathcliff was about the place; +and I shunned going out, because I still carried his letter in my +pocket, and didn’t want to be threatened or teased any more. I had made +up my mind not to give it till my master went somewhere, as I could not +guess how its receipt would affect Catherine. The consequence was, that +it did not reach her before the lapse of three days. The fourth was +Sunday, and I brought it into her room after the family were gone to +church. There was a man servant left to keep the house with me, and we +generally made a practice of locking the doors during the hours of +service; but on that occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that +I set them wide open, and, to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would +be coming, I told my companion that the mistress wished very much for +some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a few, to be +paid for on the morrow. He departed, and I went upstairs. + +Mrs. Linton sat in a loose white dress, with a light shawl over her +shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as usual. Her thick, long +hair had been partly removed at the beginning of her illness, and now +she wore it simply combed in its natural tresses over her temples and +neck. Her appearance was altered, as I had told Heathcliff; but when +she was calm, there seemed unearthly beauty in the change. The flash of +her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy softness; they +no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her: +they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyond—you would have said +out of this world. Then, the paleness of her face—its haggard aspect +having vanished as she recovered flesh—and the peculiar expression +arising from her mental state, though painfully suggestive of their +causes, added to the touching interest which she awakened; +and—invariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw her, I should +think—refuted more tangible proofs of convalescence, and stamped her as +one doomed to decay. + +A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible +wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it +there: for she never endeavoured to divert herself with reading, or +occupation of any kind, and he would spend many an hour in trying to +entice her attention to some subject which had formerly been her +amusement. She was conscious of his aim, and in her better moods +endured his efforts placidly, only showing their uselessness by now and +then suppressing a wearied sigh, and checking him at last with the +saddest of smiles and kisses. At other times, she would turn petulantly +away, and hide her face in her hands, or even push him off angrily; and +then he took care to let her alone, for he was certain of doing no +good. + +Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of +the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet +substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which +drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At +Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great +thaw or a season of steady rain. And of Wuthering Heights Catherine was +thinking as she listened: that is, if she thought or listened at all; +but she had the vague, distant look I mentioned before, which expressed +no recognition of material things either by ear or eye. + +“There’s a letter for you, Mrs. Linton,” I said, gently inserting it in +one hand that rested on her knee. “You must read it immediately, +because it wants an answer. Shall I break the seal?” “Yes,” she +answered, without altering the direction of her eyes. I opened it—it +was very short. “Now,” I continued, “read it.” She drew away her hand, +and let it fall. I replaced it in her lap, and stood waiting till it +should please her to glance down; but that movement was so long delayed +that at last I resumed—“Must I read it, ma’am? It is from Mr. +Heathcliff.” + +There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection, and a struggle +to arrange her ideas. She lifted the letter, and seemed to peruse it; +and when she came to the signature she sighed: yet still I found she +had not gathered its import, for, upon my desiring to hear her reply, +she merely pointed to the name, and gazed at me with mournful and +questioning eagerness. + +“Well, he wishes to see you,” said I, guessing her need of an +interpreter. “He’s in the garden by this time, and impatient to know +what answer I shall bring.” + +As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath +raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, +announce, by a wag of the tail, that some one approached whom it did +not consider a stranger. Mrs. Linton bent forward, and listened +breathlessly. The minute after a step traversed the hall; the open +house was too tempting for Heathcliff to resist walking in: most likely +he supposed that I was inclined to shirk my promise, and so resolved to +trust to his own audacity. With straining eagerness Catherine gazed +towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the right room +directly: she motioned me to admit him, but he found it out ere I could +reach the door, and in a stride or two was at her side, and had her +grasped in his arms. + +He neither spoke nor loosed his hold for some five minutes, during +which period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in his life +before, I daresay: but then my mistress had kissed him first, and I +plainly saw that he could hardly bear, for downright agony, to look +into her face! The same conviction had stricken him as me, from the +instant he beheld her, that there was no prospect of ultimate recovery +there—she was fated, sure to die. + +“Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?” was the first sentence he +uttered, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his despair. And now +he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his +gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: +they did not melt. + +“What now?” said Catherine, leaning back, and returning his look with a +suddenly clouded brow: her humour was a mere vane for constantly +varying caprices. “You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And +you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be +pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed me—and thriven on +it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live +after I am gone?” + +Heathcliff had knelt on one knee to embrace her; he attempted to rise, +but she seized his hair, and kept him down. + +“I wish I could hold you,” she continued, bitterly, “till we were both +dead! I shouldn’t care what you suffered. I care nothing for your +sufferings. Why shouldn’t you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will +you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, +‘That’s the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago, and was +wretched to lose her; but it is past. I’ve loved many others since: my +children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not +rejoice that I am going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave +them!’ Will you say so, Heathcliff?” + +“Don’t torture me till I’m as mad as yourself,” cried he, wrenching his +head free, and grinding his teeth. + +The two, to a cool spectator, made a strange and fearful picture. Well +might Catherine deem that heaven would be a land of exile to her, +unless with her mortal body she cast away her moral character also. Her +present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a +bloodless lip and scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed +fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping. As to her +companion, while raising himself with one hand, he had taken her arm +with the other; and so inadequate was his stock of gentleness to the +requirements of her condition, that on his letting go I saw four +distinct impressions left blue in the colourless skin. + +“Are you possessed with a devil,” he pursued, savagely, “to talk in +that manner to me when you are dying? Do you reflect that all those +words will be branded in my memory, and eating deeper eternally after +you have left me? You know you lie to say I have killed you: and, +Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! Is +it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at +peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell?” + +“I shall not be at peace,” moaned Catherine, recalled to a sense of +physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of her heart, which +beat visibly and audibly under this excess of agitation. She said +nothing further till the paroxysm was over; then she continued, more +kindly— + +“I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only +wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you +hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own +sake, forgive me! Come here and kneel down again! You never harmed me +in your life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to remember +than my harsh words! Won’t you come here again? Do!” + +Heathcliff went to the back of her chair, and leant over, but not so +far as to let her see his face, which was livid with emotion. She bent +round to look at him; he would not permit it: turning abruptly, he +walked to the fireplace, where he stood, silent, with his back towards +us. Mrs. Linton’s glance followed him suspiciously: every movement woke +a new sentiment in her. After a pause and a prolonged gaze, she +resumed; addressing me in accents of indignant disappointment:— + +“Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to keep me out of the +grave. _That_ is how I’m loved! Well, never mind. That is not _my_ +Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he’s in my +soul. And,” added she musingly, “the thing that irks me most is this +shattered prison, after all. I’m tired of being enclosed here. I’m +wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: +not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the +walls of an aching heart: but really with it, and in it. Nelly, you +think you are better and more fortunate than I; in full health and +strength: you are sorry for me—very soon that will be altered. I shall +be sorry for _you_. I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all. I +_wonder_ he won’t be near me!” She went on to herself. “I thought he +wished it. Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to +me, Heathcliff.” + +In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the +chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely +desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his +breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how +they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, +and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress +would never be released alive: in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly +insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat, and on my +approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he gnashed at +me, and foamed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him with greedy +jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of +my own species: it appeared that he would not understand, though I +spoke to him; so I stood off, and held my tongue, in great perplexity. + +A movement of Catherine’s relieved me a little presently: she put up +her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his as he held her; +while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly— + +“You teach me now how cruel you’ve been—cruel and false. _Why_ did you +despise me? _Why_ did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one +word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you +may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight +you—they’ll damn you. You loved me—then what _right_ had you to leave +me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? +Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or +Satan could inflict would have parted us, _you_, of your own will, did +it. I have not broken your heart—_you_ have broken it; and in breaking +it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do +I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would +_you_ like to live with your soul in the grave?” + +“Let me alone. Let me alone,” sobbed Catherine. “If I’ve done wrong, +I’m dying for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I won’t upbraid +you! I forgive you. Forgive me!” + +“It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those +wasted hands,” he answered. “Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your +eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love _my_ murderer—but +_yours_! How can I?” + +They were silent—their faces hid against each other, and washed by each +other’s tears. At least, I suppose the weeping was on both sides; as it +seemed Heathcliff _could_ weep on a great occasion like this. + +I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore fast away, +the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand, and I could +distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the valley, a concourse +thickening outside Gimmerton chapel porch. + +“Service is over,” I announced. “My master will be here in half an +hour.” + +Heathcliff groaned a curse, and strained Catherine closer: she never +moved. + +Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road +towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind; he opened the +gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely +afternoon that breathed as soft as summer. + +“Now he is here,” I exclaimed. “For heaven’s sake, hurry down! You’ll +not meet any one on the front stairs. Do be quick; and stay among the +trees till he is fairly in.” + +“I must go, Cathy,” said Heathcliff, seeking to extricate himself from +his companion’s arms. “But if I live, I’ll see you again before you are +asleep. I won’t stray five yards from your window.” + +“You must not go!” she answered, holding him as firmly as her strength +allowed. “You _shall_ not, I tell you.” + +“For one hour,” he pleaded earnestly. + +“Not for one minute,” she replied. + +“I _must_—Linton will be up immediately,” persisted the alarmed +intruder. + +He would have risen, and unfixed her fingers by the act—she clung fast, +gasping: there was mad resolution in her face. + +“No!” she shrieked. “Oh, don’t, don’t go. It is the last time! Edgar +will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die! I shall die!” + +“Damn the fool! There he is,” cried Heathcliff, sinking back into his +seat. “Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I’ll stay. If he shot +me so, I’d expire with a blessing on my lips.” + +And there they were fast again. I heard my master mounting the +stairs—the cold sweat ran from my forehead: I was horrified. + +“Are you going to listen to her ravings?” I said, passionately. “She +does not know what she says. Will you ruin her, because she has not wit +to help herself? Get up! You could be free instantly. That is the most +diabolical deed that ever you did. We are all done for—master, +mistress, and servant.” + +I wrung my hands, and cried out; and Mr. Linton hastened his step at +the noise. In the midst of my agitation, I was sincerely glad to +observe that Catherine’s arms had fallen relaxed, and her head hung +down. + +“She’s fainted, or dead,” I thought: “so much the better. Far better +that she should be dead, than lingering a burden and a misery-maker to +all about her.” + +Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment and +rage. What he meant to do I cannot tell; however, the other stopped all +demonstrations, at once, by placing the lifeless-looking form in his +arms. + +“Look there!” he said. “Unless you be a fiend, help her first—then you +shall speak to me!” + +He walked into the parlour, and sat down. Mr. Linton summoned me, and +with great difficulty, and after resorting to many means, we managed to +restore her to sensation; but she was all bewildered; she sighed, and +moaned, and knew nobody. Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her +hated friend. I did not. I went, at the earliest opportunity, and +besought him to depart; affirming that Catherine was better, and he +should hear from me in the morning how she passed the night. + +“I shall not refuse to go out of doors,” he answered; “but I shall stay +in the garden: and, Nelly, mind you keep your word to-morrow. I shall +be under those larch-trees. Mind! or I pay another visit, whether +Linton be in or not.” + +He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the chamber, and, +ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the +house of his luckless presence. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +About twelve o’clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at +Wuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months’ child; and two hours after the +mother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss +Heathcliff, or know Edgar. The latter’s distraction at his bereavement +is a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how +deep the sorrow sunk. A great addition, in my eyes, was his being left +without an heir. I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and +I mentally abused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) the +securing his estate to his own daughter, instead of his son’s. An +unwelcomed infant it was, poor thing! It might have wailed out of life, +and nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of existence. We +redeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginning was as friendless as +its end is likely to be. + +Next morning—bright and cheerful out of doors—stole softened in through +the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant +with a mellow, tender glow. Edgar Linton had his head laid on the +pillow, and his eyes shut. His young and fair features were almost as +deathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as fixed: but +_his_ was the hush of exhausted anguish, and _hers_ of perfect peace. +Her brow smooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a +smile; no angel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared. +And I partook of the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never +in a holier frame than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine +rest. I instinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours +before: “Incomparably beyond and above us all! Whether still on earth +or now in heaven, her spirit is at home with God!” + +I don’t know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise +than happy while watching in the chamber of death, should no frenzied +or despairing mourner share the duty with me. I see a repose that +neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the +endless and shadowless hereafter—the Eternity they have entered—where +life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in +its fulness. I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is +even in a love like Mr. Linton’s, when he so regretted Catherine’s +blessed release! To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward +and impatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of +peace at last. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not +then, in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquillity, +which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant. + +Do you believe such people _are_ happy in the other world, sir? I’d +give a great deal to know. + +I declined answering Mrs. Dean’s question, which struck me as something +heterodox. She proceeded: + +Retracing the course of Catherine Linton, I fear we have no right to +think she is; but we’ll leave her with her Maker. + +The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to quit the +room and steal out to the pure refreshing air. The servants thought me +gone to shake off the drowsiness of my protracted watch; in reality, my +chief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he had remained among the +larches all night, he would have heard nothing of the stir at the +Grange; unless, perhaps, he might catch the gallop of the messenger +going to Gimmerton. If he had come nearer, he would probably be aware, +from the lights flitting to and fro, and the opening and shutting of +the outer doors, that all was not right within. I wished, yet feared, +to find him. I felt the terrible news must be told, and I longed to get +it over; but _how_ to do it I did not know. He was there—at least, a +few yards further in the park; leant against an old ash-tree, his hat +off, and his hair soaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded +branches, and fell pattering round him. He had been standing a long +time in that position, for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassing +scarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, and +regarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber. They +flew off at my approach, and he raised his eyes and spoke:—“She’s +dead!” he said; “I’ve not waited for you to learn that. Put your +handkerchief away—don’t snivel before me. Damn you all! she wants none +of _your_ tears!” + +I was weeping as much for him as her: we do sometimes pity creatures +that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. When I +first looked into his face, I perceived that he had got intelligence of +the catastrophe; and a foolish notion struck me that his heart was +quelled and he prayed, because his lips moved and his gaze was bent on +the ground. + +“Yes, she’s dead!” I answered, checking my sobs and drying my cheeks. +“Gone to heaven, I hope; where we may, every one, join her, if we take +due warning and leave our evil ways to follow good!” + +“Did _she_ take due warning, then?” asked Heathcliff, attempting a +sneer. “Did she die like a saint? Come, give me a true history of the +event. How did—?” + +He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it; and +compressing his mouth he held a silent combat with his inward agony, +defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching, ferocious stare. +“How did she die?” he resumed, at last—fain, notwithstanding his +hardihood, to have a support behind him; for, after the struggle, he +trembled, in spite of himself, to his very finger-ends. + +“Poor wretch!” I thought; “you have a heart and nerves the same as your +brother men! Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pride +cannot blind God! You tempt him to wring them, till he forces a cry of +humiliation.” + +“Quietly as a lamb!” I answered, aloud. “She drew a sigh, and stretched +herself, like a child reviving, and sinking again to sleep; and five +minutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more!” + +“And—did she ever mention me?” he asked, hesitating, as if he dreaded +the answer to his question would introduce details that he could not +bear to hear. + +“Her senses never returned: she recognised nobody from the time you +left her,” I said. “She lies with a sweet smile on her face; and her +latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a +gentle dream—may she wake as kindly in the other world!” + +“May she wake in torment!” he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping +his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. +“Why, she’s a liar to the end! Where is she? Not _there_—not in +heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my +sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue +stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; +you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered _do_ haunt their +murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts _have_ wandered on earth. Be +with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only _do_ not leave me in +this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I +_cannot_ live without my life! I _cannot_ live without my soul!” + +He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, +howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to death +with knives and spears. I observed several splashes of blood about the +bark of the tree, and his hand and forehead were both stained; probably +the scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the +night. It hardly moved my compassion—it appalled me: still, I felt +reluctant to quit him so. But the moment he recollected himself enough +to notice me watching, he thundered a command for me to go, and I +obeyed. He was beyond my skill to quiet or console! + +Mrs. Linton’s funeral was appointed to take place on the Friday +following her decease; and till then her coffin remained uncovered, and +strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the great drawing-room. +Linton spent his days and nights there, a sleepless guardian; and—a +circumstance concealed from all but me—Heathcliff spent his nights, at +least, outside, equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication +with him; still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could; +and on the Tuesday, a little after dark, when my master, from sheer +fatigue, had been compelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and +opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance to give him a +chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. He +did not omit to avail himself of the opportunity, cautiously and +briefly; too cautiously to betray his presence by the slightest noise. +Indeed, I shouldn’t have discovered that he had been there, except for +the disarrangement of the drapery about the corpse’s face, and for +observing on the floor a curl of light hair, fastened with a silver +thread; which, on examination, I ascertained to have been taken from a +locket hung round Catherine’s neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket +and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. I +twisted the two, and enclosed them together. + +Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of his +sister to the grave; he sent no excuse, but he never came; so that, +besides her husband, the mourners were wholly composed of tenants and +servants. Isabella was not asked. + +The place of Catherine’s interment, to the surprise of the villagers, +was neither in the chapel under the carved monument of the Lintons, nor +yet by the tombs of her own relations, outside. It was dug on a green +slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath +and bilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat-mould +almost buries it. Her husband lies in the same spot now; and they have +each a simple headstone above, and a plain grey block at their feet, to +mark the graves. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +That Friday made the last of our fine days for a month. In the evening +the weather broke: the wind shifted from south to north-east, and +brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. On the morrow one could +hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses +and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, +the young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened. And dreary, +and chill, and dismal, that morrow did creep over! My master kept his +room; I took possession of the lonely parlour, converting it into a +nursery: and there I was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid +on my knee; rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still +driving flakes build up the uncurtained window, when the door opened, +and some person entered, out of breath and laughing! My anger was +greater than my astonishment for a minute. I supposed it one of the +maids, and I cried—“Have done! How dare you show your giddiness here? +What would Mr. Linton say if he heard you?” + +“Excuse me!” answered a familiar voice; “but I know Edgar is in bed, +and I cannot stop myself.” + +With that the speaker came forward to the fire, panting and holding her +hand to her side. + +“I have run the whole way from Wuthering Heights!” she continued, after +a pause; “except where I’ve flown. I couldn’t count the number of falls +I’ve had. Oh, I’m aching all over! Don’t be alarmed! There shall be an +explanation as soon as I can give it; only just have the goodness to +step out and order the carriage to take me on to Gimmerton, and tell a +servant to seek up a few clothes in my wardrobe.” + +The intruder was Mrs. Heathcliff. She certainly seemed in no laughing +predicament: her hair streamed on her shoulders, dripping with snow and +water; she was dressed in the girlish dress she commonly wore, +befitting her age more than her position: a low frock with short +sleeves, and nothing on either head or neck. The frock was of light +silk, and clung to her with wet, and her feet were protected merely by +thin slippers; add to this a deep cut under one ear, which only the +cold prevented from bleeding profusely, a white face scratched and +bruised, and a frame hardly able to support itself through fatigue; and +you may fancy my first fright was not much allayed when I had had +leisure to examine her. + +“My dear young lady,” I exclaimed, “I’ll stir nowhere, and hear +nothing, till you have removed every article of your clothes, and put +on dry things; and certainly you shall not go to Gimmerton to-night, so +it is needless to order the carriage.” + +“Certainly I shall,” she said; “walking or riding: yet I’ve no +objection to dress myself decently. And—ah, see how it flows down my +neck now! The fire does make it smart.” + +She insisted on my fulfilling her directions, before she would let me +touch her; and not till after the coachman had been instructed to get +ready, and a maid set to pack up some necessary attire, did I obtain +her consent for binding the wound and helping to change her garments. + +“Now, Ellen,” she said, when my task was finished and she was seated in +an easy-chair on the hearth, with a cup of tea before her, “you sit +down opposite me, and put poor Catherine’s baby away: I don’t like to +see it! You mustn’t think I care little for Catherine, because I +behaved so foolishly on entering: I’ve cried, too, bitterly—yes, more +than any one else has reason to cry. We parted unreconciled, you +remember, and I sha’n’t forgive myself. But, for all that, I was not +going to sympathise with him—the brute beast! Oh, give me the poker! +This is the last thing of his I have about me:” she slipped the gold +ring from her third finger, and threw it on the floor. “I’ll smash it!” +she continued, striking it with childish spite, “and then I’ll burn +it!” and she took and dropped the misused article among the coals. +“There! he shall buy another, if he gets me back again. He’d be capable +of coming to seek me, to tease Edgar. I dare not stay, lest that notion +should possess his wicked head! And besides, Edgar has not been kind, +has he? And I won’t come suing for his assistance; nor will I bring him +into more trouble. Necessity compelled me to seek shelter here; though, +if I had not learned he was out of the way, I’d have halted at the +kitchen, washed my face, warmed myself, got you to bring what I wanted, +and departed again to anywhere out of the reach of my accursed—of that +incarnate goblin! Ah, he was in such a fury! If he had caught me! It’s +a pity Earnshaw is not his match in strength: I wouldn’t have run till +I’d seen him all but demolished, had Hindley been able to do it!” + +“Well, don’t talk so fast, Miss!” I interrupted; “you’ll disorder the +handkerchief I have tied round your face, and make the cut bleed again. +Drink your tea, and take breath, and give over laughing: laughter is +sadly out of place under this roof, and in your condition!” + +“An undeniable truth,” she replied. “Listen to that child! It maintains +a constant wail—send it out of my hearing for an hour; I sha’n’t stay +any longer.” + +I rang the bell, and committed it to a servant’s care; and then I +inquired what had urged her to escape from Wuthering Heights in such an +unlikely plight, and where she meant to go, as she refused remaining +with us. + +“I ought, and I wished to remain,” answered she, “to cheer Edgar and +take care of the baby, for two things, and because the Grange is my +right home. But I tell you he wouldn’t let me! Do you think he could +bear to see me grow fat and merry—could bear to think that we were +tranquil, and not resolve on poisoning our comfort? Now, I have the +satisfaction of being sure that he detests me, to the point of its +annoying him seriously to have me within ear-shot or eyesight: I +notice, when I enter his presence, the muscles of his countenance are +involuntarily distorted into an expression of hatred; partly arising +from his knowledge of the good causes I have to feel that sentiment for +him, and partly from original aversion. It is strong enough to make me +feel pretty certain that he would not chase me over England, supposing +I contrived a clear escape; and therefore I must get quite away. I’ve +recovered from my first desire to be killed by him: I’d rather he’d +kill himself! He has extinguished my love effectually, and so I’m at my +ease. I can recollect yet how I loved him; and can dimly imagine that I +could still be loving him, if—no, no! Even if he had doted on me, the +devilish nature would have revealed its existence somehow. Catherine +had an awfully perverted taste to esteem him so dearly, knowing him so +well. Monster! would that he could be blotted out of creation, and out +of my memory!” + +“Hush, hush! He’s a human being,” I said. “Be more charitable: there +are worse men than he is yet!” + +“He’s not a human being,” she retorted; “and he has no claim on my +charity. I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and +flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he +has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him: and I would not, +though he groaned from this to his dying day, and wept tears of blood +for Catherine! No, indeed, indeed, I wouldn’t!” And here Isabella began +to cry; but, immediately dashing the water from her lashes, she +recommenced. “You asked, what has driven me to flight at last? I was +compelled to attempt it, because I had succeeded in rousing his rage a +pitch above his malignity. Pulling out the nerves with red hot pincers +requires more coolness than knocking on the head. He was worked up to +forget the fiendish prudence he boasted of, and proceeded to murderous +violence. I experienced pleasure in being able to exasperate him: the +sense of pleasure woke my instinct of self-preservation, so I fairly +broke free; and if ever I come into his hands again he is welcome to a +signal revenge. + +“Yesterday, you know, Mr. Earnshaw should have been at the funeral. He +kept himself sober for the purpose—tolerably sober: not going to bed +mad at six o’clock and getting up drunk at twelve. Consequently, he +rose, in suicidal low spirits, as fit for the church as for a dance; +and instead, he sat down by the fire and swallowed gin or brandy by +tumblerfuls. + +“Heathcliff—I shudder to name him! has been a stranger in the house +from last Sunday till to-day. Whether the angels have fed him, or his +kin beneath, I cannot tell; but he has not eaten a meal with us for +nearly a week. He has just come home at dawn, and gone upstairs to his +chamber; locking himself in—as if anybody dreamt of coveting his +company! There he has continued, praying like a Methodist: only the +deity he implored is senseless dust and ashes; and God, when addressed, +was curiously confounded with his own black father! After concluding +these precious orisons—and they lasted generally till he grew hoarse +and his voice was strangled in his throat—he would be off again; always +straight down to the Grange! I wonder Edgar did not send for a +constable, and give him into custody! For me, grieved as I was about +Catherine, it was impossible to avoid regarding this season of +deliverance from degrading oppression as a holiday. + +“I recovered spirits sufficient to hear Joseph’s eternal lectures +without weeping, and to move up and down the house less with the foot +of a frightened thief than formerly. You wouldn’t think that I should +cry at anything Joseph could say; but he and Hareton are detestable +companions. I’d rather sit with Hindley, and hear his awful talk, than +with ‘t’ little maister’ and his staunch supporter, that odious old +man! When Heathcliff is in, I’m often obliged to seek the kitchen and +their society, or starve among the damp uninhabited chambers; when he +is not, as was the case this week, I establish a table and chair at one +corner of the house fire, and never mind how Mr. Earnshaw may occupy +himself; and he does not interfere with my arrangements. He is quieter +now than he used to be, if no one provokes him: more sullen and +depressed, and less furious. Joseph affirms he’s sure he’s an altered +man: that the Lord has touched his heart, and he is saved ‘so as by +fire.’ I’m puzzled to detect signs of the favourable change: but it is +not my business. + +“Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late on +towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go upstairs, with the wild snow +blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to the kirkyard +and the new-made grave! I dared hardly lift my eyes from the page +before me, that melancholy scene so instantly usurped its place. +Hindley sat opposite, his head leant on his hand; perhaps meditating on +the same subject. He had ceased drinking at a point below +irrationality, and had neither stirred nor spoken during two or three +hours. There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind, which +shook the windows every now and then, the faint crackling of the coals, +and the click of my snuffers as I removed at intervals the long wick of +the candle. Hareton and Joseph were probably fast asleep in bed. It was +very, very sad: and while I read I sighed, for it seemed as if all joy +had vanished from the world, never to be restored. + +“The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the kitchen +latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch earlier than usual; +owing, I suppose, to the sudden storm. That entrance was fastened, and +we heard him coming round to get in by the other. I rose with an +irrepressible expression of what I felt on my lips, which induced my +companion, who had been staring towards the door, to turn and look at +me. + +“‘I’ll keep him out five minutes,’ he exclaimed. ‘You won’t object?’ + +“‘No, you may keep him out the whole night for me,’ I answered. ‘Do! +put the key in the lock, and draw the bolts.’ + +“Earnshaw accomplished this ere his guest reached the front; he then +came and brought his chair to the other side of my table, leaning over +it, and searching in my eyes for a sympathy with the burning hate that +gleamed from his: as he both looked and felt like an assassin, he +couldn’t exactly find that; but he discovered enough to encourage him +to speak. + +“‘You, and I,’ he said, ‘have each a great debt to settle with the man +out yonder! If we were neither of us cowards, we might combine to +discharge it. Are you as soft as your brother? Are you willing to +endure to the last, and not once attempt a repayment?’ + +“‘I’m weary of enduring now,’ I replied; ‘and I’d be glad of a +retaliation that wouldn’t recoil on myself; but treachery and violence +are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them +worse than their enemies.’ + +“‘Treachery and violence are a just return for treachery and violence!’ +cried Hindley. ‘Mrs. Heathcliff, I’ll ask you to do nothing; but sit +still and be dumb. Tell me now, can you? I’m sure you would have as +much pleasure as I in witnessing the conclusion of the fiend’s +existence; he’ll be _your_ death unless you overreach him; and he’ll be +_my_ ruin. Damn the hellish villain! He knocks at the door as if he +were master here already! Promise to hold your tongue, and before that +clock strikes—it wants three minutes of one—you’re a free woman!’ + +“He took the implements which I described to you in my letter from his +breast, and would have turned down the candle. I snatched it away, +however, and seized his arm. + +“‘I’ll not hold my tongue!’ I said; ‘you mustn’t touch him. Let the +door remain shut, and be quiet!’ + +“‘No! I’ve formed my resolution, and by God I’ll execute it!’ cried the +desperate being. ‘I’ll do you a kindness in spite of yourself, and +Hareton justice! And you needn’t trouble your head to screen me; +Catherine is gone. Nobody alive would regret me, or be ashamed, though +I cut my throat this minute—and it’s time to make an end!’ + +“I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned with a +lunatic. The only resource left me was to run to a lattice and warn his +intended victim of the fate which awaited him. + +“‘You’d better seek shelter somewhere else to-night!’ I exclaimed, in +rather a triumphant tone. ‘Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you, if you +persist in endeavouring to enter.’ + +“‘You’d better open the door, you—’ he answered, addressing me by some +elegant term that I don’t care to repeat. + +“‘I shall not meddle in the matter,’ I retorted again. ‘Come in and get +shot, if you please. I’ve done my duty.’ + +“With that I shut the window and returned to my place by the fire; +having too small a stock of hypocrisy at my command to pretend any +anxiety for the danger that menaced him. Earnshaw swore passionately at +me: affirming that I loved the villain yet; and calling me all sorts of +names for the base spirit I evinced. And I, in my secret heart (and +conscience never reproached me), thought what a blessing it would be +for _him_ should Heathcliff put him out of misery; and what a blessing +for _me_ should he send Heathcliff to his right abode! As I sat nursing +these reflections, the casement behind me was banged on to the floor by +a blow from the latter individual, and his black countenance looked +blightingly through. The stanchions stood too close to suffer his +shoulders to follow, and I smiled, exulting in my fancied security. His +hair and clothes were whitened with snow, and his sharp cannibal teeth, +revealed by cold and wrath, gleamed through the dark. + +“‘Isabella, let me in, or I’ll make you repent!’ he ‘girned,’ as Joseph +calls it. + +“‘I cannot commit murder,’ I replied. ‘Mr. Hindley stands sentinel with +a knife and loaded pistol.’ + +“‘Let me in by the kitchen door,’ he said. + +“‘Hindley will be there before me,’ I answered: ‘and that’s a poor love +of yours that cannot bear a shower of snow! We were left at peace in +our beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of +winter returns, you must run for shelter! Heathcliff, if I were you, +I’d go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog. The +world is surely not worth living in now, is it? You had distinctly +impressed on me the idea that Catherine was the whole joy of your life: +I can’t imagine how you think of surviving her loss.’ + +“‘He’s there, is he?’ exclaimed my companion, rushing to the gap. ‘If I +can get my arm out I can hit him!’ + +“I’m afraid, Ellen, you’ll set me down as really wicked; but you don’t +know all, so don’t judge. I wouldn’t have aided or abetted an attempt +on even _his_ life for anything. Wish that he were dead, I must; and +therefore I was fearfully disappointed, and unnerved by terror for the +consequences of my taunting speech, when he flung himself on Earnshaw’s +weapon and wrenched it from his grasp. + +“The charge exploded, and the knife, in springing back, closed into its +owner’s wrist. Heathcliff pulled it away by main force, slitting up the +flesh as it passed on, and thrust it dripping into his pocket. He then +took a stone, struck down the division between two windows, and sprang +in. His adversary had fallen senseless with excessive pain and the flow +of blood, that gushed from an artery or a large vein. The ruffian +kicked and trampled on him, and dashed his head repeatedly against the +flags, holding me with one hand, meantime, to prevent me summoning +Joseph. He exerted preterhuman self-denial in abstaining from finishing +him completely; but getting out of breath, he finally desisted, and +dragged the apparently inanimate body on to the settle. There he tore +off the sleeve of Earnshaw’s coat, and bound up the wound with brutal +roughness; spitting and cursing during the operation as energetically +as he had kicked before. Being at liberty, I lost no time in seeking +the old servant; who, having gathered by degrees the purport of my +hasty tale, hurried below, gasping, as he descended the steps two at +once. + +“‘What is ther to do, now? what is ther to do, now?’ + +“‘There’s this to do,’ thundered Heathcliff, ‘that your master’s mad; +and should he last another month, I’ll have him to an asylum. And how +the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless hound? Don’t +stand muttering and mumbling there. Come, I’m not going to nurse him. +Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle—it is more +than half brandy!’ + +“‘And so ye’ve been murthering on him?’ exclaimed Joseph, lifting his +hands and eyes in horror. ‘If iver I seed a seeght loike this! May the +Lord—’ + +“Heathcliff gave him a push on to his knees in the middle of the blood, +and flung a towel to him; but instead of proceeding to dry it up, he +joined his hands and began a prayer, which excited my laughter from its +odd phraseology. I was in the condition of mind to be shocked at +nothing: in fact, I was as reckless as some malefactors show themselves +at the foot of the gallows. + +“‘Oh, I forgot you,’ said the tyrant. ‘You shall do that. Down with +you. And you conspire with him against me, do you, viper? There, that +is work fit for you!’ + +“He shook me till my teeth rattled, and pitched me beside Joseph, who +steadily concluded his supplications, and then rose, vowing he would +set off for the Grange directly. Mr. Linton was a magistrate, and +though he had fifty wives dead, he should inquire into this. He was so +obstinate in his resolution, that Heathcliff deemed it expedient to +compel from my lips a recapitulation of what had taken place; standing +over me, heaving with malevolence, as I reluctantly delivered the +account in answer to his questions. It required a great deal of labour +to satisfy the old man that Heathcliff was not the aggressor; +especially with my hardly-wrung replies. However, Mr. Earnshaw soon +convinced him that he was alive still; Joseph hastened to administer a +dose of spirits, and by their succour his master presently regained +motion and consciousness. Heathcliff, aware that his opponent was +ignorant of the treatment received while insensible, called him +deliriously intoxicated; and said he should not notice his atrocious +conduct further, but advised him to get to bed. To my joy, he left us, +after giving this judicious counsel, and Hindley stretched himself on +the hearthstone. I departed to my own room, marvelling that I had +escaped so easily. + +“This morning, when I came down, about half an hour before noon, Mr. +Earnshaw was sitting by the fire, deadly sick; his evil genius, almost +as gaunt and ghastly, leant against the chimney. Neither appeared +inclined to dine, and, having waited till all was cold on the table, I +commenced alone. Nothing hindered me from eating heartily, and I +experienced a certain sense of satisfaction and superiority, as, at +intervals, I cast a look towards my silent companions, and felt the +comfort of a quiet conscience within me. After I had done, I ventured +on the unusual liberty of drawing near the fire, going round Earnshaw’s +seat, and kneeling in the corner beside him. + +“Heathcliff did not glance my way, and I gazed up, and contemplated his +features almost as confidently as if they had been turned to stone. His +forehead, that I once thought so manly, and that I now think so +diabolical, was shaded with a heavy cloud; his basilisk eyes were +nearly quenched by sleeplessness, and weeping, perhaps, for the lashes +were wet then: his lips devoid of their ferocious sneer, and sealed in +an expression of unspeakable sadness. Had it been another, I would have +covered my face in the presence of such grief. In _his_ case, I was +gratified; and, ignoble as it seems to insult a fallen enemy, I +couldn’t miss this chance of sticking in a dart: his weakness was the +only time when I could taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong.” + +“Fie, fie, Miss!” I interrupted. “One might suppose you had never +opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that +ought to suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your +torture to his!” + +“In general I’ll allow that it would be, Ellen,” she continued; “but +what misery laid on Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand +in it? I’d rather he suffered _less_, if I might cause his sufferings +and he might _know_ that I was the cause. Oh, I owe him so much. On +only one condition can I hope to forgive him. It is, if I may take an +eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a +wrench: reduce him to my level. As he was the first to injure, make him +the first to implore pardon; and then—why then, Ellen, I might show you +some generosity. But it is utterly impossible I can ever be revenged, +and therefore I cannot forgive him. Hindley wanted some water, and I +handed him a glass, and asked him how he was. + +“‘Not as ill as I wish,’ he replied. ‘But leaving out my arm, every +inch of me is as sore as if I had been fighting with a legion of imps!’ + +“‘Yes, no wonder,’ was my next remark. ‘Catherine used to boast that +she stood between you and bodily harm: she meant that certain persons +would not hurt you for fear of offending her. It’s well people don’t +_really_ rise from their grave, or, last night, she might have +witnessed a repulsive scene! Are not you bruised, and cut over your +chest and shoulders?’ + +“‘I can’t say,’ he answered; ‘but what do you mean? Did he dare to +strike me when I was down?’ + +“‘He trampled on and kicked you, and dashed you on the ground,’ I +whispered. ‘And his mouth watered to tear you with his teeth; because +he’s only half man: not so much, and the rest fiend.’ + +“Mr. Earnshaw looked up, like me, to the countenance of our mutual foe; +who, absorbed in his anguish, seemed insensible to anything around him: +the longer he stood, the plainer his reflections revealed their +blackness through his features. + +“‘Oh, if God would but give me strength to strangle him in my last +agony, I’d go to hell with joy,’ groaned the impatient man, writhing to +rise, and sinking back in despair, convinced of his inadequacy for the +struggle. + +“‘Nay, it’s enough that he has murdered one of you,’ I observed aloud. +‘At the Grange, every one knows your sister would have been living now +had it not been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be +hated than loved by him. When I recollect how happy we were—how happy +Catherine was before he came—I’m fit to curse the day.’ + +“Most likely, Heathcliff noticed more the truth of what was said, than +the spirit of the person who said it. His attention was roused, I saw, +for his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, and he drew his breath +in suffocating sighs. I stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The +clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which +usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not +fear to hazard another sound of derision. + +“‘Get up, and begone out of my sight,’ said the mourner. + +“I guessed he uttered those words, at least, though his voice was +hardly intelligible. + +“‘I beg your pardon,’ I replied. ‘But I loved Catherine too; and her +brother requires attendance, which, for her sake, I shall supply. Now +that she’s dead, I see her in Hindley: Hindley has exactly her eyes, if +you had not tried to gouge them out, and made them black and red; and +her—’ + +“‘Get up, wretched idiot, before I stamp you to death!’ he cried, +making a movement that caused me to make one also. + +“‘But then,’ I continued, holding myself ready to flee, ‘if poor +Catherine had trusted you, and assumed the ridiculous, contemptible, +degrading title of Mrs. Heathcliff, she would soon have presented a +similar picture! _She_ wouldn’t have borne your abominable behaviour +quietly: her detestation and disgust must have found voice.’ + +“The back of the settle and Earnshaw’s person interposed between me and +him; so instead of endeavouring to reach me, he snatched a dinner-knife +from the table and flung it at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and +stopped the sentence I was uttering; but, pulling it out, I sprang to +the door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper than +his missile. The last glimpse I caught of him was a furious rush on his +part, checked by the embrace of his host; and both fell locked together +on the hearth. In my flight through the kitchen I bid Joseph speed to +his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies +from a chair-back in the doorway; and, blessed as a soul escaped from +purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, +quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, +and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact, towards the +beacon-light of the Grange. And far rather would I be condemned to a +perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions than, even for one night, +abide beneath the roof of Wuthering Heights again.” + +Isabella ceased speaking, and took a drink of tea; then she rose, and +bidding me put on her bonnet, and a great shawl I had brought, and +turning a deaf ear to my entreaties for her to remain another hour, she +stepped on to a chair, kissed Edgar’s and Catherine’s portraits, +bestowed a similar salute on me, and descended to the carriage, +accompanied by Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her +mistress. She was driven away, never to revisit this neighbourhood: but +a regular correspondence was established between her and my master when +things were more settled. I believe her new abode was in the south, +near London; there she had a son born a few months subsequent to her +escape. He was christened Linton, and, from the first, she reported him +to be an ailing, peevish creature. + +Mr. Heathcliff, meeting me one day in the village, inquired where she +lived. I refused to tell. He remarked that it was not of any moment, +only she must beware of coming to her brother: she should not be with +him, if he had to keep her himself. Though I would give no information, +he discovered, through some of the other servants, both her place of +residence and the existence of the child. Still, he didn’t molest her: +for which forbearance she might thank his aversion, I suppose. He often +asked about the infant, when he saw me; and on hearing its name, smiled +grimly, and observed: “They wish me to hate it too, do they?” + +“I don’t think they wish you to know anything about it,” I answered. + +“But I’ll have it,” he said, “when I want it. They may reckon on that!” + +Fortunately its mother died before the time arrived; some thirteen +years after the decease of Catherine, when Linton was twelve, or a +little more. + +On the day succeeding Isabella’s unexpected visit I had no opportunity +of speaking to my master: he shunned conversation, and was fit for +discussing nothing. When I could get him to listen, I saw it pleased +him that his sister had left her husband; whom he abhorred with an +intensity which the mildness of his nature would scarcely seem to +allow. So deep and sensitive was his aversion, that he refrained from +going anywhere where he was likely to see or hear of Heathcliff. Grief, +and that together, transformed him into a complete hermit: he threw up +his office of magistrate, ceased even to attend church, avoided the +village on all occasions, and spent a life of entire seclusion within +the limits of his park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on +the moors, and visits to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or +early morning before other wanderers were abroad. But he was too good +to be thoroughly unhappy long. _He_ didn’t pray for Catherine’s soul to +haunt him. Time brought resignation, and a melancholy sweeter than +common joy. He recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and +hopeful aspiring to the better world; where he doubted not she was +gone. + +And he had earthly consolation and affections also. For a few days, I +said, he seemed regardless of the puny successor to the departed: that +coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could +stammer a word or totter a step it wielded a despot’s sceptre in his +heart. It was named Catherine; but he never called it the name in full, +as he had never called the first Catherine short: probably because +Heathcliff had a habit of doing so. The little one was always Cathy: it +formed to him a distinction from the mother, and yet a connection with +her; and his attachment sprang from its relation to her, far more than +from its being his own. + +I used to draw a comparison between him and Hindley Earnshaw, and +perplex myself to explain satisfactorily why their conduct was so +opposite in similar circumstances. They had both been fond husbands, +and were both attached to their children; and I could not see how they +shouldn’t both have taken the same road, for good or evil. But, I +thought in my mind, Hindley, with apparently the stronger head, has +shown himself sadly the worse and the weaker man. When his ship struck, +the captain abandoned his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save +her, rushed into riot and confusion, leaving no hope for their luckless +vessel. Linton, on the contrary, displayed the true courage of a loyal +and faithful soul: he trusted God; and God comforted him. One hoped, +and the other despaired: they chose their own lots, and were +righteously doomed to endure them. But you’ll not want to hear my +moralising, Mr. Lockwood; you’ll judge, as well as I can, all these +things: at least, you’ll think you will, and that’s the same. The end +of Earnshaw was what might have been expected; it followed fast on his +sister’s: there were scarcely six months between them. We, at the +Grange, never got a very succinct account of his state preceding it; +all that I did learn was on occasion of going to aid in the +preparations for the funeral. Mr. Kenneth came to announce the event to +my master. + +“Well, Nelly,” said he, riding into the yard one morning, too early not +to alarm me with an instant presentiment of bad news, “it’s yours and +my turn to go into mourning at present. Who’s given us the slip now, do +you think?” + +“Who?” I asked in a flurry. + +“Why, guess!” he returned, dismounting, and slinging his bridle on a +hook by the door. “And nip up the corner of your apron: I’m certain +you’ll need it.” + +“Not Mr. Heathcliff, surely?” I exclaimed. + +“What! would you have tears for him?” said the doctor. “No, +Heathcliff’s a tough young fellow: he looks blooming to-day. I’ve just +seen him. He’s rapidly regaining flesh since he lost his better half.” + +“Who is it, then, Mr. Kenneth?” I repeated impatiently. + +“Hindley Earnshaw! Your old friend Hindley,” he replied, “and my wicked +gossip: though he’s been too wild for me this long while. There! I said +we should draw water. But cheer up! He died true to his character: +drunk as a lord. Poor lad! I’m sorry, too. One can’t help missing an +old companion: though he had the worst tricks with him that ever man +imagined, and has done me many a rascally turn. He’s barely +twenty-seven, it seems; that’s your own age: who would have thought you +were born in one year?” + +I confess this blow was greater to me than the shock of Mrs. Linton’s +death: ancient associations lingered round my heart; I sat down in the +porch and wept as for a blood relation, desiring Mr. Kenneth to get +another servant to introduce him to the master. I could not hinder +myself from pondering on the question—“Had he had fair play?” Whatever +I did, that idea would bother me: it was so tiresomely pertinacious +that I resolved on requesting leave to go to Wuthering Heights, and +assist in the last duties to the dead. Mr. Linton was extremely +reluctant to consent, but I pleaded eloquently for the friendless +condition in which he lay; and I said my old master and foster-brother +had a claim on my services as strong as his own. Besides, I reminded +him that the child Hareton was his wife’s nephew, and, in the absence +of nearer kin, he ought to act as its guardian; and he ought to and +must inquire how the property was left, and look over the concerns of +his brother-in-law. He was unfit for attending to such matters then, +but he bid me speak to his lawyer; and at length permitted me to go. +His lawyer had been Earnshaw’s also: I called at the village, and asked +him to accompany me. He shook his head, and advised that Heathcliff +should be let alone; affirming, if the truth were known, Hareton would +be found little else than a beggar. + +“His father died in debt,” he said; “the whole property is mortgaged, +and the sole chance for the natural heir is to allow him an opportunity +of creating some interest in the creditor’s heart, that he may be +inclined to deal leniently towards him.” + +When I reached the Heights, I explained that I had come to see +everything carried on decently; and Joseph, who appeared in sufficient +distress, expressed satisfaction at my presence. Mr. Heathcliff said he +did not perceive that I was wanted; but I might stay and order the +arrangements for the funeral, if I chose. + +“Correctly,” he remarked, “that fool’s body should be buried at the +cross-roads, without ceremony of any kind. I happened to leave him ten +minutes yesterday afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two +doors of the house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking +himself to death deliberately! We broke in this morning, for we heard +him snorting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle: +flaying and scalping would not have wakened him. I sent for Kenneth, +and he came; but not till the beast had changed into carrion: he was +both dead and cold, and stark; and so you’ll allow it was useless +making more stir about him!” + +The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered: + +“I’d rayther he’d goan hisseln for t’ doctor! I sud ha’ taen tent o’ t’ +maister better nor him—and he warn’t deead when I left, naught o’ t’ +soart!” + +I insisted on the funeral being respectable. Mr. Heathcliff said I +might have my own way there too: only, he desired me to remember that +the money for the whole affair came out of his pocket. He maintained a +hard, careless deportment, indicative of neither joy nor sorrow: if +anything, it expressed a flinty gratification at a piece of difficult +work successfully executed. I observed once, indeed, something like +exultation in his aspect: it was just when the people were bearing the +coffin from the house. He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and +previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on +to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, “Now, my bonny lad, you +are _mine_! And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another, +with the same wind to twist it!” The unsuspecting thing was pleased at +this speech: he played with Heathcliff’s whiskers, and stroked his +cheek; but I divined its meaning, and observed tartly, “That boy must +go back with me to Thrushcross Grange, sir. There is nothing in the +world less yours than he is!” + +“Does Linton say so?” he demanded. + +“Of course—he has ordered me to take him,” I replied. + +“Well,” said the scoundrel, “we’ll not argue the subject now: but I +have a fancy to try my hand at rearing a young one; so intimate to your +master that I must supply the place of this with my own, if he attempt +to remove it. I don’t engage to let Hareton go undisputed; but I’ll be +pretty sure to make the other come! Remember to tell him.” + +This hint was enough to bind our hands. I repeated its substance on my +return; and Edgar Linton, little interested at the commencement, spoke +no more of interfering. I’m not aware that he could have done it to any +purpose, had he been ever so willing. + +The guest was now the master of Wuthering Heights: he held firm +possession, and proved to the attorney—who, in his turn, proved it to +Mr. Linton—that Earnshaw had mortgaged every yard of land he owned for +cash to supply his mania for gaming; and he, Heathcliff, was the +mortgagee. In that manner Hareton, who should now be the first +gentleman in the neighbourhood, was reduced to a state of complete +dependence on his father’s inveterate enemy; and lives in his own house +as a servant, deprived of the advantage of wages: quite unable to right +himself, because of his friendlessness, and his ignorance that he has +been wronged. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period +were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their passage +rose from our little lady’s trifling illnesses, which she had to +experience in common with all children, rich and poor. For the rest, +after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and +talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over +Mrs. Linton’s dust. She was the most winning thing that ever brought +sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the +Earnshaws’ handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons’ fair skin and small +features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not +rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its +affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her +mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild +as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger +was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. +However, it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A +propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged +children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross. If +a servant chanced to vex her, it was always—“I shall tell papa!” And if +he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a +heart-breaking business: I don’t believe he ever did speak a harsh word +to her. He took her education entirely on himself, and made it an +amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect made her an apt +scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to his +teaching. + +Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the +range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile +or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else. +Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only +building she had approached or entered, except her own home. Wuthering +Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect +recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented. Sometimes, indeed, while +surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe— + +“Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those +hills? I wonder what lies on the other side—is it the sea?” + +“No, Miss Cathy,” I would answer; “it is hills again, just like these.” + +“And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them?” she +once asked. + +The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her +notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost +heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I +explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth +in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree. + +“And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?” she +pursued. + +“Because they are a great deal higher up than we are,” replied I; “you +could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost +is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have +found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!” + +“Oh, you have been on them!” she cried gleefully. “Then I can go, too, +when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen?” + +“Papa would tell you, Miss,” I answered, hastily, “that they are not +worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him, +are much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.” + +“But I know the park, and I don’t know those,” she murmured to herself. +“And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest +point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time.” + +One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with +a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he +promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss +Catherine measured her age by months, and, “Now, am I old enough to go +to Penistone Crags?” was the constant question in her mouth. The road +thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to +pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, “Not yet, love: not +yet.” + +I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her +husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both +lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts. +What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of +the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but +incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to +inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months’ +indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to come +to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid +him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into his hands. Her hope was that +Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she +would fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his +maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in complying +with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, +he flew to answer this; commending Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, +in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of +the park, even under my escort: he did not calculate on her going +unaccompanied. + +He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge sat in a corner +of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet +state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval +of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, +to run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might +entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels round the +grounds—now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient +audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned. + +The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this +solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast +till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful +tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were +generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, +if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. +Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o’clock, and said she was +that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his +caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and +beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a +couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung +them in a basket on one side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as +a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July +sun, and trotted off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to +avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made her +appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond +of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two +pointers were visible in any direction: I despatched emissaries down +this path, and that path, and at last went wandering in search of her +myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on +the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young +lady. + +“I saw her at morn,” he replied: “she would have me to cut her a hazel +switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it +is lowest, and galloped out of sight.” + +You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck me directly +she must have started for Penistone Crags. “What will become of her?” I +ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and +making straight to the high-road. I walked as if for a wager, mile +after mile, till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no +Catherine could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and a +half beyond Mr. Heathcliff’s place, and that is four from the Grange, +so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them. “And what +if she should have slipped in clambering among them,” I reflected, “and +been killed, or broken some of her bones?” My suspense was truly +painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in +hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying +under a window, with swelled head and bleeding ear. I opened the wicket +and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I +knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been +servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw. + +“Ah,” said she, “you are come a-seeking your little mistress! Don’t be +frightened. She’s here safe: but I’m glad it isn’t the master.” + +“He is not at home then, is he?” I panted, quite breathless with quick +walking and alarm. + +“No, no,” she replied: “both he and Joseph are off, and I think they +won’t return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit.” + +I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking +herself in a little chair that had been her mother’s when a child. Her +hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, +laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton—now +a great, strong lad of eighteen—who stared at her with considerable +curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent +succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased +pouring forth. + +“Very well, Miss!” I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry +countenance. “This is your last ride, till papa comes back. I’ll not +trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!” + +“Aha, Ellen!” she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side. “I +shall have a pretty story to tell to-night; and so you’ve found me out. +Have you ever been here in your life before?” + +“Put that hat on, and home at once,” said I. “I’m dreadfully grieved at +you, Miss Cathy: you’ve done extremely wrong! It’s no use pouting and +crying: that won’t repay the trouble I’ve had, scouring the country +after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you +stealing off so! It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will +put faith in you any more.” + +“What have I done?” sobbed she, instantly checked. “Papa charged me +nothing: he’ll not scold me, Ellen—he’s never cross, like you!” + +“Come, come!” I repeated. “I’ll tie the riband. Now, let us have no +petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby!” + +This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and +retreating to the chimney out of my reach. + +“Nay,” said the servant, “don’t be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. +We made her stop: she’d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be +uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it’s a +wild road over the hills.” + +Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, +too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my +intrusion. + +“How long am I to wait?” I continued, disregarding the woman’s +interference. “It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss +Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so +please yourself.” + +“The pony is in the yard,” she replied, “and Phoenix is shut in there. +He’s bitten—and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; +but you are in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.” + +I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving +that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering +round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under +and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. +Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more +impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation,—“Well, Miss +Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is you’d be glad enough to +get out.” + +“It’s _your_ father’s, isn’t it?” said she, turning to Hareton. + +“Nay,” he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully. + +He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just +his own. + +“Whose then—your master’s?” she asked. + +He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and +turned away. + +“Who is his master?” continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. “He +talked about ‘our house,’ and ‘our folk.’ I thought he had been the +owner’s son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn’t he, +if he’s a servant?” + +Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech. I +silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her +for departure. + +“Now, get my horse,” she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she +would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. “And you may come with me. +I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear +about the _fairishes_, as you call them: but make haste! What’s the +matter? Get my horse, I say.” + +“I’ll see thee damned before I be _thy_ servant!” growled the lad. + +“You’ll see me _what?_” asked Catherine in surprise. + +“Damned—thou saucy witch!” he replied. + +“There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,” I +interposed. “Nice words to be used to a young lady! Pray don’t begin to +dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.” + +“But, Ellen,” cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, “how dare he +speak so to me? Mustn’t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked +creature, I shall tell papa what you said.—Now, then!” + +Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into +her eyes with indignation. “You bring the pony,” she exclaimed, turning +to the woman, “and let my dog free this moment!” + +“Softly, Miss,” answered the addressed. “You’ll lose nothing by being +civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master’s son, he’s your +cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.” + +“_He_ my cousin!” cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh. + +“Yes, indeed,” responded her reprover. + +“Oh, Ellen! don’t let them say such things,” she pursued in great +trouble. “Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a +gentleman’s son. That my—” she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the +bare notion of relationship with such a clown. + +“Hush, hush!” I whispered; “people can have many cousins and of all +sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they +needn’t keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.” + +“He’s not—he’s not my cousin, Ellen!” she went on, gathering fresh +grief from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge +from the idea. + +I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; +having no doubt of Linton’s approaching arrival, communicated by the +former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that +Catherine’s first thought on her father’s return would be to seek an +explanation of the latter’s assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred. +Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, +seemed moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the +door, he took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp +from the kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he +meant nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a +glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew. + +I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor +fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features, +and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily +occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after +rabbits and game. Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a +mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good +things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far +over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a +wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and +favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated +him physically ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no +temptation to that course of oppression: he had none of the timid +susceptibility that would have given zest to ill-treatment, in +Heathcliff’s judgment. He appeared to have bent his malevolence on +making him a brute: he was never taught to read or write; never rebuked +for any bad habit which did not annoy his keeper; never led a single +step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept against vice. And +from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to his deterioration, by a +narrow-minded partiality which prompted him to flatter and pet him, as +a boy, because he was the head of the old family. And as he had been in +the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, when children, +of putting the master past his patience, and compelling him to seek +solace in drink by what he termed their “offald ways,” so at present he +laid the whole burden of Hareton’s faults on the shoulders of the +usurper of his property. If the lad swore, he wouldn’t correct him: nor +however culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, +to watch him go the worst lengths: he allowed that the lad was ruined: +that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but then he reflected that +Heathcliff must answer for it. Hareton’s blood would be required at his +hands; and there lay immense consolation in that thought. Joseph had +instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he would, had +he dared, have fostered hate between him and the present owner of the +Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to superstition; and he +confined his feelings regarding him to muttered innuendoes and private +comminations. I don’t pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode +of living customary in those days at Wuthering Heights: I only speak +from hearsay; for I saw little. The villagers affirmed Mr. Heathcliff +was _near_, and a cruel hard landlord to his tenants; but the house, +inside, had regained its ancient aspect of comfort under female +management, and the scenes of riot common in Hindley’s time were not +now enacted within its walls. The master was too gloomy to seek +companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet. + +This, however, is not making progress with my story. Miss Cathy +rejected the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, +Charlie and Phoenix. They came limping and hanging their heads; and we +set out for home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us. I could not +wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I +supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she +arrived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton +happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who +attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could +separate them: that formed an introduction. Catherine told Hareton who +she was, and where she was going; and asked him to show her the way: +finally, beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of the +Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being in disgrace, I +was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. +I could gather, however, that her guide had been a favourite till she +hurt his feelings by addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff’s +housekeeper hurt hers by calling him her cousin. Then the language he +had held to her rankled in her heart; she who was always “love,” and +“darling,” and “queen,” and “angel,” with everybody at the Grange, to +be insulted so shockingly by a stranger! She did not comprehend it; and +hard work I had to obtain a promise that she would not lay the +grievance before her father. I explained how he objected to the whole +household at the Heights, and how sorry he would be to find she had +been there; but I insisted most on the fact, that if she revealed my +negligence of his orders, he would perhaps be so angry that I should +have to leave; and Cathy couldn’t bear that prospect: she pledged her +word, and kept it for my sake. After all, she was a sweet little girl. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my master’s return. +Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his +daughter, and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his +youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming +her father back; and indulged most sanguine anticipations of the +innumerable excellencies of her “real” cousin. The evening of their +expected arrival came. Since early morning she had been busy ordering +her own small affairs; and now attired in her new black frock—poor +thing! her aunt’s death impressed her with no definite sorrow—she +obliged me, by constant worrying, to walk with her down through the +grounds to meet them. + +“Linton is just six months younger than I am,” she chattered, as we +strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under +shadow of the trees. “How delightful it will be to have him for a +playfellow! Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it +was lighter than mine—more flaxen, and quite as fine. I have it +carefully preserved in a little glass box; and I’ve often thought what +a pleasure it would be to see its owner. Oh! I am happy—and papa, dear, +dear papa! Come, Ellen, let us run! come, run.” + +She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober +footsteps reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy +bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was +impossible: she couldn’t be still a minute. + +“How long they are!” she exclaimed. “Ah, I see some dust on the +road—they are coming! No! When will they be here? May we not go a +little way—half a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile? Do say yes, to +that clump of birches at the turn!” + +I refused staunchly. At length her suspense was ended: the travelling +carriage rolled in sight. Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her +arms as soon as she caught her father’s face looking from the window. +He descended, nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval +elapsed ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves. While +they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after Linton. He was +asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, as if it had +been winter. A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been +taken for my master’s younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: +but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton +never had. The latter saw me looking; and having shaken hands, advised +me to close the door, and leave him undisturbed; for the journey had +fatigued him. Cathy would fain have taken one glance, but her father +told her to come, and they walked together up the park, while I +hastened before to prepare the servants. + +“Now, darling,” said Mr. Linton, addressing his daughter, as they +halted at the bottom of the front steps: “your cousin is not so strong +or so merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember, a very +short time since; therefore, don’t expect him to play and run about +with you directly. And don’t harass him much by talking: let him be +quiet this evening, at least, will you?” + +“Yes, yes, papa,” answered Catherine: “but I do want to see him; and he +hasn’t once looked out.” + +The carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted to the +ground by his uncle. + +“This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,” he said, putting their little +hands together. “She’s fond of you already; and mind you don’t grieve +her by crying to-night. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an +end, and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself as you +please.” + +“Let me go to bed, then,” answered the boy, shrinking from Catherine’s +salute; and he put his fingers to his eyes to remove incipient tears. + +“Come, come, there’s a good child,” I whispered, leading him in. +“You’ll make her weep too—see how sorry she is for you!” + +I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin put on as +sad a countenance as himself, and returned to her father. All three +entered, and mounted to the library, where tea was laid ready. I +proceeded to remove Linton’s cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair +by the table; but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry afresh. +My master inquired what was the matter. + +“I can’t sit on a chair,” sobbed the boy. + +“Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,” answered +his uncle patiently. + +He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt convinced, by his +fretful ailing charge. Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down. +Cathy carried a footstool and her cup to his side. At first she sat +silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her +little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced stroking +his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer, +like a baby. This pleased him, for he was not much better: he dried his +eyes, and lightened into a faint smile. + +“Oh, he’ll do very well,” said the master to me, after watching them a +minute. “Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen. The company of a child +of his own age will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for +strength he’ll gain it.” + +“Ay, if we can keep him!” I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came +over me that there was slight hope of that. And then, I thought, how +ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights? Between his father +and Hareton, what playmates and instructors they’ll be. Our doubts were +presently decided—even earlier than I expected. I had just taken the +children upstairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleep—he +would not suffer me to leave him till that was the case—I had come +down, and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom +candle for Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and +informed me that Mr. Heathcliff’s servant Joseph was at the door, and +wished to speak with the master. + +“I shall ask him what he wants first,” I said, in considerable +trepidation. “A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the +instant they have returned from a long journey. I don’t think the +master can see him.” + +Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and +now presented himself in the hall. He was donned in his Sunday +garments, with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding +his hat in one hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean +his shoes on the mat. + +“Good-evening, Joseph,” I said, coldly. “What business brings you here +to-night?” + +“It’s Maister Linton I mun spake to,” he answered, waving me +disdainfully aside. + +“Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to +say, I’m sure he won’t hear it now,” I continued. “You had better sit +down in there, and entrust your message to me.” + +“Which is his rahm?” pursued the fellow, surveying the range of closed +doors. + +I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very reluctantly I +went up to the library, and announced the unseasonable visitor, +advising that he should be dismissed till next day. Mr. Linton had no +time to empower me to do so, for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, +pushing into the apartment, planted himself at the far side of the +table, with his two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began +in an elevated tone, as if anticipating opposition— + +“Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn’t goa back ’bout him.” + +Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow +overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on his own +account; but, recalling Isabella’s hopes and fears, and anxious wishes +for her son, and her commendations of him to his care, he grieved +bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart +how it might be avoided. No plan offered itself: the very exhibition of +any desire to keep him would have rendered the claimant more +peremptory: there was nothing left but to resign him. However, he was +not going to rouse him from his sleep. + +“Tell Mr. Heathcliff,” he answered calmly, “that his son shall come to +Wuthering Heights to-morrow. He is in bed, and too tired to go the +distance now. You may also tell him that the mother of Linton desired +him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is +very precarious.” + +“Noa!” said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on the floor, and +assuming an authoritative air. “Noa! that means naught. Hathecliff maks +noa ’count o’ t’ mother, nor ye norther; but he’ll hev his lad; und I +mun tak’ him—soa now ye knaw!” + +“You shall not to-night!” answered Linton decisively. “Walk down stairs +at once, and repeat to your master what I have said. Ellen, show him +down. Go—” + +And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid the room +of him and closed the door. + +“Varrah weell!” shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew off. “To-morn, he’s +come hisseln, and thrust _him_ out, if ye darr!” + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton +commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherine’s pony; and, +said he—“As we shall now have no influence over his destiny, good or +bad, you must say nothing of where he is gone to my daughter: she +cannot associate with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain +in ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and anxious +to visit the Heights. Merely tell her his father sent for him suddenly, +and he has been obliged to leave us.” + +Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five o’clock, +and astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further +travelling; but I softened off the matter by stating that he was going +to spend some time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see +him so much, he did not like to defer the pleasure till he should +recover from his late journey. + +“My father!” he cried, in strange perplexity. “Mamma never told me I +had a father. Where does he live? I’d rather stay with uncle.” + +“He lives a little distance from the Grange,” I replied; “just beyond +those hills: not so far, but you may walk over here when you get +hearty. And you should be glad to go home, and to see him. You must try +to love him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you.” + +“But why have I not heard of him before?” asked Linton. “Why didn’t +mamma and he live together, as other people do?” + +“He had business to keep him in the north,” I answered, “and your +mother’s health required her to reside in the south.” + +“And why didn’t mamma speak to me about him?” persevered the child. +“She often talked of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago. How am I +to love papa? I don’t know him.” + +“Oh, all children love their parents,” I said. “Your mother, perhaps, +thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to +you. Let us make haste. An early ride on such a beautiful morning is +much preferable to an hour’s more sleep.” + +“Is _she_ to go with us,” he demanded, “the little girl I saw +yesterday?” + +“Not now,” replied I. + +“Is uncle?” he continued. + +“No, I shall be your companion there,” I said. + +Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown study. + +“I won’t go without uncle,” he cried at length: “I can’t tell where you +mean to take me.” + +I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing reluctance to +meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any progress towards +dressing, and I had to call for my master’s assistance in coaxing him +out of bed. The poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive +assurances that his absence should be short: that Mr. Edgar and Cathy +would visit him, and other promises, equally ill-founded, which I +invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way. The pure +heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of +Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. He began to put +questions concerning his new home, and its inhabitants, with greater +interest and liveliness. + +“Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross Grange?” he +inquired, turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light +mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue. + +“It is not so buried in trees,” I replied, “and it is not quite so +large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air +is healthier for you—fresher and drier. You will, perhaps, think the +building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house: the +next best in the neighbourhood. And you will have such nice rambles on +the moors. Hareton Earnshaw—that is, Miss Cathy’s other cousin, and so +yours in a manner—will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can +bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; and, +now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk: he does, frequently, +walk out on the hills.” + +“And what is my father like?” he asked. “Is he as young and handsome as +uncle?” + +“He’s as young,” said I; “but he has black hair and eyes, and looks +sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether. He’ll not seem to you +so gentle and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way: still, +mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally he’ll be fonder +of you than any uncle, for you are his own.” + +“Black hair and eyes!” mused Linton. “I can’t fancy him. Then I am not +like him, am I?” + +“Not much,” I answered: not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret +the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large +languid eyes—his mother’s eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness +kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit. + +“How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me!” he +murmured. “Has he ever seen me? If he has, I must have been a baby. I +remember not a single thing about him!” + +“Why, Master Linton,” said I, “three hundred miles is a great distance; +and ten years seem very different in length to a grown-up person +compared with what they do to you. It is probable Mr. Heathcliff +proposed going from summer to summer, but never found a convenient +opportunity; and now it is too late. Don’t trouble him with questions +on the subject: it will disturb him, for no good.” + +The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder +of the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse garden-gate. I watched +to catch his impressions in his countenance. He surveyed the carved +front and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and +crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: his +private feelings entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode. +But he had sense to postpone complaining: there might be compensation +within. Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door. It was +half-past six; the family had just finished breakfast: the servant was +clearing and wiping down the table. Joseph stood by his master’s chair +telling some tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing +for the hayfield. + +“Hallo, Nelly!” said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me. “I feared I should +have to come down and fetch my property myself. You’ve brought it, have +you? Let us see what we can make of it.” + +He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed in gaping +curiosity. Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over the faces of the +three. + +“Sure-ly,” said Joseph after a grave inspection, “he’s swopped wi’ ye, +Maister, an’ yon’s his lass!” + +Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion, uttered a +scornful laugh. + +“God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!” he exclaimed. +“Hav’n’t they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? Oh, damn my +soul! but that’s worse than I expected—and the devil knows I was not +sanguine!” + +I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter. He did +not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his father’s speech, or +whether it were intended for him: indeed, he was not yet certain that +the grim, sneering stranger was his father. But he clung to me with +growing trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff’s taking a seat and bidding +him “come hither” he hid his face on my shoulder and wept. + +“Tut, tut!” said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him +roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin. +“None of that nonsense! We’re not going to hurt thee, Linton—isn’t that +thy name? Thou art thy mother’s child, entirely! Where is _my_ share in +thee, puling chicken?” + +He took off the boy’s cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, felt +his slender arms and his small fingers; during which examination Linton +ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector. + +“Do you know me?” asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the +limbs were all equally frail and feeble. + +“No,” said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear. + +“You’ve heard of me, I daresay?” + +“No,” he replied again. + +“No! What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for +me! You are my son, then, I’ll tell you; and your mother was a wicked +slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. +Now, don’t wince, and colour up! Though it _is_ something to see you +have not white blood. Be a good lad; and I’ll do for you. Nelly, if you +be tired you may sit down; if not, get home again. I guess you’ll +report what you hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this +thing won’t be settled while you linger about it.” + +“Well,” replied I, “I hope you’ll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, +or you’ll not keep him long; and he’s all you have akin in the wide +world, that you will ever know—remember.” + +“I’ll be _very_ kind to him, you needn’t fear,” he said, laughing. +“Only nobody else must be kind to him: I’m jealous of monopolising his +affection. And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some +breakfast. Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work. Yes, Nell,” +he added, when they had departed, “my son is prospective owner of your +place, and I should not wish him to die till I was certain of being his +successor. Besides, he’s _mine_, and I want the triumph of seeing _my_ +descendant fairly lord of their estates; my child hiring their children +to till their fathers’ lands for wages. That is the sole consideration +which can make me endure the whelp: I despise him for himself, and hate +him for the memories he revives! But that consideration is sufficient: +he’s as safe with me, and shall be tended as carefully as your master +tends his own. I have a room upstairs, furnished for him in handsome +style; I’ve engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week, from +twenty miles’ distance, to teach him what he pleases to learn. I’ve +ordered Hareton to obey him: and in fact I’ve arranged everything with +a view to preserve the superior and the gentleman in him, above his +associates. I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the +trouble: if I wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a +worthy object of pride; and I’m bitterly disappointed with the +whey-faced, whining wretch!” + +While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of +milk-porridge, and placed it before Linton: who stirred round the +homely mess with a look of aversion, and affirmed he could not eat it. +I saw the old man-servant shared largely in his master’s scorn of the +child; though he was compelled to retain the sentiment in his heart, +because Heathcliff plainly meant his underlings to hold him in honour. + +“Cannot ate it?” repeated he, peering in Linton’s face, and subduing +his voice to a whisper, for fear of being overheard. “But Maister +Hareton nivir ate naught else, when he wer a little ’un; and what wer +gooid eneugh for him’s gooid eneugh for ye, I’s rayther think!” + +“I _sha’n’t_ eat it!” answered Linton, snappishly. “Take it away.” + +Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to us. + +“Is there aught ails th’ victuals?” he asked, thrusting the tray under +Heathcliff’s nose. + +“What should ail them?” he said. + +“Wah!” answered Joseph, “yon dainty chap says he cannut ate ’em. But I +guess it’s raight! His mother wer just soa—we wer a’most too mucky to +sow t’ corn for makking her breead.” + +“Don’t mention his mother to me,” said the master, angrily. “Get him +something that he can eat, that’s all. What is his usual food, Nelly?” + +I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received +instructions to prepare some. Come, I reflected, his father’s +selfishness may contribute to his comfort. He perceives his delicate +constitution, and the necessity of treating him tolerably. I’ll console +Mr. Edgar by acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff’s humour has +taken. Having no excuse for lingering longer, I slipped out, while +Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly +sheep-dog. But he was too much on the alert to be cheated: as I closed +the door, I heard a cry, and a frantic repetition of the words— + +“Don’t leave me! I’ll not stay here! I’ll not stay here!” + +Then the latch was raised and fell: they did not suffer him to come +forth. I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief +guardianship ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +We had sad work with little Cathy that day: she rose in high glee, +eager to join her cousin, and such passionate tears and lamentations +followed the news of his departure that Edgar himself was obliged to +soothe her, by affirming he should come back soon: he added, however, +“if I can get him”; and there were no hopes of that. This promise +poorly pacified her; but time was more potent; and though still at +intervals she inquired of her father when Linton would return, before +she did see him again his features had waxed so dim in her memory that +she did not recognise him. + +When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering Heights, in +paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how the young master +got on; for he lived almost as secluded as Catherine herself, and was +never to be seen. I could gather from her that he continued in weak +health, and was a tiresome inmate. She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to +dislike him ever longer and worse, though he took some trouble to +conceal it: he had an antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could +not do at all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes +together. There seldom passed much talk between them: Linton learnt his +lessons and spent his evenings in a small apartment they called the +parlour: or else lay in bed all day: for he was constantly getting +coughs, and colds, and aches, and pains of some sort. + +“And I never knew such a faint-hearted creature,” added the woman; “nor +one so careful of hisseln. He _will_ go on, if I leave the window open +a bit late in the evening. Oh! it’s killing, a breath of night air! And +he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and Joseph’s bacca-pipe is +poison; and he must always have sweets and dainties, and always milk, +milk for ever—heeding naught how the rest of us are pinched in winter; +and there he’ll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the +fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip at; and +if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse him—Hareton is not bad-natured, +though he’s rough—they’re sure to part, one swearing and the other +crying. I believe the master would relish Earnshaw’s thrashing him to a +mummy, if he were not his son; and I’m certain he would be fit to turn +him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives hisseln. But +then he won’t go into danger of temptation: he never enters the +parlour, and should Linton show those ways in the house where he is, he +sends him upstairs directly.” + +I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered +young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so +originally; and my interest in him, consequently, decayed: though still +I was moved with a sense of grief at his lot, and a wish that he had +been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain information: he +thought a great deal about him, I fancy, and would have run some risk +to see him; and he told me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever +came into the village? She said he had only been twice, on horseback, +accompanying his father; and both times he pretended to be quite +knocked up for three or four days afterwards. That housekeeper left, if +I recollect rightly, two years after he came; and another, whom I did +not know, was her successor; she lives there still. + +Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy +reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested +any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late +mistress’s death. Her father invariably spent that day alone in the +library; and walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he +would frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight. Therefore Catherine +was thrown on her own resources for amusement. This twentieth of March +was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired, my young +lady came down dressed for going out, and said she asked to have a +ramble on the edge of the moor with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, +if we went only a short distance and were back within the hour. + +“So make haste, Ellen!” she cried. “I know where I wish to go; where a +colony of moor-game are settled: I want to see whether they have made +their nests yet.” + +“That must be a good distance up,” I answered; “they don’t breed on the +edge of the moor.” + +“No, it’s not,” she said. “I’ve gone very near with papa.” + +I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of the +matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off +again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of +entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and +enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet and my +delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright +cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, and her eyes +radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creature, and an +angel, in those days. It’s a pity she could not be content. + +“Well,” said I, “where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We should be at +them: the Grange park-fence is a great way off now.” + +“Oh, a little further—only a little further, Ellen,” was her answer, +continually. “Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time +you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds.” + +But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass, that, at +length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and retrace our +steps. I shouted to her, as she had outstripped me a long way; she +either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I +was compelled to follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I +came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights +than her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her, one of +whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself. + +Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least, hunting +out the nests of the grouse. The Heights were Heathcliff’s land, and he +was reproving the poacher. + +“I’ve neither taken any nor found any,” she said, as I toiled to them, +expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement. “I didn’t mean +to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I +wished to see the eggs.” + +Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing his +acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence towards +it, and demanded who “papa” was? + +“Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,” she replied. “I thought you did not +know me, or you wouldn’t have spoken in that way.” + +“You suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected, then?” he said, +sarcastically. + +“And what are you?” inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on the +speaker. “That man I’ve seen before. Is he your son?” + +She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing +but increased bulk and strength by the addition of two years to his +age: he seemed as awkward and rough as ever. + +“Miss Cathy,” I interrupted, “it will be three hours instead of one +that we are out, presently. We really must go back.” + +“No, that man is not my son,” answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside. +“But I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your +nurse is in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a +little rest. Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my +house? You’ll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a +kind welcome.” + +I whispered Catherine that she mustn’t, on any account, accede to the +proposal: it was entirely out of the question. + +“Why?” she asked, aloud. “I’m tired of running, and the ground is dewy: +I can’t sit here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen his +son. He’s mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the +farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone Crags. Don’t you?” + +“I do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongue—it will be a treat for her to look +in on us. Hareton, get forwards with the lass. You shall walk with me, +Nelly.” + +“No, she’s not going to any such place,” I cried, struggling to release +my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the door-stones +already, scampering round the brow at full speed. Her appointed +companion did not pretend to escort her: he shied off by the road-side, +and vanished. + +“Mr. Heathcliff, it’s very wrong,” I continued: “you know you mean no +good. And there she’ll see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever +we return; and I shall have the blame.” + +“I want her to see Linton,” he answered; “he’s looking better these few +days; it’s not often he’s fit to be seen. And we’ll soon persuade her +to keep the visit secret: where is the harm of it?” + +“The harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he found I +suffered her to enter your house; and I am convinced you have a bad +design in encouraging her to do so,” I replied. + +“My design is as honest as possible. I’ll inform you of its whole +scope,” he said. “That the two cousins may fall in love, and get +married. I’m acting generously to your master: his young chit has no +expectations, and should she second my wishes she’ll be provided for at +once as joint successor with Linton.” + +“If Linton died,” I answered, “and his life is quite uncertain, +Catherine would be the heir.” + +“No, she would not,” he said. “There is no clause in the will to secure +it so: his property would go to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire +their union, and am resolved to bring it about.” + +“And I’m resolved she shall never approach your house with me again,” I +returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming. + +Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to +open the door. My young lady gave him several looks, as if she could +not exactly make up her mind what to think of him; but now he smiled +when he met her eye, and softened his voice in addressing her; and I +was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him +from desiring her injury. Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out +walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph +to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his age, still wanting +some months of sixteen. His features were pretty yet, and his eye and +complexion brighter than I remembered them, though with merely +temporary lustre borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun. + +“Now, who is that?” asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning to Cathy. “Can you +tell?” + +“Your son?” she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then +the other. + +“Yes, yes,” answered he: “but is this the only time you have beheld +him? Think! Ah! you have a short memory. Linton, don’t you recall your +cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?” + +“What, Linton!” cried Cathy, kindling into joyful surprise at the name. +“Is that little Linton? He’s taller than I am! Are you Linton?” + +The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she kissed him +fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought in +the appearance of each. Catherine had reached her full height; her +figure was both plump and slender, elastic as steel, and her whole +aspect sparkling with health and spirits. Linton’s looks and movements +were very languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace +in his manner that mitigated these defects, and rendered him not +unpleasing. After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his +cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his +attention between the objects inside and those that lay without: +pretending, that is, to observe the latter, and really noting the +former alone. + +“And you are my uncle, then!” she cried, reaching up to salute him. “I +thought I liked you, though you were cross at first. Why don’t you +visit at the Grange with Linton? To live all these years such close +neighbours, and never see us, is odd: what have you done so for?” + +“I visited it once or twice too often before you were born,” he +answered. “There—damn it! If you have any kisses to spare, give them to +Linton: they are thrown away on me.” + +“Naughty Ellen!” exclaimed Catherine, flying to attack me next with her +lavish caresses. “Wicked Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering. But +I’ll take this walk every morning in future: may I, uncle? and +sometimes bring papa. Won’t you be glad to see us?” + +“Of course,” replied the uncle, with a hardly suppressed grimace, +resulting from his deep aversion to both the proposed visitors. “But +stay,” he continued, turning towards the young lady. “Now I think of +it, I’d better tell you. Mr. Linton has a prejudice against me: we +quarrelled at one time of our lives, with unchristian ferocity; and, if +you mention coming here to him, he’ll put a veto on your visits +altogether. Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless +of seeing your cousin hereafter: you may come, if you will, but you +must not mention it.” + +“Why did you quarrel?” asked Catherine, considerably crestfallen. + +“He thought me too poor to wed his sister,” answered Heathcliff, “and +was grieved that I got her: his pride was hurt, and he’ll never forgive +it.” + +“That’s wrong!” said the young lady: “some time I’ll tell him so. But +Linton and I have no share in your quarrel. I’ll not come here, then; +he shall come to the Grange.” + +“It will be too far for me,” murmured her cousin: “to walk four miles +would kill me. No, come here, Miss Catherine, now and then: not every +morning, but once or twice a week.” + +The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter contempt. + +“I am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour,” he muttered to me. “Miss +Catherine, as the ninny calls her, will discover his value, and send +him to the devil. Now, if it had been Hareton!—Do you know that, twenty +times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? I’d have loved +the lad had he been some one else. But I think he’s safe from _her_ +love. I’ll pit him against that paltry creature, unless it bestir +itself briskly. We calculate it will scarcely last till it is eighteen. +Oh, confound the vapid thing! He’s absorbed in drying his feet, and +never looks at her.—Linton!” + +“Yes, father,” answered the boy. + +“Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about, not even a rabbit +or a weasel’s nest? Take her into the garden, before you change your +shoes; and into the stable to see your horse.” + +“Wouldn’t you rather sit here?” asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a +tone which expressed reluctance to move again. + +“I don’t know,” she replied, casting a longing look to the door, and +evidently eager to be active. + +He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire. Heathcliff rose, and +went into the kitchen, and from thence to the yard, calling out for +Hareton. Hareton responded, and presently the two re-entered. The young +man had been washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks +and his wetted hair. + +“Oh, I’ll ask _you_, uncle,” cried Miss Cathy, recollecting the +housekeeper’s assertion. “That is not my cousin, is he?” + +“Yes,” he replied, “your mother’s nephew. Don’t you like him?” + +Catherine looked queer. + +“Is he not a handsome lad?” he continued. + +The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in +Heathcliff’s ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened: I perceived he was very +sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his +inferiority. But his master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming— + +“You’ll be the favourite among us, Hareton! She says you are a—What was +it? Well, something very flattering. Here! you go with her round the +farm. And behave like a gentleman, mind! Don’t use any bad words; and +don’t stare when the young lady is not looking at you, and be ready to +hide your face when she is; and, when you speak, say your words slowly, +and keep your hands out of your pockets. Be off, and entertain her as +nicely as you can.” + +He watched the couple walking past the window. Earnshaw had his +countenance completely averted from his companion. He seemed studying +the familiar landscape with a stranger’s and an artist’s interest. +Catherine took a sly look at him, expressing small admiration. She then +turned her attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, +and tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of +conversation. + +“I’ve tied his tongue,” observed Heathcliff. “He’ll not venture a +single syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his age—nay, +some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid: so ‘gaumless,’ as Joseph +calls it?” + +“Worse,” I replied, “because more sullen with it.” + +“I’ve a pleasure in him,” he continued, reflecting aloud. “He has +satisfied my expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it +half so much. But he’s no fool; and I can sympathise with all his +feelings, having felt them myself. I know what he suffers now, for +instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what he shall suffer, +though. And he’ll never be able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness +and ignorance. I’ve got him faster than his scoundrel of a father +secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I’ve +taught him to scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don’t +you think Hindley would be proud of his son, if he could see him? +almost as proud as I am of mine. But there’s this difference; one is +gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to +ape a service of silver. _Mine_ has nothing valuable about it; yet I +shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. +_His_ had first-rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than +unavailing. _I_ have nothing to regret; _he_ would have more than any, +but I, are aware of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of +me! You’ll own that I’ve outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain +could rise from his grave to abuse me for his offspring’s wrongs, I +should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, +indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the +world!” + +Heathcliff chuckled a fiendish laugh at the idea. I made no reply, +because I saw that he expected none. Meantime, our young companion, who +sat too removed from us to hear what was said, began to evince symptoms +of uneasiness, probably repenting that he had denied himself the treat +of Catherine’s society for fear of a little fatigue. His father +remarked the restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand +irresolutely extended towards his cap. + +“Get up, you idle boy!” he exclaimed, with assumed heartiness. “Away +after them! they are just at the corner, by the stand of hives.” + +Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The lattice was +open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable +attendant what was that inscription over the door? Hareton stared up, +and scratched his head like a true clown. + +“It’s some damnable writing,” he answered. “I cannot read it.” + +“Can’t read it?” cried Catherine; “I can read it: it’s English. But I +want to know why it is there.” + +Linton giggled: the first appearance of mirth he had exhibited. + +“He does not know his letters,” he said to his cousin. “Could you +believe in the existence of such a colossal dunce?” + +“Is he all as he should be?” asked Miss Cathy, seriously; “or is he +simple: not right? I’ve questioned him twice now, and each time he +looked so stupid I think he does not understand me. I can hardly +understand _him_, I’m sure!” + +Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly; who +certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that moment. + +“There’s nothing the matter but laziness; is there, Earnshaw?” he said. +“My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the +consequence of scorning ‘book-larning,’ as you would say. Have you +noticed, Catherine, his frightful Yorkshire pronunciation?” + +“Why, where the devil is the use on’t?” growled Hareton, more ready in +answering his daily companion. He was about to enlarge further, but the +two youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment: my giddy miss being +delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk to matter of +amusement. + +“Where is the use of the devil in that sentence?” tittered Linton. +“Papa told you not to say any bad words, and you can’t open your mouth +without one. Do try to behave like a gentleman, now do!” + +“If thou weren’t more a lass than a lad, I’d fell thee this minute, I +would; pitiful lath of a crater!” retorted the angry boor, retreating, +while his face burnt with mingled rage and mortification; for he was +conscious of being insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it. + +Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as I, smiled +when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a look of singular +aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering in the doorway: +the boy finding animation enough while discussing Hareton’s faults and +deficiencies, and relating anecdotes of his goings on; and the girl +relishing his pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the +ill-nature they evinced. I began to dislike, more than to compassionate +Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure for holding him cheap. + +We stayed till afternoon: I could not tear Miss Cathy away sooner; but +happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and remained ignorant +of our prolonged absence. As we walked home, I would fain have +enlightened my charge on the characters of the people we had quitted: +but she got it into her head that I was prejudiced against them. + +“Aha!” she cried, “you take papa’s side, Ellen: you are partial I know; +or else you wouldn’t have cheated me so many years into the notion that +Linton lived a long way from here. I’m really extremely angry; only I’m +so pleased I can’t show it! But you must hold your tongue about my +uncle; he’s _my_ uncle, remember; and I’ll scold papa for quarrelling +with him.” + +And so she ran on, till I relinquished the endeavour to convince her of +her mistake. She did not mention the visit that night, because she did +not see Mr. Linton. Next day it all came out, sadly to my chagrin; and +still I was not altogether sorry: I thought the burden of directing and +warning would be more efficiently borne by him than me. But he was too +timid in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun +connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked good +reasons for every restraint that harassed her petted will. + +“Papa!” she exclaimed, after the morning’s salutations, “guess whom I +saw yesterday, in my walk on the moors. Ah, papa, you started! you’ve +not done right, have you, now? I saw—but listen, and you shall hear how +I found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and yet +pretended to pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always +disappointed about Linton’s coming back!” + +She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its consequences; and +my master, though he cast more than one reproachful look at me, said +nothing till she had concluded. Then he drew her to him, and asked if +she knew why he had concealed Linton’s near neighbourhood from her? +Could she think it was to deny her a pleasure that she might harmlessly +enjoy? + +“It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,” she answered. + +“Then you believe I care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy?” +he said. “No, it was not because I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because +Mr. Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most diabolical man, delighting to +wrong and ruin those he hates, if they give him the slightest +opportunity. I knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with +your cousin without being brought into contact with him; and I knew he +would detest you on my account; so for your own good, and nothing else, +I took precautions that you should not see Linton again. I meant to +explain this some time as you grew older, and I’m sorry I delayed it.” + +“But Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa,” observed Catherine, not +at all convinced; “and _he_ didn’t object to our seeing each other: he +said I might come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell +you, because you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him for +marrying aunt Isabella. And you won’t. _You_ are the one to be blamed: +he is willing to let _us_ be friends, at least; Linton and I; and you +are not.” + +My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her +uncle-in-law’s evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his conduct to +Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his +property. He could not bear to discourse long upon the topic; for +though he spoke little of it, he still felt the same horror and +detestation of his ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since +Mrs. Linton’s death. “She might have been living yet, if it had not +been for him!” was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, +Heathcliff seemed a murderer. Miss Cathy—conversant with no bad deeds +except her own slight acts of disobedience, injustice, and passion, +arising from hot temper and thoughtlessness, and repented of on the day +they were committed—was amazed at the blackness of spirit that could +brood on and cover revenge for years, and deliberately prosecute its +plans without a visitation of remorse. She appeared so deeply impressed +and shocked at this new view of human nature—excluded from all her +studies and all her ideas till now—that Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary +to pursue the subject. He merely added: “You will know hereafter, +darling, why I wish you to avoid his house and family; now return to +your old employments and amusements, and think no more about them.” + +Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her lessons for a +couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the +grounds, and the whole day passed as usual: but in the evening, when +she had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found +her crying, on her knees by the bedside. + +“Oh, fie, silly child!” I exclaimed. “If you had any real griefs you’d +be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety. You never had +one shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a +minute, that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the +world: how would you feel, then? Compare the present occasion with such +an affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, +instead of coveting more.” + +“I’m not crying for myself, Ellen,” she answered, “it’s for him. He +expected to see me again to-morrow, and there he’ll be so disappointed: +and he’ll wait for me, and I sha’n’t come!” + +“Nonsense!” said I, “do you imagine he has thought as much of you as +you have of him? Hasn’t he Hareton for a companion? Not one in a +hundred would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for +two afternoons. Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble himself +no further about you.” + +“But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come?” she asked, +rising to her feet. “And just send those books I promised to lend him? +His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them +extremely, when I told him how interesting they were. May I not, +Ellen?” + +“No, indeed! no, indeed!” replied I with decision. “Then he would write +to you, and there’d never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the +acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see +that it is done.” + +“But how can one little note—?” she recommenced, putting on an +imploring countenance. + +“Silence!” I interrupted. “We’ll not begin with your little notes. Get +into bed.” + +She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss +her good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great +displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there +was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and +a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my +entrance. + +“You’ll get nobody to take that, Catherine,” I said, “if you write it; +and at present I shall put out your candle.” + +I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my +hand and a petulant “cross thing!” I then quitted her again, and she +drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours. The letter was +finished and forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came +from the village; but that I didn’t learn till some time afterwards. +Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew +wondrous fond of stealing off to corners by herself; and often, if I +came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the +book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose +paper sticking out beyond the leaves. She also got a trick of coming +down early in the morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she +were expecting the arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in +a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours, and +whose key she took special care to remove when she left it. + +One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the playthings +and trinkets which recently formed its contents were transmuted into +bits of folded paper. My curiosity and suspicions were roused; I +determined to take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as +soon as she and my master were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily +found among my house keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I +emptied the whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to +examine at leisure in my own chamber. Though I could not but suspect, I +was still surprised to discover that they were a mass of +correspondence—daily almost, it must have been—from Linton Heathcliff: +answers to documents forwarded by her. The earlier dated were +embarrassed and short; gradually, however, they expanded into copious +love-letters, foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet +with touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more +experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly odd compounds +of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong feeling, and concluding in +the affected, wordy style that a schoolboy might use to a fancied, +incorporeal sweetheart. Whether they satisfied Cathy I don’t know; but +they appeared very worthless trash to me. After turning over as many as +I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set them aside, +relocking the vacant drawer. + +Following her habit, my young lady descended early, and visited the +kitchen: I watched her go to the door, on the arrival of a certain +little boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can, she tucked +something into his jacket pocket, and plucked something out. I went +round by the garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought +valorously to defend his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I +succeeded in abstracting the epistle; and, threatening serious +consequences if he did not look sharp home, I remained under the wall +and perused Miss Cathy’s affectionate composition. It was more simple +and more eloquent than her cousin’s: very pretty and very silly. I +shook my head, and went meditating into the house. The day being wet, +she could not divert herself with rambling about the park; so, at the +conclusion of her morning studies, she resorted to the solace of the +drawer. Her father sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had +sought a bit of work in some unripped fringes of the window-curtain, +keeping my eye steadily fixed on her proceedings. Never did any bird +flying back to a plundered nest, which it had left brimful of chirping +young ones, express more complete despair, in its anguished cries and +flutterings, than she by her single “Oh!” and the change that +transfigured her late happy countenance. Mr. Linton looked up. + +“What is the matter, love? Have you hurt yourself?” he said. + +His tone and look assured her _he_ had not been the discoverer of the +hoard. + +“No, papa!” she gasped. “Ellen! Ellen! come upstairs—I’m sick!” + +I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out. + +“Oh, Ellen! you have got them,” she commenced immediately, dropping on +her knees, when we were enclosed alone. “Oh, give them to me, and I’ll +never, never do so again! Don’t tell papa. You have not told papa, +Ellen? say you have not? I’ve been exceedingly naughty, but I won’t do +it any more!” + +With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up. + +“So,” I exclaimed, “Miss Catherine, you are tolerably far on, it seems: +you may well be ashamed of them! A fine bundle of trash you study in +your leisure hours, to be sure: why, it’s good enough to be printed! +And what do you suppose the master will think when I display it before +him? I hav’n’t shown it yet, but you needn’t imagine I shall keep your +ridiculous secrets. For shame! and you must have led the way in writing +such absurdities: he would not have thought of beginning, I’m certain.” + +“I didn’t! I didn’t!” sobbed Cathy, fit to break her heart. “I didn’t +once think of loving him till—” + +“_Loving_!” cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word. +“_Loving_! Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of +loving the miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, +indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours +in your life! Now here is the babyish trash. I’m going with it to the +library; and we’ll see what your father says to such _loving_.” + +She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my head; and +then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn +them—do anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much +inclined to laugh as scold—for I esteemed it all girlish vanity—I at +length relented in a measure, and asked,—“If I consent to burn them, +will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, +nor a book (for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, +nor rings, nor playthings?” + +“We don’t send playthings,” cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her +shame. + +“Nor anything at all, then, my lady?” I said. “Unless you will, here I +go.” + +“I promise, Ellen!” she cried, catching my dress. “Oh, put them in the +fire, do, do!” + +But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was +too painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated that I would spare +her one or two. + +“One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton’s sake!” + +I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an +angle, and the flame curled up the chimney. + +“I will have one, you cruel wretch!” she screamed, darting her hand +into the fire, and drawing forth some half-consumed fragments, at the +expense of her fingers. + +“Very well—and I will have some to exhibit to papa!” I answered, +shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door. + +She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to +finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and +interred them under a shovelful of coals; and she mutely, and with a +sense of intense injury, retired to her private apartment. I descended +to tell my master that the young lady’s qualm of sickness was almost +gone, but I judged it best for her to lie down a while. She wouldn’t +dine; but she reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and +marvellously subdued in outward aspect. Next morning I answered the +letter by a slip of paper, inscribed, “Master Heathcliff is requested +to send no more notes to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.” +And, thenceforth, the little boy came with vacant pockets. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Summer drew to an end, and early autumn: it was past Michaelmas, but +the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still +uncleared. Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among +the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves they stayed till dusk, +and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad +cold, that settled obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors +throughout the whole of the winter, nearly without intermission. + +Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been considerably +sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her father insisted on her +reading less, and taking more exercise. She had his companionship no +longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible, +with mine: an inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or +three hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her +footsteps, and then my society was obviously less desirable than his. + +On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November—a fresh watery +afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered +leaves, and the cold blue sky was half hidden by clouds—dark grey +streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain—I +requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of +showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my +umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park: a +formal walk which she generally affected if low-spirited—and that she +invariably was when Mr. Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing +never known from his confession, but guessed both by her and me from +his increased silence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went +sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind +might well have tempted her to race. And often, from the side of my +eye, I could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off her +cheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side +of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, +with their roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too +loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly +horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these +trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; +and I, pleased with her agility and her light, childish heart, still +considered it proper to scold every time I caught her at such an +elevation, but so that she knew there was no necessity for descending. +From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing +nothing except singing old songs—my nursery lore—to herself, or +watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to +fly: or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, +happier than words can express. + +“Look, Miss!” I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one +twisted tree. “Winter is not here yet. There’s a little flower up +yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those +turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it +to show to papa?” + +Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy +shelter, and replied, at length—“No, I’ll not touch it: but it looks +melancholy, does it not, Ellen?” + +“Yes,” I observed, “about as starved and sackless as you: your cheeks +are bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run. You’re so low, I +daresay I shall keep up with you.” + +“No,” she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals +to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus +spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever +and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face. + +“Catherine, why are you crying, love?” I asked, approaching and putting +my arm over her shoulder. “You mustn’t cry because papa has a cold; be +thankful it is nothing worse.” + +She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was stifled +by sobs. + +“Oh, it _will_ be something worse,” she said. “And what shall I do when +papa and you leave me, and I am by myself? I can’t forget your words, +Ellen; they are always in my ear. How life will be changed, how dreary +the world will be, when papa and you are dead.” + +“None can tell whether you won’t die before us,” I replied. “It’s wrong +to anticipate evil. We’ll hope there are years and years to come before +any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly forty-five. +My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to the last. And suppose Mr. +Linton were spared till he saw sixty, that would be more years than you +have counted, Miss. And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity +above twenty years beforehand?” + +“But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,” she remarked, gazing up with +timid hope to seek further consolation. + +“Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,” I replied. “She wasn’t +as happy as Master: she hadn’t as much to live for. All you need do, is +to wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you +cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject: mind that, +Cathy! I’ll not disguise but you might kill him if you were wild and +reckless, and cherished a foolish, fanciful affection for the son of a +person who would be glad to have him in his grave; and allowed him to +discover that you fretted over the separation he has judged it +expedient to make.” + +“I fret about nothing on earth except papa’s illness,” answered my +companion. “I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And I’ll +never—never—oh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or say a word +to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by +this: I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would +rather be miserable than that he should be: that proves I love him +better than myself.” + +“Good words,” I replied. “But deeds must prove it also; and after he is +well, remember you don’t forget resolutions formed in the hour of +fear.” + +As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young +lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on +the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed +scarlet on the summit branches of the wild-rose trees shadowing the +highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could +touch the upper, except from Cathy’s present station. In stretching to +pull them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed +scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be cautious lest she got a +fall, and she nimbly disappeared. But the return was no such easy +matter: the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rosebushes +and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending. +I, like a fool, didn’t recollect that, till I heard her laughing and +exclaiming—“Ellen! you’ll have to fetch the key, or else I must run +round to the porter’s lodge. I can’t scale the ramparts on this side!” + +“Stay where you are,” I answered; “I have my bundle of keys in my +pocket: perhaps I may manage to open it; if not, I’ll go.” + +Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while +I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and +found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain +there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an +approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathy’s +dance stopped also. + +“Who is that?” I whispered. + +“Ellen, I wish you could open the door,” whispered back my companion, +anxiously. + +“Ho, Miss Linton!” cried a deep voice (the rider’s), “I’m glad to meet +you. Don’t be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and +obtain.” + +“I sha’n’t speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff,” answered Catherine. “Papa +says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says +the same.” + +“That is nothing to the purpose,” said Heathcliff. (He it was.) “I +don’t hate my son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand +your attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three months +since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in +play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging for that! You especially, +the elder; and less sensitive, as it turns out. I’ve got your letters, +and if you give me any pertness I’ll send them to your father. I +presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it, didn’t you? +Well, you dropped Linton with it into a Slough of Despond. He was in +earnest: in love, really. As true as I live, he’s dying for you; +breaking his heart at your fickleness: not figuratively, but actually. +Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have +used more serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of his +idiocy, he gets worse daily; and he’ll be under the sod before summer, +unless you restore him!” + +“How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?” I called from the +inside. “Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up such paltry +falsehoods? Miss Cathy, I’ll knock the lock off with a stone: you won’t +believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself it is impossible +that a person should die for love of a stranger.” + +“I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,” muttered the detected +villain. “Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don’t like your +double-dealing,” he added aloud. “How could _you_ lie so glaringly as +to affirm I hated the ‘poor child’? and invent bugbear stories to +terrify her from my door-stones? Catherine Linton (the very name warms +me), my bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week; go and see if I +have not spoken truth: do, there’s a darling! Just imagine your father +in my place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your +careless lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your +father himself entreated him; and don’t, from pure stupidity, fall into +the same error. I swear, on my salvation, he’s going to his grave, and +none but you can save him!” + +The lock gave way and I issued out. + +“I swear Linton is dying,” repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. +“And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you +won’t let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return +till this time next week; and I think your master himself would +scarcely object to her visiting her cousin.” + +“Come in,” said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her to +re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of +the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit. + +He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed— + +“Miss Catherine, I’ll own to you that I have little patience with +Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have less. I’ll own that he’s with a +harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from +you would be his best medicine. Don’t mind Mrs. Dean’s cruel cautions; +but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams of you day and +night, and cannot be persuaded that you don’t hate him, since you +neither write nor call.” + +I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in +holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for +the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and +warned us to avoid delay. Our hurry prevented any comment on the +encounter with Heathcliff, as we stretched towards home; but I divined +instinctively that Catherine’s heart was clouded now in double +darkness. Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers: she +evidently regarded what she had heard as every syllable true. + +The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy stole to his +room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep. She returned, and +asked me to sit with her in the library. We took our tea together; and +afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she +was weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. As soon as she supposed +me absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her silent weeping: it +appeared, at present, her favourite diversion. I suffered her to enjoy +it a while; then I expostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr. +Heathcliff’s assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would +coincide. Alas! I hadn’t skill to counteract the effect his account had +produced: it was just what he intended. + +“You may be right, Ellen,” she answered; “but I shall never feel at +ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I +don’t write, and convince him that I shall not change.” + +What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity? We +parted that night—hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to +Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress’s pony. I +couldn’t bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale, dejected +countenance, and heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the faint hope that +Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the +tale was founded on fact. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning—half frost, half +drizzle—and temporary brooks crossed our path—gurgling from the +uplands. My feet were thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly +the humour suited for making the most of these disagreeable things. We +entered the farm-house by the kitchen way, to ascertain whether Mr. +Heathcliff were really absent: because I put slight faith in his own +affirmation. + +Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a roaring +fire; a quart of ale on the table near him, bristling with large pieces +of toasted oat-cake; and his black, short pipe in his mouth. Catherine +ran to the hearth to warm herself. I asked if the master was in? My +question remained so long unanswered, that I thought the old man had +grown deaf, and repeated it louder. + +“Na—ay!” he snarled, or rather screamed through his nose. “Na—ay! yah +muh goa back whear yah coom frough.” + +“Joseph!” cried a peevish voice, simultaneously with me, from the inner +room. “How often am I to call you? There are only a few red ashes now. +Joseph! come this moment.” + +Vigorous puffs, and a resolute stare into the grate, declared he had no +ear for this appeal. The housekeeper and Hareton were invisible; one +gone on an errand, and the other at his work, probably. We knew +Linton’s tones, and entered. + +“Oh, I hope you’ll die in a garret, starved to death!” said the boy, +mistaking our approach for that of his negligent attendant. + +He stopped on observing his error: his cousin flew to him. + +“Is that you, Miss Linton?” he said, raising his head from the arm of +the great chair, in which he reclined. “No—don’t kiss me: it takes my +breath. Dear me! Papa said you would call,” continued he, after +recovering a little from Catherine’s embrace; while she stood by +looking very contrite. “Will you shut the door, if you please? you left +it open; and those—those _detestable_ creatures won’t bring coals to +the fire. It’s so cold!” + +I stirred up the cinders, and fetched a scuttleful myself. The invalid +complained of being covered with ashes; but he had a tiresome cough, +and looked feverish and ill, so I did not rebuke his temper. + +“Well, Linton,” murmured Catherine, when his corrugated brow relaxed, +“are you glad to see me? Can I do you any good?” + +“Why didn’t you come before?” he asked. “You should have come, instead +of writing. It tired me dreadfully writing those long letters. I’d far +rather have talked to you. Now, I can neither bear to talk, nor +anything else. I wonder where Zillah is! Will you” (looking at me) +“step into the kitchen and see?” + +I had received no thanks for my other service; and being unwilling to +run to and fro at his behest, I replied— + +“Nobody is out there but Joseph.” + +“I want to drink,” he exclaimed fretfully, turning away. “Zillah is +constantly gadding off to Gimmerton since papa went: it’s miserable! +And I’m obliged to come down here—they resolved never to hear me +upstairs.” + +“Is your father attentive to you, Master Heathcliff?” I asked, +perceiving Catherine to be checked in her friendly advances. + +“Attentive? He makes _them_ a little more attentive at least,” he +cried. “The wretches! Do you know, Miss Linton, that brute Hareton +laughs at me! I hate him! indeed, I hate them all: they are odious +beings.” + +Cathy began searching for some water; she lighted on a pitcher in the +dresser, filled a tumbler, and brought it. He bid her add a spoonful of +wine from a bottle on the table; and having swallowed a small portion, +appeared more tranquil, and said she was very kind. + +“And are you glad to see me?” asked she, reiterating her former +question, and pleased to detect the faint dawn of a smile. + +“Yes, I am. It’s something new to hear a voice like yours!” he replied. +“But I have been vexed, because you wouldn’t come. And papa swore it +was owing to me: he called me a pitiful, shuffling, worthless thing; +and said you despised me; and if he had been in my place, he would be +more the master of the Grange than your father by this time. But you +don’t despise me, do you, Miss—?” + +“I wish you would say Catherine, or Cathy,” interrupted my young lady. +“Despise you? No! Next to papa and Ellen, I love you better than +anybody living. I don’t love Mr. Heathcliff, though; and I dare not +come when he returns: will he stay away many days?” + +“Not many,” answered Linton; “but he goes on to the moors frequently, +since the shooting season commenced; and you might spend an hour or two +with me in his absence. Do say you will. I think I should not be +peevish with you: you’d not provoke me, and you’d always be ready to +help me, wouldn’t you?” + +“Yes,” said Catherine, stroking his long soft hair, “if I could only +get papa’s consent, I’d spend half my time with you. Pretty Linton! I +wish you were my brother.” + +“And then you would like me as well as your father?” observed he, more +cheerfully. “But papa says you would love me better than him and all +the world, if you were my wife; so I’d rather you were that.” + +“No, I should never love anybody better than papa,” she returned +gravely. “And people hate their wives, sometimes; but not their sisters +and brothers: and if you were the latter, you would live with us, and +papa would be as fond of you as he is of me.” + +Linton denied that people ever hated their wives; but Cathy affirmed +they did, and, in her wisdom, instanced his own father’s aversion to +her aunt. I endeavoured to stop her thoughtless tongue. I couldn’t +succeed till everything she knew was out. Master Heathcliff, much +irritated, asserted her relation was false. + +“Papa told me; and papa does not tell falsehoods,” she answered pertly. + +“_My_ papa scorns yours!” cried Linton. “He calls him a sneaking fool.” + +“Yours is a wicked man,” retorted Catherine; “and you are very naughty +to dare to repeat what he says. He must be wicked to have made Aunt +Isabella leave him as she did.” + +“She didn’t leave him,” said the boy; “you sha’n’t contradict me.” + +“She did,” cried my young lady. + +“Well, I’ll tell _you_ something!” said Linton. “Your mother hated your +father: now then.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Catherine, too enraged to continue. + +“And she loved mine,” added he. + +“You little liar! I hate you now!” she panted, and her face grew red +with passion. + +“She did! she did!” sang Linton, sinking into the recess of his chair, +and leaning back his head to enjoy the agitation of the other +disputant, who stood behind. + +“Hush, Master Heathcliff!” I said; “that’s your father’s tale, too, I +suppose.” + +“It isn’t: you hold your tongue!” he answered. “She did, she did, +Catherine! she did, she did!” + +Cathy, beside herself, gave the chair a violent push, and caused him to +fall against one arm. He was immediately seized by a suffocating cough +that soon ended his triumph. It lasted so long that it frightened even +me. As to his cousin, she wept with all her might, aghast at the +mischief she had done: though she said nothing. I held him till the fit +exhausted itself. Then he thrust me away, and leant his head down +silently. Catherine quelled her lamentations also, took a seat +opposite, and looked solemnly into the fire. + +“How do you feel now, Master Heathcliff?” I inquired, after waiting ten +minutes. + +“I wish _she_ felt as I do,” he replied: “spiteful, cruel thing! +Hareton never touches me: he never struck me in his life. And I was +better to-day: and there—” his voice died in a whimper. + +“_I_ didn’t strike you!” muttered Cathy, chewing her lip to prevent +another burst of emotion. + +He sighed and moaned like one under great suffering, and kept it up for +a quarter of an hour; on purpose to distress his cousin apparently, for +whenever he caught a stifled sob from her he put renewed pain and +pathos into the inflexions of his voice. + +“I’m sorry I hurt you, Linton,” she said at length, racked beyond +endurance. “But _I_ couldn’t have been hurt by that little push, and I +had no idea that you could, either: you’re not much, are you, Linton? +Don’t let me go home thinking I’ve done you harm. Answer! speak to me.” + +“I can’t speak to you,” he murmured; “you’ve hurt me so that I shall +lie awake all night choking with this cough. If you had it you’d know +what it was; but _you’ll_ be comfortably asleep while I’m in agony, and +nobody near me. I wonder how you would like to pass those fearful +nights!” And he began to wail aloud, for very pity of himself. + +“Since you are in the habit of passing dreadful nights,” I said, “it +won’t be Miss who spoils your ease: you’d be the same had she never +come. However, she shall not disturb you again; and perhaps you’ll get +quieter when we leave you.” + +“Must I go?” asked Catherine dolefully, bending over him. “Do you want +me to go, Linton?” + +“You can’t alter what you’ve done,” he replied pettishly, shrinking +from her, “unless you alter it for the worse by teasing me into a +fever.” + +“Well, then, I must go?” she repeated. + +“Let me alone, at least,” said he; “I can’t bear your talking.” + +She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a tiresome +while; but as he neither looked up nor spoke, she finally made a +movement to the door, and I followed. We were recalled by a scream. +Linton had slid from his seat on to the hearthstone, and lay writhing +in the mere perverseness of an indulged plague of a child, determined +to be as grievous and harassing as it can. I thoroughly gauged his +disposition from his behaviour, and saw at once it would be folly to +attempt humouring him. Not so my companion: she ran back in terror, +knelt down, and cried, and soothed, and entreated, till he grew quiet +from lack of breath: by no means from compunction at distressing her. + +“I shall lift him on to the settle,” I said, “and he may roll about as +he pleases: we can’t stop to watch him. I hope you are satisfied, Miss +Cathy, that _you_ are not the person to benefit him; and that his +condition of health is not occasioned by attachment to you. Now, then, +there he is! Come away: as soon as he knows there is nobody by to care +for his nonsense, he’ll be glad to lie still.” + +She placed a cushion under his head, and offered him some water; he +rejected the latter, and tossed uneasily on the former, as if it were a +stone or a block of wood. She tried to put it more comfortably. + +“I can’t do with that,” he said; “it’s not high enough.” + +Catherine brought another to lay above it. + +“That’s _too_ high,” murmured the provoking thing. + +“How must I arrange it, then?” she asked despairingly. + +He twined himself up to her, as she half knelt by the settle, and +converted her shoulder into a support. + +“No, that won’t do,” I said. “You’ll be content with the cushion, +Master Heathcliff. Miss has wasted too much time on you already: we +cannot remain five minutes longer.” + +“Yes, yes, we can!” replied Cathy. “He’s good and patient now. He’s +beginning to think I shall have far greater misery than he will +to-night, if I believe he is the worse for my visit: and then I dare +not come again. Tell the truth about it, Linton; for I mustn’t come, if +I have hurt you.” + +“You must come, to cure me,” he answered. “You ought to come, because +you have hurt me: you know you have extremely! I was not as ill when +you entered as I am at present—was I?” + +“But you’ve made yourself ill by crying and being in a passion.—I +didn’t do it all,” said his cousin. “However, we’ll be friends now. And +you want me: you would wish to see me sometimes, really?” + +“I told you I did,” he replied impatiently. “Sit on the settle and let +me lean on your knee. That’s as mamma used to do, whole afternoons +together. Sit quite still and don’t talk: but you may sing a song, if +you can sing; or you may say a nice long interesting ballad—one of +those you promised to teach me; or a story. I’d rather have a ballad, +though: begin.” + +Catherine repeated the longest she could remember. The employment +pleased both mightily. Linton would have another, and after that +another, notwithstanding my strenuous objections; and so they went on +until the clock struck twelve, and we heard Hareton in the court, +returning for his dinner. + +“And to-morrow, Catherine, will you be here to-morrow?” asked young +Heathcliff, holding her frock as she rose reluctantly. + +“No,” I answered, “nor next day neither.” She, however, gave a +different response evidently, for his forehead cleared as she stooped +and whispered in his ear. + +“You won’t go to-morrow, recollect, Miss!” I commenced, when we were +out of the house. “You are not dreaming of it, are you?” + +She smiled. + +“Oh, I’ll take good care,” I continued: “I’ll have that lock mended, +and you can escape by no way else.” + +“I can get over the wall,” she said laughing. “The Grange is not a +prison, Ellen, and you are not my gaoler. And besides, I’m almost +seventeen: I’m a woman. And I’m certain Linton would recover quickly if +he had me to look after him. I’m older than he is, you know, and wiser: +less childish, am I not? And he’ll soon do as I direct him, with some +slight coaxing. He’s a pretty little darling when he’s good. I’d make +such a pet of him, if he were mine. We should never quarrel, should we, +after we were used to each other? Don’t you like him, Ellen?” + +“Like him!” I exclaimed. “The worst-tempered bit of a sickly slip that +ever struggled into its teens. Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured, +he’ll not win twenty. I doubt whether he’ll see spring, indeed. And +small loss to his family whenever he drops off. And lucky it is for us +that his father took him: the kinder he was treated, the more tedious +and selfish he’d be. I’m glad you have no chance of having him for a +husband, Miss Catherine.” + +My companion waxed serious at hearing this speech. To speak of his +death so regardlessly wounded her feelings. + +“He’s younger than I,” she answered, after a protracted pause of +meditation, “and he ought to live the longest: he will—he must live as +long as I do. He’s as strong now as when he first came into the north; +I’m positive of that. It’s only a cold that ails him, the same as papa +has. You say papa will get better, and why shouldn’t he?” + +“Well, well,” I cried, “after all, we needn’t trouble ourselves; for +listen, Miss,—and mind, I’ll keep my word,—if you attempt going to +Wuthering Heights again, with or without me, I shall inform Mr. Linton, +and, unless he allow it, the intimacy with your cousin must not be +revived.” + +“It has been revived,” muttered Cathy, sulkily. + +“Must not be continued, then,” I said. + +“We’ll see,” was her reply, and she set off at a gallop, leaving me to +toil in the rear. + +We both reached home before our dinner-time; my master supposed we had +been wandering through the park, and therefore he demanded no +explanation of our absence. As soon as I entered I hastened to change +my soaked shoes and stockings; but sitting such a while at the Heights +had done the mischief. On the succeeding morning I was laid up, and +during three weeks I remained incapacitated for attending to my duties: +a calamity never experienced prior to that period, and never, I am +thankful to say, since. + +My little mistress behaved like an angel in coming to wait on me, and +cheer my solitude; the confinement brought me exceedingly low. It is +wearisome, to a stirring active body: but few have slighter reasons for +complaint than I had. The moment Catherine left Mr. Linton’s room she +appeared at my bedside. Her day was divided between us; no amusement +usurped a minute: she neglected her meals, her studies, and her play; +and she was the fondest nurse that ever watched. She must have had a +warm heart, when she loved her father so, to give so much to me. I said +her days were divided between us; but the master retired early, and I +generally needed nothing after six o’clock, thus the evening was her +own. Poor thing! I never considered what she did with herself after +tea. And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good-night, I +remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender +fingers, instead of fancying the hue borrowed from a cold ride across +the moors, I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +At the close of three weeks I was able to quit my chamber and move +about the house. And on the first occasion of my sitting up in the +evening I asked Catherine to read to me, because my eyes were weak. We +were in the library, the master having gone to bed: she consented, +rather unwillingly, I fancied; and imagining my sort of books did not +suit her, I bid her please herself in the choice of what she perused. +She selected one of her own favourites, and got forward steadily about +an hour; then came frequent questions. + +“Ellen, are not you tired? Hadn’t you better lie down now? You’ll be +sick, keeping up so long, Ellen.” + +“No, no, dear, I’m not tired,” I returned, continually. + +Perceiving me immovable, she essayed another method of showing her +disrelish for her occupation. It changed to yawning, and stretching, +and— + +“Ellen, I’m tired.” + +“Give over then and talk,” I answered. + +That was worse: she fretted and sighed, and looked at her watch till +eight, and finally went to her room, completely overdone with sleep; +judging by her peevish, heavy look, and the constant rubbing she +inflicted on her eyes. The following night she seemed more impatient +still; and on the third from recovering my company she complained of a +headache, and left me. I thought her conduct odd; and having remained +alone a long while, I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were +better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of upstairs +in the dark. No Catherine could I discover upstairs, and none below. +The servants affirmed they had not seen her. I listened at Mr. Edgar’s +door; all was silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished my +candle, and seated myself in the window. + +The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, and I +reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it into her head to walk +about the garden, for refreshment. I did detect a figure creeping along +the inner fence of the park; but it was not my young mistress: on its +emerging into the light, I recognised one of the grooms. He stood a +considerable period, viewing the carriage-road through the grounds; +then started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something, and +reappeared presently, leading Miss’s pony; and there she was, just +dismounted, and walking by its side. The man took his charge stealthily +across the grass towards the stable. Cathy entered by the +casement-window of the drawing-room, and glided noiselessly up to where +I awaited her. She put the door gently to, slipped off her snowy +shoes, untied her hat, and was proceeding, unconscious of my espionage, +to lay aside her mantle, when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The +surprise petrified her an instant: she uttered an inarticulate +exclamation, and stood fixed. + +“My dear Miss Catherine,” I began, too vividly impressed by her recent +kindness to break into a scold, “where have you been riding out at this +hour? And why should you try to deceive me by telling a tale? Where +have you been? Speak!” + +“To the bottom of the park,” she stammered. “I didn’t tell a tale.” + +“And nowhere else?” I demanded. + +“No,” was the muttered reply. + +“Oh, Catherine!” I cried, sorrowfully. “You know you have been doing +wrong, or you wouldn’t be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That +does grieve me. I’d rather be three months ill, than hear you frame a +deliberate lie.” + +She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms round my +neck. + +“Well, Ellen, I’m so afraid of you being angry,” she said. “Promise not +to be angry, and you shall know the very truth: I hate to hide it.” + +We sat down in the window-seat; I assured her I would not scold, +whatever her secret might be, and I guessed it, of course; so she +commenced— + +“I’ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and I’ve never missed going a +day since you fell ill; except thrice before, and twice after you left +your room. I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every +evening, and to put her back in the stable: you mustn’t scold _him_ +either, mind. I was at the Heights by half-past six, and generally +stayed till half-past eight, and then galloped home. It was not to +amuse myself that I went: I was often wretched all the time. Now and +then I was happy: once in a week perhaps. At first, I expected there +would be sad work persuading you to let me keep my word to Linton: for +I had engaged to call again next day, when we quitted him; but, as you +stayed upstairs on the morrow, I escaped that trouble. While Michael +was refastening the lock of the park door in the afternoon, I got +possession of the key, and told him how my cousin wished me to visit +him, because he was sick, and couldn’t come to the Grange; and how papa +would object to my going: and then I negotiated with him about the +pony. He is fond of reading, and he thinks of leaving soon to get +married; so he offered, if I would lend him books out of the library, +to do what I wished: but I preferred giving him my own, and that +satisfied him better. + +“On my second visit Linton seemed in lively spirits; and Zillah (that +is their housekeeper) made us a clean room and a good fire, and told us +that, as Joseph was out at a prayer-meeting and Hareton Earnshaw was +off with his dogs—robbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard +afterwards—we might do what we liked. She brought me some warm wine and +gingerbread, and appeared exceedingly good-natured; and Linton sat in +the arm-chair, and I in the little rocking chair on the hearth-stone, +and we laughed and talked so merrily, and found so much to say: we +planned where we would go, and what we would do in summer. I needn’t +repeat that, because you would call it silly. + +“One time, however, we were near quarrelling. He said the pleasantest +manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening +on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming +dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, +and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That +was his most perfect idea of heaven’s happiness: mine was rocking in a +rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds +flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and +blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, +and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but +close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; +and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with +joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to +sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be +only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall +asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine, and began to +grow very snappish. At last, we agreed to try both, as soon as the +right weather came; and then we kissed each other and were friends. + +“After sitting still an hour, I looked at the great room with its +smooth uncarpeted floor, and thought how nice it would be to play in, +if we removed the table; and I asked Linton to call Zillah in to help +us, and we’d have a game at blindman’s-buff; she should try to catch +us: you used to, you know, Ellen. He wouldn’t: there was no pleasure in +it, he said; but he consented to play at ball with me. We found two in +a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and hoops, and battledores +and shuttlecocks. One was marked C., and the other H.; I wished to have +the C., because that stood for Catherine, and the H. might be for +Heathcliff, his name; but the bran came out of H., and Linton didn’t +like it. I beat him constantly; and he got cross again, and coughed, +and returned to his chair. That night, though, he easily recovered his +good humour: he was charmed with two or three pretty songs—_your_ +songs, Ellen; and when I was obliged to go, he begged and entreated me +to come the following evening; and I promised. Minny and I went flying +home as light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet, +darling cousin, till morning. + +“On the morrow I was sad; partly because you were poorly, and partly +that I wished my father knew, and approved of my excursions: but it was +beautiful moonlight after tea; and, as I rode on, the gloom cleared. I +shall have another happy evening, I thought to myself; and what +delights me more, my pretty Linton will. I trotted up their garden, and +was turning round to the back, when that fellow Earnshaw met me, took +my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He patted Minny’s +neck, and said she was a bonny beast, and appeared as if he wanted me +to speak to him. I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it +would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, ‘It wouldn’t do mitch +hurt if it did;’ and surveyed its legs with a smile. I was half +inclined to make it try; however, he moved off to open the door, and, +as he raised the latch, he looked up to the inscription above, and +said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness and elation: ‘Miss +Catherine! I can read yon, now.’ + +“‘Wonderful,’ I exclaimed. ‘Pray let us hear you—you _are_ grown +clever!’ + +“He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the name—‘Hareton Earnshaw.’ + +“‘And the figures?’ I cried, encouragingly, perceiving that he came to +a dead halt. + +“‘I cannot tell them yet,’ he answered. + +“‘Oh, you dunce!’ I said, laughing heartily at his failure. + +“The fool stared, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl +gathering over his eyes, as if uncertain whether he might not join in +my mirth: whether it were not pleasant familiarity, or what it really +was, contempt. I settled his doubts, by suddenly retrieving my gravity +and desiring him to walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He +reddened—I saw that by the moonlight—dropped his hand from the latch, +and skulked off, a picture of mortified vanity. He imagined himself to +be as accomplished as Linton, I suppose, because he could spell his own +name; and was marvellously discomfited that I didn’t think the same.” + +“Stop, Miss Catherine, dear!” I interrupted. “I shall not scold, but I +don’t like your conduct there. If you had remembered that Hareton was +your cousin as much as Master Heathcliff, you would have felt how +improper it was to behave in that way. At least, it was praiseworthy +ambition for him to desire to be as accomplished as Linton; and +probably he did not learn merely to show off: you had made him ashamed +of his ignorance before, I have no doubt; and he wished to remedy it +and please you. To sneer at his imperfect attempt was very bad +breeding. Had _you_ been brought up in his circumstances, would you be +less rude? He was as quick and as intelligent a child as ever you were; +and I’m hurt that he should be despised now, because that base +Heathcliff has treated him so unjustly.” + +“Well, Ellen, you won’t cry about it, will you?” she exclaimed, +surprised at my earnestness. “But wait, and you shall hear if he conned +his A B C to please me; and if it were worth while being civil to the +brute. I entered; Linton was lying on the settle, and half got up to +welcome me. + +“‘I’m ill to-night, Catherine, love,’ he said; ‘and you must have all +the talk, and let me listen. Come, and sit by me. I was sure you +wouldn’t break your word, and I’ll make you promise again, before you +go.’ + +“I knew now that I mustn’t tease him, as he was ill; and I spoke softly +and put no questions, and avoided irritating him in any way. I had +brought some of my nicest books for him: he asked me to read a little +of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: +having gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us, seized +Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat. + +“‘Get to thy own room!’ he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with +passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. ‘Take her there if +she comes to see thee: thou shalln’t keep me out of this. Begone wi’ ye +both!’ + +“He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him +into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly +longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one +volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out. I heard a +malignant, crackly laugh by the fire, and turning, beheld that odious +Joseph standing rubbing his bony hands, and quivering. + +“‘I wer sure he’d sarve ye out! He’s a grand lad! He’s getten t’ raight +sperrit in him! _He_ knaws—ay, he knaws, as weel as I do, who sud be t’ +maister yonder—Ech, ech, ech! He made ye skift properly! Ech, ech, +ech!’ + +“‘Where must we go?’ I asked of my cousin, disregarding the old +wretch’s mockery. + +“Linton was white and trembling. He was not pretty then, Ellen: oh, no! +he looked frightful; for his thin face and large eyes were wrought into +an expression of frantic, powerless fury. He grasped the handle of the +door, and shook it: it was fastened inside. + +“‘If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill you!—If you don’t let me in, I’ll +kill you!’ he rather shrieked than said. ‘Devil! devil!—I’ll kill +you—I’ll kill you!’ + +“Joseph uttered his croaking laugh again. + +“‘Thear, that’s t’ father!’ he cried. ‘That’s father! We’ve allas +summut o’ either side in us. Niver heed, Hareton, lad—dunnut be +’feard—he cannot get at thee!’ + +“I took hold of Linton’s hands, and tried to pull him away; but he +shrieked so shockingly that I dared not proceed. At last his cries were +choked by a dreadful fit of coughing; blood gushed from his mouth, and +he fell on the ground. I ran into the yard, sick with terror; and +called for Zillah, as loud as I could. She soon heard me: she was +milking the cows in a shed behind the barn, and hurrying from her work, +she inquired what there was to do? I hadn’t breath to explain; dragging +her in, I looked about for Linton. Earnshaw had come out to examine the +mischief he had caused, and he was then conveying the poor thing +upstairs. Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped me at the top +of the steps, and said I shouldn’t go in: I must go home. I exclaimed +that he had killed Linton, and I _would_ enter. Joseph locked the door, +and declared I should do ‘no sich stuff,’ and asked me whether I were +‘bahn to be as mad as him.’ I stood crying till the housekeeper +reappeared. She affirmed he would be better in a bit, but he couldn’t +do with that shrieking and din; and she took me, and nearly carried me +into the house. + +“Ellen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head! I sobbed and wept so +that my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy +with stood opposite: presuming every now and then to bid me ‘wisht,’ +and denying that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my +assertions that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison +and hanged, he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide +his cowardly agitation. Still, I was not rid of him: when at length +they compelled me to depart, and I had got some hundred yards off the +premises, he suddenly issued from the shadow of the road-side, and +checked Minny and took hold of me. + +“‘Miss Catherine, I’m ill grieved,’ he began, ‘but it’s rayther too +bad—’ + +“I gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he would murder me. He +let go, thundering one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home more +than half out of my senses. + +“I didn’t bid you good-night that evening, and I didn’t go to Wuthering +Heights the next: I wished to go exceedingly; but I was strangely +excited, and dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, sometimes; and +sometimes shuddered at the thought of encountering Hareton. On the +third day I took courage: at least, I couldn’t bear longer suspense, +and stole off once more. I went at five o’clock, and walked; fancying I +might manage to creep into the house, and up to Linton’s room, +unobserved. However, the dogs gave notice of my approach. Zillah +received me, and saying ‘the lad was mending nicely,’ showed me into a +small, tidy, carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I +beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books. But he +would neither speak to me nor look at me, through a whole hour, Ellen: +he has such an unhappy temper. And what quite confounded me, when he +did open his mouth, it was to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned +the uproar, and Hareton was not to blame! Unable to reply, except +passionately, I got up and walked from the room. He sent after me a +faint ‘Catherine!’ He did not reckon on being answered so: but I +wouldn’t turn back; and the morrow was the second day on which I stayed +at home, nearly determined to visit him no more. But it was so +miserable going to bed and getting up, and never hearing anything about +him, that my resolution melted into air before it was properly formed. +It _had_ appeared wrong to take the journey once; now it seemed wrong +to refrain. Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny; I said ‘Yes,’ +and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the hills. I was +forced to pass the front windows to get to the court: it was no use +trying to conceal my presence. + +“‘Young master is in the house,’ said Zillah, as she saw me making for +the parlour. I went in; Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the +room directly. Linton sat in the great arm-chair half asleep; walking +up to the fire, I began in a serious tone, partly meaning it to be +true— + +“‘As you don’t like me, Linton, and as you think I come on purpose to +hurt you, and pretend that I do so every time, this is our last +meeting: let us say good-bye; and tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no +wish to see me, and that he mustn’t invent any more falsehoods on the +subject.’ + +“‘Sit down and take your hat off, Catherine,’ he answered. ‘You are so +much happier than I am, you ought to be better. Papa talks enough of my +defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it natural I should +doubt myself. I doubt whether I am not altogether as worthless as he +calls me, frequently; and then I feel so cross and bitter, I hate +everybody! I _am_ worthless, and bad in temper, and bad in spirit, +almost always; and, if you choose, you _may_ say good-bye: you’ll get +rid of an annoyance. Only, Catherine, do me this justice: believe that +if I might be as sweet, and as kind, and as good as you are, I would +be; as willingly, and more so, than as happy and as healthy. And +believe that your kindness has made me love you deeper than if I +deserved your love: and though I couldn’t, and cannot help showing my +nature to you, I regret it and repent it; and shall regret and repent +it till I die!’ + +“I felt he spoke the truth; and I felt I must forgive him: and, though +we should quarrel the next moment, I must forgive him again. We were +reconciled; but we cried, both of us, the whole time I stayed: not +entirely for sorrow; yet I _was_ sorry Linton had that distorted +nature. He’ll never let his friends be at ease, and he’ll never be at +ease himself! I have always gone to his little parlour, since that +night; because his father returned the day after. + +“About three times, I think, we have been merry and hopeful, as we were +the first evening; the rest of my visits were dreary and troubled: now +with his selfishness and spite, and now with his sufferings: but I’ve +learned to endure the former with nearly as little resentment as the +latter. Mr. Heathcliff purposely avoids me: I have hardly seen him at +all. Last Sunday, indeed, coming earlier than usual, I heard him +abusing poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the night before. I +can’t tell how he knew of it, unless he listened. Linton had certainly +behaved provokingly: however, it was the business of nobody but me, and +I interrupted Mr. Heathcliff’s lecture by entering and telling him so. +He burst into a laugh, and went away, saying he was glad I took that +view of the matter. Since then, I’ve told Linton he must whisper his +bitter things. Now, Ellen, you have heard all. I can’t be prevented +from going to Wuthering Heights, except by inflicting misery on two +people; whereas, if you’ll only not tell papa, my going need disturb +the tranquillity of none. You’ll not tell, will you? It will be very +heartless, if you do.” + +“I’ll make up my mind on that point by to-morrow, Miss Catherine,” I +replied. “It requires some study; and so I’ll leave you to your rest, +and go think it over.” + +I thought it over aloud, in my master’s presence; walking straight from +her room to his, and relating the whole story: with the exception of +her conversations with her cousin, and any mention of Hareton. Mr. +Linton was alarmed and distressed, more than he would acknowledge to +me. In the morning, Catherine learnt my betrayal of her confidence, and +she learnt also that her secret visits were to end. In vain she wept +and writhed against the interdict, and implored her father to have pity +on Linton: all she got to comfort her was a promise that he would write +and give him leave to come to the Grange when he pleased; but +explaining that he must no longer expect to see Catherine at Wuthering +Heights. Perhaps, had he been aware of his nephew’s disposition and +state of health, he would have seen fit to withhold even that slight +consolation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +“These things happened last winter, sir,” said Mrs. Dean; “hardly more +than a year ago. Last winter, I did not think, at another twelve +months’ end, I should be amusing a stranger to the family with relating +them! Yet, who knows how long you’ll be a stranger? You’re too young to +rest always contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one +could see Catherine Linton and not love her. You smile; but why do you +look so lively and interested when I talk about her? and why have you +asked me to hang her picture over your fireplace? and why—?” + +“Stop, my good friend!” I cried. “It may be very possible that _I_ +should love her; but would she love me? I doubt it too much to venture +my tranquillity by running into temptation: and then my home is not +here. I’m of the busy world, and to its arms I must return. Go on. Was +Catherine obedient to her father’s commands?” + +“She was,” continued the housekeeper. “Her affection for him was still +the chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke +in the deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils +and foes, where his remembered words would be the only aid that he +could bequeath to guide her. He said to me, a few days afterwards, ‘I +wish my nephew would write, Ellen, or call. Tell me, sincerely, what +you think of him: is he changed for the better, or is there a prospect +of improvement, as he grows a man?’ + +“‘He’s very delicate, sir,’ I replied; ‘and scarcely likely to reach +manhood: but this I can say, he does not resemble his father; and if +Miss Catherine had the misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond +her control: unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent. +However, master, you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted with him +and see whether he would suit her: it wants four years and more to his +being of age.’” + +Edgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton +Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and +we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the +sparely-scattered gravestones. + +“I’ve prayed often,” he half soliloquised, “for the approach of what is +coming; and now I begin to shrink, and fear it. I thought the memory of +the hour I came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than +the anticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly, weeks, +to be carried up, and laid in its lonely hollow! Ellen, I’ve been very +happy with my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she +was a living hope at my side. But I’ve been as happy musing by myself +among those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June +evenings, on the green mound of her mother’s grave, and +wishing—yearning for the time when I might lie beneath it. What can I +do for Cathy? How must I quit her? I’d not care one moment for Linton +being Heathcliff’s son; nor for his taking her from me, if he could +console her for my loss. I’d not care that Heathcliff gained his ends, +and triumphed in robbing me of my last blessing! But should Linton be +unworthy—only a feeble tool to his father—I cannot abandon her to him! +And, hard though it be to crush her buoyant spirit, I must persevere in +making her sad while I live, and leaving her solitary when I die. +Darling! I’d rather resign her to God, and lay her in the earth before +me.” + +“Resign her to God as it is, sir,” I answered, “and if we should lose +you—which may He forbid—under His providence, I’ll stand her friend and +counsellor to the last. Miss Catherine is a good girl: I don’t fear +that she will go wilfully wrong; and people who do their duty are +always finally rewarded.” + +Spring advanced; yet my master gathered no real strength, though he +resumed his walks in the grounds with his daughter. To her +inexperienced notions, this itself was a sign of convalescence; and +then his cheek was often flushed, and his eyes were bright; she felt +sure of his recovering. On her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit +the churchyard: it was raining, and I observed— + +“You’ll surely not go out to-night, sir?” + +He answered,—“No, I’ll defer it this year a little longer.” + +He wrote again to Linton, expressing his great desire to see him; and, +had the invalid been presentable, I’ve no doubt his father would have +permitted him to come. As it was, being instructed, he returned an +answer, intimating that Mr. Heathcliff objected to his calling at the +Grange; but his uncle’s kind remembrance delighted him, and he hoped to +meet him sometimes in his rambles, and personally to petition that his +cousin and he might not remain long so utterly divided. + +That part of his letter was simple, and probably his own. Heathcliff +knew he could plead eloquently for Catherine’s company, then. + +“I do not ask,” he said, “that she may visit here; but am I never to +see her, because my father forbids me to go to her home, and you forbid +her to come to mine? Do, now and then, ride with her towards the +Heights; and let us exchange a few words, in your presence! We have +done nothing to deserve this separation; and you are not angry with me: +you have no reason to dislike me, you allow, yourself. Dear uncle! send +me a kind note to-morrow, and leave to join you anywhere you please, +except at Thrushcross Grange. I believe an interview would convince you +that my father’s character is not mine: he affirms I am more your +nephew than his son; and though I have faults which render me unworthy +of Catherine, she has excused them, and for her sake, you should also. +You inquire after my health—it is better; but while I remain cut off +from all hope, and doomed to solitude, or the society of those who +never did and never will like me, how can I be cheerful and well?” + +Edgar, though he felt for the boy, could not consent to grant his +request; because he could not accompany Catherine. He said, in summer, +perhaps, they might meet: meantime, he wished him to continue writing +at intervals, and engaged to give him what advice and comfort he was +able by letter; being well aware of his hard position in his family. +Linton complied; and had he been unrestrained, would probably have +spoiled all by filling his epistles with complaints and lamentations: +but his father kept a sharp watch over him; and, of course, insisted on +every line that my master sent being shown; so, instead of penning his +peculiar personal sufferings and distresses, the themes constantly +uppermost in his thoughts, he harped on the cruel obligation of being +held asunder from his friend and love; and gently intimated that Mr. +Linton must allow an interview soon, or he should fear he was purposely +deceiving him with empty promises. + +Cathy was a powerful ally at home; and between them they at length +persuaded my master to acquiesce in their having a ride or a walk +together about once a week, under my guardianship, and on the moors +nearest the Grange: for June found him still declining. Though he had +set aside yearly a portion of his income for my young lady’s fortune, +he had a natural desire that she might retain—or at least return in a +short time to—the house of her ancestors; and he considered her only +prospect of doing that was by a union with his heir; he had no idea +that the latter was failing almost as fast as himself; nor had any one, +I believe: no doctor visited the Heights, and no one saw Master +Heathcliff to make report of his condition among us. I, for my part, +began to fancy my forebodings were false, and that he must be actually +rallying, when he mentioned riding and walking on the moors, and seemed +so earnest in pursuing his object. I could not picture a father +treating a dying child as tyrannically and wickedly as I afterwards +learned Heathcliff had treated him, to compel this apparent eagerness: +his efforts redoubling the more imminently his avaricious and unfeeling +plans were threatened with defeat by death. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his +assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first +ride to join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day: devoid of +sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our +place of meeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads. +On arriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a +messenger, told us that,—“Maister Linton wer just o’ this side th’ +Heights: and he’d be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.” + +“Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,” I +observed: “he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at +once.” + +“Well, we’ll turn our horses’ heads round when we reach him,” answered +my companion; “our excursion shall lie towards home.” + +But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from +his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, +and leave ours to graze. He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, +and did not rise till we came within a few yards. Then he walked so +feebly, and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,—“Why, Master +Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning. How ill +you do look!” + +Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the +ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation +on their long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were +worse than usual? + +“No—better—better!” he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if +he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over +her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the +languid expression they once possessed. + +“But you have been worse,” persisted his cousin; “worse than when I saw +you last; you are thinner, and—” + +“I’m tired,” he interrupted, hurriedly. “It is too hot for walking, let +us rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick—papa says I grow +so fast.” + +Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her. + +“This is something like your paradise,” said she, making an effort at +cheerfulness. “You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the +place and way each thought pleasantest? This is nearly yours, only +there are clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer +than sunshine. Next week, if you can, we’ll ride down to the Grange +Park, and try mine.” + +Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of; and he had +evidently great difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation. His +lack of interest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity +to contribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not +conceal her disappointment. An indefinite alteration had come over his +whole person and manner. The pettishness that might be caressed into +fondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there was less of the +peevish temper of a child which frets and teases on purpose to be +soothed, and more of the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed +invalid, repelling consolation, and ready to regard the good-humoured +mirth of others as an insult. Catherine perceived, as well as I did, +that he held it rather a punishment, than a gratification, to endure +our company; and she made no scruple of proposing, presently, to +depart. That proposal, unexpectedly, roused Linton from his lethargy, +and threw him into a strange state of agitation. He glanced fearfully +towards the Heights, begging she would remain another half-hour, at +least. + +“But I think,” said Cathy, “you’d be more comfortable at home than +sitting here; and I cannot amuse you to-day, I see, by my tales, and +songs, and chatter: you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; +you have little taste for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse +you, I’d willingly stay.” + +“Stay to rest yourself,” he replied. “And, Catherine, don’t think or +say that I’m _very_ unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make +me dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me. Tell +uncle I’m in tolerable health, will you?” + +“I’ll tell him that _you_ say so, Linton. I couldn’t affirm that you +are,” observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion +of what was evidently an untruth. + +“And be here again next Thursday,” continued he, shunning her puzzled +gaze. “And give him my thanks for permitting you to come—my best +thanks, Catherine. And—and, if you _did_ meet my father, and he asked +you about me, don’t lead him to suppose that I’ve been extremely silent +and stupid: don’t look sad and downcast, as you _are_ doing—he’ll be +angry.” + +“I care nothing for his anger,” exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be +its object. + +“But I do,” said her cousin, shuddering. “_Don’t_ provoke him against +me, Catherine, for he is very hard.” + +“Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?” I inquired. “Has he grown +weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?” + +Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by +his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on +his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of +exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for +bilberries, and sharing the produce of her researches with me: she did +not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and +annoy. + +“Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?” she whispered in my ear, at last. “I +can’t tell why we should stay. He’s asleep, and papa will be wanting us +back.” + +“Well, we must not leave him asleep,” I answered; “wait till he wakes, +and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to +see poor Linton has soon evaporated!” + +“Why did _he_ wish to see me?” returned Catherine. “In his crossest +humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious +mood. It’s just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform—this +interview—for fear his father should scold him. But I’m hardly going to +come to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for +ordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I’m glad he’s +better in health, I’m sorry he’s so much less pleasant, and so much +less affectionate to me.” + +“You think _he is_ better in health, then?” I said. + +“Yes,” she answered; “because he always made such a great deal of his +sufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell +papa; but he’s better, very likely.” + +“There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,” I remarked; “I should +conjecture him to be far worse.” + +Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if +any one had called his name. + +“No,” said Catherine; “unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how you +manage to doze out of doors, in the morning.” + +“I thought I heard my father,” he gasped, glancing up to the frowning +nab above us. “You are sure nobody spoke?” + +“Quite sure,” replied his cousin. “Only Ellen and I were disputing +concerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we +separated in winter? If you be, I’m certain one thing is not +stronger—your regard for me: speak,—are you?” + +The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered, “Yes, yes, I am!” +And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up +and down to detect its owner. + +Cathy rose. “For to-day we must part,” she said. “And I won’t conceal +that I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I’ll +mention it to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. +Heathcliff.” + +“Hush,” murmured Linton; “for God’s sake, hush! He’s coming.” And he +clung to Catherine’s arm, striving to detain her; but at that +announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who +obeyed her like a dog. + +“I’ll be here next Thursday,” she cried, springing to the saddle. +“Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!” + +And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed +was he in anticipating his father’s approach. + +Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened into a +perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, +uneasy doubts about Linton’s actual circumstances, physical and social: +in which I partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a +second journey would make us better judges. My master requested an +account of our ongoings. His nephew’s offering of thanks was duly +delivered, Miss Cathy gently touching on the rest: I also threw little +light on his inquiries, for I hardly knew what to hide and what to +reveal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth +rapid alteration of Edgar Linton’s state. The havoc that months had +previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours. Catherine +we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to +delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful +probability, gradually ripening into certainty. She had not the heart +to mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, +and obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library, +where her father stopped a short time daily—the brief period he could +bear to sit up—and his chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged +each moment that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by +his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my +master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a +happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that +she would not now be left entirely alone after his death. + +He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, +that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in +mind; for Linton’s letters bore few or no indications of his defective +character. And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from +correcting the error; asking myself what good there would be in +disturbing his last moments with information that he had neither power +nor opportunity to turn to account. + +We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of +August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed +whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. Catherine’s face was +just like the landscape—shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid +succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more +transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for even that +passing forgetfulness of its cares. + +We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected before. +My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to +stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on +horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn’t risk losing sight of the charge +committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. +Master Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion: +not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it looked +more like fear. + +“It is late!” he said, speaking short and with difficulty. “Is not your +father very ill? I thought you wouldn’t come.” + +“_Why_ won’t you be candid?” cried Catherine, swallowing her greeting. +“Why cannot you say at once you don’t want me? It is strange, Linton, +that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, +apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides!” + +Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half ashamed; +but his cousin’s patience was not sufficient to endure this enigmatical +behaviour. + +“My father _is_ very ill,” she said; “and why am I called from his +bedside? Why didn’t you send to absolve me from my promise, when you +wished I wouldn’t keep it? Come! I desire an explanation: playing and +trifling are completely banished out of my mind; and I can’t dance +attendance on your affectations now!” + +“My affectations!” he murmured; “what are they? For heaven’s sake, +Catherine, don’t look so angry! Despise me as much as you please; I am +a worthless, cowardly wretch: I can’t be scorned enough; but I’m too +mean for your anger. Hate my father, and spare me for contempt.” + +“Nonsense!” cried Catherine in a passion. “Foolish, silly boy! And +there! he trembles, as if I were really going to touch him! You needn’t +bespeak contempt, Linton: anybody will have it spontaneously at your +service. Get off! I shall return home: it is folly dragging you from +the hearth-stone, and pretending—what do we pretend? Let go my frock! +If I pitied you for crying and looking so very frightened, you should +spurn such pity. Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct is. Rise, +and don’t degrade yourself into an abject reptile—_don’t_!” + +With streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown his +nerveless frame along the ground: he seemed convulsed with exquisite +terror. + +“Oh!” he sobbed, “I cannot bear it! Catherine, Catherine, I’m a +traitor, too, and I dare not tell you! But leave me, and I shall be +killed! _Dear_ Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have said +you loved me, and if you did, it wouldn’t harm you. You’ll not go, +then? kind, sweet, good Catherine! And perhaps you _will_ consent—and +he’ll let me die with you!” + +My young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him. +The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she +grew thoroughly moved and alarmed. + +“Consent to what?” she asked. “To stay! tell me the meaning of this +strange talk, and I will. You contradict your own words, and distract +me! Be calm and frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your +heart. You wouldn’t injure me, Linton, would you? You wouldn’t let any +enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it? I’ll believe you are a coward, +for yourself, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.” + +“But my father threatened me,” gasped the boy, clasping his attenuated +fingers, “and I dread him—I dread him! I _dare_ not tell!” + +“Oh, well!” said Catherine, with scornful compassion, “keep your +secret: _I’m_ no coward. Save yourself: I’m not afraid!” + +Her magnanimity provoked his tears: he wept wildly, kissing her +supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out. I was +cogitating what the mystery might be, and determined Catherine should +never suffer to benefit him or any one else, by my good will; when, +hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff +almost close upon us, descending the Heights. He didn’t cast a glance +towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for Linton’s +sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost hearty tone he assumed +to none besides, and the sincerity of which I couldn’t avoid doubting, +he said— + +“It is something to see you so near to my house, Nelly. How are you at +the Grange? Let us hear. The rumour goes,” he added, in a lower tone, +“that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his +illness?” + +“No; my master is dying,” I replied: “it is true enough. A sad thing it +will be for us all, but a blessing for him!” + +“How long will he last, do you think?” he asked. + +“I don’t know,” I said. + +“Because,” he continued, looking at the two young people, who were +fixed under his eye—Linton appeared as if he could not venture to stir +or raise his head, and Catherine could not move, on his +account—“because that lad yonder seems determined to beat me; and I’d +thank his uncle to be quick, and go before him! Hallo! has the whelp +been playing that game long? I _did_ give him some lessons about +snivelling. Is he pretty lively with Miss Linton generally?” + +“Lively? no—he has shown the greatest distress,” I answered. “To see +him, I should say, that instead of rambling with his sweetheart on the +hills, he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor.” + +“He shall be, in a day or two,” muttered Heathcliff. “But first—get up, +Linton! Get up!” he shouted. “Don’t grovel on the ground there: up, +this moment!” + +Linton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of helpless fear, +caused by his father’s glance towards him, I suppose: there was nothing +else to produce such humiliation. He made several efforts to obey, but +his little strength was annihilated for the time, and he fell back +again with a moan. Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him to lean +against a ridge of turf. + +“Now,” said he, with curbed ferocity, “I’m getting angry—and if you +don’t command that paltry spirit of yours—_damn_ you! get up directly!” + +“I will, father,” he panted. “Only, let me alone, or I shall faint. +I’ve done as you wished, I’m sure. Catherine will tell you that I—that +I—have been cheerful. Ah! keep by me, Catherine; give me your hand.” + +“Take mine,” said his father; “stand on your feet. There now—she’ll +lend you her arm: that’s right, look at _her_. You would imagine I was +the devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror. Be so kind as to +walk home with him, will you? He shudders if I touch him.” + +“Linton dear!” whispered Catherine, “I can’t go to Wuthering Heights: +papa has forbidden me. He’ll not harm you: why are you so afraid?” + +“I can never re-enter that house,” he answered. “I’m _not_ to re-enter +it without you!” + +“Stop!” cried his father. “We’ll respect Catherine’s filial scruples. +Nelly, take him in, and I’ll follow your advice concerning the doctor, +without delay.” + +“You’ll do well,” replied I. “But I must remain with my mistress: to +mind your son is not my business.” + +“You are very stiff,” said Heathcliff, “I know that: but you’ll force +me to pinch the baby and make it scream before it moves your charity. +Come, then, my hero. Are you willing to return, escorted by me?” + +He approached once more, and made as if he would seize the fragile +being; but, shrinking back, Linton clung to his cousin, and implored +her to accompany him, with a frantic importunity that admitted no +denial. However I disapproved, I couldn’t hinder her: indeed, how could +she have refused him herself? What was filling him with dread we had no +means of discerning; but there he was, powerless under its gripe, and +any addition seemed capable of shocking him into idiocy. We reached the +threshold; Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had +conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when +Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward, exclaimed—“My house is not stricken +with the plague, Nelly; and I have a mind to be hospitable to-day: sit +down, and allow me to shut the door.” + +He shut and locked it also. I started. + +“You shall have tea before you go home,” he added. “I am by myself. +Hareton is gone with some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph are +off on a journey of pleasure; and, though I’m used to being alone, I’d +rather have some interesting company, if I can get it. Miss Linton, +take your seat by _him_. I give you what I have: the present is hardly +worth accepting; but I have nothing else to offer. It is Linton, I +mean. How she does stare! It’s odd what a savage feeling I have to +anything that seems afraid of me! Had I been born where laws are less +strict and tastes less dainty, I should treat myself to a slow +vivisection of those two, as an evening’s amusement.” + +He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself, “By +hell! I hate them.” + +“I am not afraid of you!” exclaimed Catherine, who could not hear the +latter part of his speech. She stepped close up; her black eyes +flashing with passion and resolution. “Give me that key: I will have +it!” she said. “I wouldn’t eat or drink here, if I were starving.” + +Heathcliff had the key in his hand that remained on the table. He +looked up, seized with a sort of surprise at her boldness; or, +possibly, reminded, by her voice and glance, of the person from whom +she inherited it. She snatched at the instrument, and half succeeded in +getting it out of his loosened fingers: but her action recalled him to +the present; he recovered it speedily. + +“Now, Catherine Linton,” he said, “stand off, or I shall knock you +down; and that will make Mrs. Dean mad.” + +Regardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its +contents again. “We _will_ go!” she repeated, exerting her utmost +efforts to cause the iron muscles to relax; and finding that her nails +made no impression, she applied her teeth pretty sharply. Heathcliff +glanced at me a glance that kept me from interfering a moment. +Catherine was too intent on his fingers to notice his face. He opened +them suddenly, and resigned the object of dispute; but, ere she had +well secured it, he seized her with the liberated hand, and, pulling +her on his knee, administered with the other a shower of terrific slaps +on both sides of the head, each sufficient to have fulfilled his +threat, had she been able to fall. + +At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously. “You villain!” I +began to cry, “you villain!” A touch on the chest silenced me: I am +stout, and soon put out of breath; and, what with that and the rage, I +staggered dizzily back, and felt ready to suffocate, or to burst a +blood-vessel. The scene was over in two minutes; Catherine, released, +put her two hands to her temples, and looked just as if she were not +sure whether her ears were off or on. She trembled like a reed, poor +thing, and leant against the table perfectly bewildered. + +“I know how to chastise children, you see,” said the scoundrel, grimly, +as he stooped to repossess himself of the key, which had dropped to the +floor. “Go to Linton now, as I told you; and cry at your ease! I shall +be your father, to-morrow—all the father you’ll have in a few days—and +you shall have plenty of that. You can bear plenty; you’re no weakling: +you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in +your eyes again!” + +Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down and put her burning +cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of +the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I dare say, +that the correction had alighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, +perceiving us all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea +himself. The cups and saucers were laid ready. He poured it out, and +handed me a cup. + +“Wash away your spleen,” he said. “And help your own naughty pet and +mine. It is not poisoned, though I prepared it. I’m going out to seek +your horses.” + +Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We +tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside: we looked at the +windows—they were too narrow for even Cathy’s little figure. + +“Master Linton,” I cried, seeing we were regularly imprisoned, “you +know what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or +I’ll box your ears, as he has done your cousin’s.” + +“Yes, Linton, you must tell,” said Catherine. “It was for your sake I +came; and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.” + +“Give me some tea, I’m thirsty, and then I’ll tell you,” he answered. +“Mrs. Dean, go away. I don’t like you standing over me. Now, Catherine, +you are letting your tears fall into my cup. I won’t drink that. Give +me another.” + +Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped her face. I felt disgusted +at the little wretch’s composure, since he was no longer in terror for +himself. The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided as soon as +ever he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced +with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us there; +and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate fears. + +“Papa wants us to be married,” he continued, after sipping some of the +liquid. “And he knows your papa wouldn’t let us marry now; and he’s +afraid of my dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning, +and you are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you +shall return home next day, and take me with you.” + +“Take you with her, pitiful changeling!” I exclaimed. “_You_ marry? +Why, the man is mad! or he thinks us fools, every one. And do you +imagine that beautiful young lady, that healthy, hearty girl, will tie +herself to a little perishing monkey like you? Are you cherishing the +notion that _anybody_, let alone Miss Catherine Linton, would have you +for a husband? You want whipping for bringing us in here at all, with +your dastardly puling tricks: and—don’t look so silly, now! I’ve a very +good mind to shake you severely, for your contemptible treachery, and +your imbecile conceit.” + +I did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough, and he +took to his ordinary resource of moaning and weeping, and Catherine +rebuked me. + +“Stay all night? No,” she said, looking slowly round. “Ellen, I’ll burn +that door down but I’ll get out.” + +And she would have commenced the execution of her threat directly, but +Linton was up in alarm for his dear self again. He clasped her in his +two feeble arms sobbing:—“Won’t you have me, and save me? not let me +come to the Grange? Oh, darling Catherine! you mustn’t go and leave, +after all. You _must_ obey my father—you _must_!” + +“I must obey my own,” she replied, “and relieve him from this cruel +suspense. The whole night! What would he think? He’ll be distressed +already. I’ll either break or burn a way out of the house. Be quiet! +You’re in no danger; but if you hinder me—Linton, I love papa better +than you!” + +The mortal terror he felt of Mr. Heathcliff’s anger restored to the boy +his coward’s eloquence. Catherine was near distraught: still, she +persisted that she must go home, and tried entreaty in her turn, +persuading him to subdue his selfish agony. While they were thus +occupied, our jailor re-entered. + +“Your beasts have trotted off,” he said, “and—now Linton! snivelling +again? What has she been doing to you? Come, come—have done, and get to +bed. In a month or two, my lad, you’ll be able to pay her back her +present tyrannies with a vigorous hand. You’re pining for pure love, +are you not? nothing else in the world: and she shall have you! There, +to bed! Zillah won’t be here to-night; you must undress yourself. Hush! +hold your noise! Once in your own room, I’ll not come near you: you +needn’t fear. By chance, you’ve managed tolerably. I’ll look to the +rest.” + +He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass, and +the latter achieved his exit exactly as a spaniel might which suspected +the person who attended on it of designing a spiteful squeeze. The lock +was re-secured. Heathcliff approached the fire, where my mistress and I +stood silent. Catherine looked up, and instinctively raised her hand to +her cheek: his neighbourhood revived a painful sensation. Anybody else +would have been incapable of regarding the childish act with sternness, +but he scowled on her and muttered—“Oh! you are not afraid of me? Your +courage is well disguised: you _seem_ damnably afraid!” + +“I _am_ afraid now,” she replied, “because, if I stay, papa will be +miserable: and how can I endure making him miserable—when he—when +he—Mr. Heathcliff, _let_ me go home! I promise to marry Linton: papa +would like me to: and I love him. Why should you wish to force me to do +what I’ll willingly do of myself?” + +“Let him dare to force you,” I cried. “There’s law in the land, thank +God! there is; though we be in an out-of-the-way place. I’d inform if +he were my own son: and it’s felony without benefit of clergy!” + +“Silence!” said the ruffian. “To the devil with your clamour! I don’t +want _you_ to speak. Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in +thinking your father will be miserable: I shall not sleep for +satisfaction. You could have hit on no surer way of fixing your +residence under my roof for the next twenty-four hours than informing +me that such an event would follow. As to your promise to marry Linton, +I’ll take care you shall keep it; for you shall not quit this place +till it is fulfilled.” + +“Send Ellen, then, to let papa know I’m safe!” exclaimed Catherine, +weeping bitterly. “Or marry me now. Poor papa! Ellen, he’ll think we’re +lost. What shall we do?” + +“Not he! He’ll think you are tired of waiting on him, and run off for a +little amusement,” answered Heathcliff. “You cannot deny that you +entered my house of your own accord, in contempt of his injunctions to +the contrary. And it is quite natural that you should desire amusement +at your age; and that you would weary of nursing a sick man, and that +man _only_ your father. Catherine, his happiest days were over when +your days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world +(I did, at least); and it would just do if he cursed you as _he_ went +out of it. I’d join him. I don’t love you! How should I? Weep away. As +far as I can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter; unless +Linton make amends for other losses: and your provident parent appears +to fancy he may. His letters of advice and consolation entertained me +vastly. In his last he recommended my jewel to be careful of his; and +kind to her when he got her. Careful and kind—that’s paternal. But +Linton requires his whole stock of care and kindness for himself. +Linton can play the little tyrant well. He’ll undertake to torture any +number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared. You’ll +be able to tell his uncle fine tales of his _kindness_, when you get +home again, I assure you.” + +“You’re right there!” I said; “explain your son’s character. Show his +resemblance to yourself: and then, I hope, Miss Cathy will think twice +before she takes the cockatrice!” + +“I don’t much mind speaking of his amiable qualities now,” he answered; +“because she must either accept him or remain a prisoner, and you along +with her, till your master dies. I can detain you both, quite +concealed, here. If you doubt, encourage her to retract her word, and +you’ll have an opportunity of judging!” + +“I’ll not retract my word,” said Catherine. “I’ll marry him within this +hour, if I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterwards. Mr. Heathcliff, +you’re a cruel man, but you’re not a fiend; and you won’t, from _mere_ +malice, destroy irrevocably all my happiness. If papa thought I had +left him on purpose, and if he died before I returned, could I bear to +live? I’ve given over crying: but I’m going to kneel here, at your +knee; and I’ll not get up, and I’ll not take my eyes from your face +till you look back at me! No, don’t turn away! _do_ look! you’ll see +nothing to provoke you. I don’t hate you. I’m not angry that you struck +me. Have you never loved _anybody_ in all your life, uncle? _never_? +Ah! you must look once. I’m so wretched, you can’t help being sorry and +pitying me.” + +“Keep your eft’s fingers off; and move, or I’ll kick you!” cried +Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. “I’d rather be hugged by a snake. +How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I _detest_ you!” + +He shrugged his shoulders: shook himself, indeed, as if his flesh crept +with aversion; and thrust back his chair; while I got up, and opened my +mouth, to commence a downright torrent of abuse. But I was rendered +dumb in the middle of the first sentence, by a threat that I should be +shown into a room by myself the very next syllable I uttered. It was +growing dark—we heard a sound of voices at the garden-gate. Our host +hurried out instantly: _he_ had his wits about him; _we_ had not. There +was a talk of two or three minutes, and he returned alone. + +“I thought it had been your cousin Hareton,” I observed to Catherine. +“I wish he would arrive! Who knows but he might take our part?” + +“It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange,” said +Heathcliff, overhearing me. “You should have opened a lattice and +called out: but I could swear that chit is glad you didn’t. She’s glad +to be obliged to stay, I’m certain.” + +At learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our grief +without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine o’clock. Then +he bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillah’s chamber; and I +whispered my companion to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get +through the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. +The window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap +was safe from our attempts; for we were fastened in as before. We +neither of us lay down: Catherine took her station by the lattice, and +watched anxiously for morning; a deep sigh being the only answer I +could obtain to my frequent entreaties that she would try to rest. I +seated myself in a chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment +on my many derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the +misfortunes of my employers sprang. It was not the case, in reality, I +am aware; but it was, in my imagination, that dismal night; and I +thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I. + +At seven o’clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She +ran to the door immediately, and answered, “Yes.” “Here, then,” he +said, opening it, and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he turned +the lock again. I demanded my release. + +“Be patient,” he replied; “I’ll send up your breakfast in a while.” + +I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily; and Catherine +asked why I was still shut up? He answered, I must try to endure it +another hour, and they went away. I endured it two or three hours; at +length, I heard a footstep: not Heathcliff’s. + +“I’ve brought you something to eat,” said a voice; “oppen t’ door!” + +Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me +all day. + +“Tak’ it,” he added, thrusting the tray into my hand. + +“Stay one minute,” I began. + +“Nay,” cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour +forth to detain him. + +And there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next +night; and another, and another. Five nights and four days I remained, +altogether, seeing nobody but Hareton once every morning; and he was a +model of a jailor: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving +his sense of justice or compassion. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step +approached—lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the +room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk +bonnet on her head, and a willow-basket swung to her arm. + +“Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean!” she exclaimed. “Well! there is a talk about you +at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse +marsh, and missy with you, till master told me you’d been found, and +he’d lodged you here! What! and you must have got on an island, sure? +And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs. Dean? But +you’re not so thin—you’ve not been so poorly, have you?” + +“Your master is a true scoundrel!” I replied. “But he shall answer for +it. He needn’t have raised that tale: it shall all be laid bare!” + +“What do you mean?” asked Zillah. “It’s not his tale: they tell that in +the village—about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to +Earnshaw, when I come in—‘Eh, they’s queer things, Mr. Hareton, +happened since I went off. It’s a sad pity of that likely young lass, +and cant Nelly Dean.’ He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I +told him the rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to +himself, and said, ‘If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, +Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can +tell her to flit, when you go up; here is the key. The bog-water got +into her head, and she would have run home quite flighty, but I fixed +her till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange +at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young +lady will follow in time to attend the squire’s funeral.’” + +“Mr. Edgar is not dead?” I gasped. “Oh! Zillah, Zillah!” + +“No, no; sit you down, my good mistress,” she replied; “you’re right +sickly yet. He’s not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another +day. I met him on the road and asked.” + +Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened +below, for the way was free. On entering the house, I looked about for +some one to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with +sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. As I +hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a +slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on the settle, +sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy, and pursuing my movements +with apathetic eyes. “Where is Miss Catherine?” I demanded sternly, +supposing I could frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching +him thus, alone. He sucked on like an innocent. + +“Is she gone?” I said. + +“No,” he replied; “she’s upstairs: she’s not to go; we won’t let her.” + +“You won’t let her, little idiot!” I exclaimed. “Direct me to her room +immediately, or I’ll make you sing out sharply.” + +“Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get there,” he +answered. “He says I’m not to be soft with Catherine: she’s my wife, +and it’s shameful that she should wish to leave me. He says she hates +me and wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she shan’t have +it: and she shan’t go home! She never shall!—she may cry, and be sick +as much as she pleases!” + +He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he meant to +drop asleep. + +“Master Heathcliff,” I resumed, “have you forgotten all Catherine’s +kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when +she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through +wind and snow to see you? She wept to miss one evening, because you +would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times +too good to you: and now you believe the lies your father tells, though +you know he detests you both. And you join him against her. That’s fine +gratitude, is it not?” + +The corner of Linton’s mouth fell, and he took the sugar-candy from his +lips. + +“Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you?” I continued. +“Think for yourself! As to your money, she does not even know that you +will have any. And you say she’s sick; and yet you leave her alone, up +there in a strange house! _You_ who have felt what it is to be so +neglected! You could pity your own sufferings; and she pitied them, +too; but you won’t pity hers! I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you +see—an elderly woman, and a servant merely—and you, after pretending +such affection, and having reason to worship her almost, store every +tear you have for yourself, and lie there quite at ease. Ah! you’re a +heartless, selfish boy!” + +“I can’t stay with her,” he answered crossly. “I’ll not stay by myself. +She cries so I can’t bear it. And she won’t give over, though I say +I’ll call my father. I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle +her if she was not quiet; but she began again the instant he left the +room, moaning and grieving all night long, though I screamed for +vexation that I couldn’t sleep.” + +“Is Mr. Heathcliff out?” I inquired, perceiving that the wretched +creature had no power to sympathise with his cousin’s mental tortures. + +“He’s in the court,” he replied, “talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says +uncle is dying, truly, at last. I’m glad, for I shall be master of the +Grange after him. Catherine always spoke of it as _her_ house. It isn’t +hers! It’s mine: papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice +books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and +her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out; +but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine. And +then she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I +should have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, +and on the other uncle, when they were young. That was yesterday—I said +_they_ were mine, too; and tried to get them from her. The spiteful +thing wouldn’t let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me. I shrieked +out—that frightens her—she heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges +and divided the case, and gave me her mother’s portrait; the other she +attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained +it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me; +she refused, and he—he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain, +and crushed it with his foot.” + +“And were you pleased to see her struck?” I asked: having my designs in +encouraging his talk. + +“I winked,” he answered: “I wink to see my father strike a dog or a +horse, he does it so hard. Yet I was glad at first—she deserved +punishing for pushing me: but when papa was gone, she made me come to +the window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her +teeth, and her mouth filling with blood; and then she gathered up the +bits of the picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall, +and she has never spoken to me since: and I sometimes think she can’t +speak for pain. I don’t like to think so; but she’s a naughty thing for +crying continually; and she looks so pale and wild, I’m afraid of her.” + +“And you can get the key if you choose?” I said. + +“Yes, when I am upstairs,” he answered; “but I can’t walk upstairs +now.” + +“In what apartment is it?” I asked. + +“Oh,” he cried, “I shan’t tell _you_ where it is. It is our secret. +Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know. There! you’ve tired +me—go away, go away!” And he turned his face on to his arm, and shut +his eyes again. + +I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring +a rescue for my young lady from the Grange. On reaching it, the +astonishment of my fellow-servants to see me, and their joy also, was +intense; and when they heard that their little mistress was safe, two +or three were about to hurry up and shout the news at Mr. Edgar’s door: +but I bespoke the announcement of it myself. How changed I found him, +even in those few days! He lay an image of sadness and resignation +awaiting his death. Very young he looked: though his actual age was +thirty-nine, one would have called him ten years younger, at least. He +thought of Catherine; for he murmured her name. I touched his hand, and +spoke. + +“Catherine is coming, dear master!” I whispered; “she is alive and +well; and will be here, I hope, to-night.” + +I trembled at the first effects of this intelligence: he half rose up, +looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back in a swoon. As +soon as he recovered, I related our compulsory visit, and detention at +the Heights. I said Heathcliff forced me to go in: which was not quite +true. I uttered as little as possible against Linton; nor did I +describe all his father’s brutal conduct—my intentions being to add no +bitterness, if I could help it, to his already overflowing cup. + +He divined that one of his enemy’s purposes was to secure the personal +property, as well as the estate, to his son: or rather himself; yet why +he did not wait till his decease was a puzzle to my master, because +ignorant how nearly he and his nephew would quit the world together. +However, he felt that his will had better be altered: instead of +leaving Catherine’s fortune at her own disposal, he determined to put +it in the hands of trustees for her use during life, and for her +children, if she had any, after her. By that means, it could not fall +to Mr. Heathcliff should Linton die. + +Having received his orders, I despatched a man to fetch the attorney, +and four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to demand my young +lady of her jailor. Both parties were delayed very late. The single +servant returned first. He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he +arrived at his house, and he had to wait two hours for his re-entrance; +and then Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village +that must be done; but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before +morning. The four men came back unaccompanied also. They brought word +that Catherine was ill: too ill to quit her room; and Heathcliff would +not suffer them to see her. I scolded the stupid fellows well for +listening to that tale, which I would not carry to my master; resolving +to take a whole bevy up to the Heights, at daylight, and storm it +literally, unless the prisoner were quietly surrendered to us. Her +father _shall_ see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be +killed on his own door-stones in trying to prevent it! + +Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble. I had gone +downstairs at three o’clock to fetch a jug of water; and was passing +through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp knock at the front +door made me jump. “Oh! it is Green,” I said, recollecting myself—“only +Green,” and I went on, intending to send somebody else to open it; but +the knock was repeated: not loud, and still importunately. I put the +jug on the banister and hastened to admit him myself. The harvest moon +shone clear outside. It was not the attorney. My own sweet little +mistress sprang on my neck sobbing, “Ellen, Ellen! Is papa alive?” + +“Yes,” I cried: “yes, my angel, he is, God be thanked, you are safe +with us again!” + +She wanted to run, breathless as she was, upstairs to Mr. Linton’s +room; but I compelled her to sit down on a chair, and made her drink, +and washed her pale face, chafing it into a faint colour with my apron. +Then I said I must go first, and tell of her arrival; imploring her to +say, she should be happy with young Heathcliff. She stared, but soon +comprehending why I counselled her to utter the falsehood, she assured +me she would not complain. + +I couldn’t abide to be present at their meeting. I stood outside the +chamber-door a quarter of an hour, and hardly ventured near the bed, +then. All was composed, however: Catherine’s despair was as silent as +her father’s joy. She supported him calmly, in appearance; and he fixed +on her features his raised eyes that seemed dilating with ecstasy. + +He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood: he died so. Kissing her cheek, he +murmured,—“I am going to her; and you, darling child, shall come to +us!” and never stirred or spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant +gaze, till his pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed. None +could have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so entirely +without a struggle. + +Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief were too +weighty to let them flow, she sat there dry-eyed till the sun rose: she +sat till noon, and would still have remained brooding over that +deathbed, but I insisted on her coming away and taking some repose. It +was well I succeeded in removing her, for at dinner-time appeared the +lawyer, having called at Wuthering Heights to get his instructions how +to behave. He had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff: that was the cause of +his delay in obeying my master’s summons. Fortunately, no thought of +worldly affairs crossed the latter’s mind, to disturb him, after his +daughter’s arrival. + +Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody about the +place. He gave all the servants but me, notice to quit. He would have +carried his delegated authority to the point of insisting that Edgar +Linton should not be buried beside his wife, but in the chapel, with +his family. There was the will, however, to hinder that, and my loud +protestations against any infringement of its directions. The funeral +was hurried over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered +to stay at the Grange till her father’s corpse had quitted it. + +She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to incur the +risk of liberating her. She heard the men I sent disputing at the door, +and she gathered the sense of Heathcliff’s answer. It drove her +desperate. Linton who had been conveyed up to the little parlour soon +after I left, was terrified into fetching the key before his father +re-ascended. He had the cunning to unlock and re-lock the door, without +shutting it; and when he should have gone to bed, he begged to sleep +with Hareton, and his petition was granted for once. Catherine stole +out before break of day. She dared not try the doors lest the dogs +should raise an alarm; she visited the empty chambers and examined +their windows; and, luckily, lighting on her mother’s, she got easily +out of its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the fir-tree +close by. Her accomplice suffered for his share in the escape, +notwithstanding his timid contrivances. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated in the +library; now musing mournfully—one of us despairingly—on our loss, now +venturing conjectures as to the gloomy future. + +We had just agreed the best destiny which could await Catherine would +be a permission to continue resident at the Grange; at least during +Linton’s life: he being allowed to join her there, and I to remain as +housekeeper. That seemed rather too favourable an arrangement to be +hoped for; and yet I did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect +of retaining my home and my employment, and, above all, my beloved +young mistress; when a servant—one of the discarded ones, not yet +departed—rushed hastily in, and said “that devil Heathcliff” was coming +through the court: should he fasten the door in his face? + +If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding, we had not time. He +made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name: he was master, and +availed himself of the master’s privilege to walk straight in, without +saying a word. The sound of our informant’s voice directed him to the +library; he entered and motioning him out, shut the door. + +It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, +eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the +same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but +all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: the +splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one of her husband. +Heathcliff advanced to the hearth. Time had little altered his person +either. There was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more +composed, his frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other +difference. Catherine had risen with an impulse to dash out, when she +saw him. + +“Stop!” he said, arresting her by the arm. “No more runnings away! +Where would you go? I’m come to fetch you home; and I hope you’ll be a +dutiful daughter and not encourage my son to further disobedience. I +was embarrassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the +business: he’s such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him; but you’ll +see by his look that he has received his due! I brought him down one +evening, the day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and +never touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the room +to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and +since then my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I +fancy he sees me often, though I am not near. Hareton says he wakes and +shrieks in the night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him +from me; and, whether you like your precious mate, or not, you must +come: he’s your concern now; I yield all my interest in him to you.” + +“Why not let Catherine continue here,” I pleaded, “and send Master +Linton to her? As you hate them both, you’d not miss them: they _can_ +only be a daily plague to your unnatural heart.” + +“I’m seeking a tenant for the Grange,” he answered; “and I want my +children about me, to be sure. Besides, that lass owes me her services +for her bread. I’m not going to nurture her in luxury and idleness +after Linton is gone. Make haste and get ready, now; and don’t oblige +me to compel you.” + +“I shall,” said Catherine. “Linton is all I have to love in the world, +and though you have done what you could to make him hateful to me, and +me to him, you _cannot_ make us hate each other. And I defy you to hurt +him when I am by, and I defy you to frighten me!” + +“You are a boastful champion,” replied Heathcliff; “but I don’t like +you well enough to hurt him: you shall get the full benefit of the +torment, as long as it lasts. It is not I who will make him hateful to +you—it is his own sweet spirit. He’s as bitter as gall at your +desertion and its consequences: don’t expect thanks for this noble +devotion. I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he +would do if he were as strong as I: the inclination is there, and his +very weakness will sharpen his wits to find a substitute for strength.” + +“I know he has a bad nature,” said Catherine: “he’s your son. But I’m +glad I’ve a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that +reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff, _you_ have _nobody_ to love you; +and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of +thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery. You _are_ +miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him? +_Nobody_ loves you—_nobody_ will cry for you when you die! I wouldn’t +be you!” + +Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph: she seemed to have made +up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw +pleasure from the griefs of her enemies. + +“You shall be sorry to be yourself presently,” said her father-in-law, +“if you stand there another minute. Begone, witch, and get your +things!” + +She scornfully withdrew. In her absence I began to beg for Zillah’s +place at the Heights, offering to resign mine to her; but he would +suffer it on no account. He bid me be silent; and then, for the first +time, allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the +pictures. Having studied Mrs. Linton’s, he said—“I shall have that +home. Not because I need it, but—” He turned abruptly to the fire, and +continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a +smile—“I’ll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was +digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I +opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her +face again—it is hers yet!—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it +would change if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the +coffin loose, and covered it up: not Linton’s side, damn him! I wish +he’d been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton to pull it away +when I’m laid there, and slide mine out too; I’ll have it made so: and +then by the time Linton gets to us he’ll not know which is which!” + +“You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!” I exclaimed; “were you not +ashamed to disturb the dead?” + +“I disturbed nobody, Nelly,” he replied; “and I gave some ease to +myself. I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and you’ll have a +better chance of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed +her? No! she has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen +years—incessantly—remorselessly—till yesternight; and yesternight I was +tranquil. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with +my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers.” + +“And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you +have dreamt of then?” I said. + +“Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!” he answered. “Do +you suppose I dread any change of that sort? I expected such a +transformation on raising the lid, but I’m better pleased that it should +not commence till I share it. Besides, unless I had received a distinct +impression of her passionless features, that strange feeling would +hardly have been removed. It began oddly. You know I was wild after she +died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her +spirit! I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they +can, and do, exist among us! The day she was buried, there came a fall +of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as +winter—all round was solitary. I didn’t fear that her fool of a husband +would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to bring +them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the +sole barrier between us, I said to myself—‘I’ll have her in my arms +again! If she be cold, I’ll think it is this north wind that chills +_me_; and if she be motionless, it is sleep.’ I got a spade from the +tool-house, and began to delve with all my might—it scraped the coffin; +I fell to work with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the +screws; I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that +I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and +bending down. ‘If I can only get this off,’ I muttered, ‘I wish they +may shovel in the earth over us both!’ and I wrenched at it more +desperately still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared +to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew +no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you +perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it +cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not +under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my +heart through every limb. I relinquished my labour of agony, and turned +consoled at once: unspeakably consoled. Her presence was with me: it +remained while I re-filled the grave, and led me home. You may laugh, +if you will; but I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was +with me, and I could not help talking to her. Having reached the +Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It was fastened; and, I +remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I +remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying +upstairs, to my room and hers. I looked round impatiently—I felt her by +me—I could _almost_ see her, and yet I _could not_! I ought to have +sweat blood then, from the anguish of my yearning—from the fervour of +my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had not one. She showed +herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And, since then, +sometimes more and sometimes less, I’ve been the sport of that +intolerable torture! Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch +that, if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have +relaxed to the feebleness of Linton’s. When I sat in the house with +Hareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet her; when I walked +on the moors I should meet her coming in. When I went from home I +hastened to return; she _must_ be somewhere at the Heights, I was +certain! And when I slept in her chamber—I was beaten out of that. I +couldn’t lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either +outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, +or even resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a +child; and I must open my lids to see. And so I opened and closed them +a hundred times a night—to be always disappointed! It racked me! I’ve +often groaned aloud, till that old rascal Joseph no doubt believed that +my conscience was playing the fiend inside of me. Now, since I’ve seen +her, I’m pacified—a little. It was a strange way of killing: not by +inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile me with the +spectre of a hope through eighteen years!” + +Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet +with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the fire, +the brows not contracted, but raised next the temples; diminishing the +grim aspect of his countenance, but imparting a peculiar look of +trouble, and a painful appearance of mental tension towards one +absorbing subject. He only half addressed me, and I maintained silence. +I didn’t like to hear him talk! After a short period he resumed his +meditation on the picture, took it down and leant it against the sofa +to contemplate it at better advantage; and while so occupied Catherine +entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony should be +saddled. + +“Send that over to-morrow,” said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her, +he added: “You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and +you’ll need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, +your own feet will serve you. Come along.” + +“Good-bye, Ellen!” whispered my dear little mistress. As she kissed me, +her lips felt like ice. “Come and see me, Ellen; don’t forget.” + +“Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!” said her new father. “When +I wish to speak to you I’ll come here. I want none of your prying at my +house!” + +He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my +heart, she obeyed. I watched them, from the window, walk down the +garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherine’s arm under his: though she disputed +the act at first evidently; and with rapid strides he hurried her into +the alley, whose trees concealed them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she +left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her, +and wouldn’t let me pass. He said Mrs. Linton was “thrang,” and the +master was not in. Zillah has told me something of the way they go on, +otherwise I should hardly know who was dead and who living. She thinks +Catherine haughty, and does not like her, I can guess by her talk. My +young lady asked some aid of her when she first came; but Mr. +Heathcliff told her to follow her own business, and let his +daughter-in-law look after herself; and Zillah willingly acquiesced, +being a narrow-minded, selfish woman. Catherine evinced a child’s +annoyance at this neglect; repaid it with contempt, and thus enlisted +my informant among her enemies, as securely as if she had done her some +great wrong. I had a long talk with Zillah about six weeks ago, a +little before you came, one day when we foregathered on the moor; and +this is what she told me. + +“The first thing Mrs. Linton did,” she said, “on her arrival at the +Heights, was to run upstairs, without even wishing good-evening to me +and Joseph; she shut herself into Linton’s room, and remained till +morning. Then, while the master and Earnshaw were at breakfast, she +entered the house, and asked all in a quiver if the doctor might be +sent for? her cousin was very ill. + +“‘We know that!’ answered Heathcliff; ‘but his life is not worth a +farthing, and I won’t spend a farthing on him.’ + +“‘But I cannot tell how to do,’ she said; ‘and if nobody will help me, +he’ll die!’ + +“‘Walk out of the room,’ cried the master, ‘and let me never hear a +word more about him! None here care what becomes of him; if you do, act +the nurse; if you do not, lock him up and leave him.’ + +“Then she began to bother me, and I said I’d had enough plague with the +tiresome thing; we each had our tasks, and hers was to wait on Linton: +Mr. Heathcliff bid me leave that labour to her. + +“How they managed together, I can’t tell. I fancy he fretted a great +deal, and moaned hisseln night and day; and she had precious little +rest: one could guess by her white face and heavy eyes. She sometimes +came into the kitchen all wildered like, and looked as if she would +fain beg assistance; but I was not going to disobey the master: I never +dare disobey him, Mrs. Dean; and, though I thought it wrong that +Kenneth should not be sent for, it was no concern of mine either to +advise or complain, and I always refused to meddle. Once or twice, +after we had gone to bed, I’ve happened to open my door again and seen +her sitting crying on the stairs’-top; and then I’ve shut myself in +quick, for fear of being moved to interfere. I did pity her then, I’m +sure: still I didn’t wish to lose my place, you know. + +“At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and frightened me +out of my wits, by saying, ‘Tell Mr. Heathcliff that his son is +dying—I’m sure he is, this time. Get up, instantly, and tell him.’ + +“Having uttered this speech, she vanished again. I lay a quarter of an +hour listening and trembling. Nothing stirred—the house was quiet. + +“She’s mistaken, I said to myself. He’s got over it. I needn’t disturb +them; and I began to doze. But my sleep was marred a second time by a +sharp ringing of the bell—the only bell we have, put up on purpose for +Linton; and the master called to me to see what was the matter, and +inform them that he wouldn’t have that noise repeated. + +“I delivered Catherine’s message. He cursed to himself, and in a few +minutes came out with a lighted candle, and proceeded to their room. I +followed. Mrs. Heathcliff was seated by the bedside, with her hands +folded on her knees. Her father-in-law went up, held the light to +Linton’s face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to +her. + +“‘Now—Catherine,’ he said, ‘how do you feel?’ + +“She was dumb. + +“‘How do you feel, Catherine?’ he repeated. + +“‘He’s safe, and I’m free,’ she answered: ‘I should feel well—but,’ she +continued, with a bitterness she couldn’t conceal, ‘you have left me so +long to struggle against death alone, that I feel and see only death! I +feel like death!’ + +“And she looked like it, too! I gave her a little wine. Hareton and +Joseph, who had been wakened by the ringing and the sound of feet, and +heard our talk from outside, now entered. Joseph was fain, I believe, +of the lad’s removal; Hareton seemed a thought bothered: though he was +more taken up with staring at Catherine than thinking of Linton. But +the master bid him get off to bed again: we didn’t want his help. He +afterwards made Joseph remove the body to his chamber, and told me to +return to mine, and Mrs. Heathcliff remained by herself. + +“In the morning, he sent me to tell her she must come down to +breakfast: she had undressed, and appeared going to sleep, and said she +was ill; at which I hardly wondered. I informed Mr. Heathcliff, and he +replied,—‘Well, let her be till after the funeral; and go up now and +then to get her what is needful; and, as soon as she seems better, tell +me.’” + +Cathy stayed upstairs a fortnight, according to Zillah; who visited her +twice a day, and would have been rather more friendly, but her attempts +at increasing kindness were proudly and promptly repelled. + +Heathcliff went up once, to show her Linton’s will. He had bequeathed +the whole of his, and what had been her, moveable property, to his +father: the poor creature was threatened, or coaxed, into that act +during her week’s absence, when his uncle died. The lands, being a +minor, he could not meddle with. However, Mr. Heathcliff has claimed +and kept them in his wife’s right and his also: I suppose legally; at +any rate, Catherine, destitute of cash and friends, cannot disturb his +possession. + +“Nobody,” said Zillah, “ever approached her door, except that once, but +I; and nobody asked anything about her. The first occasion of her +coming down into the house was on a Sunday afternoon. She had cried +out, when I carried up her dinner, that she couldn’t bear any longer +being in the cold; and I told her the master was going to Thrushcross +Grange, and Earnshaw and I needn’t hinder her from descending; so, as +soon as she heard Heathcliff’s horse trot off, she made her appearance, +donned in black, and her yellow curls combed back behind her ears as +plain as a Quaker: she couldn’t comb them out. + +“Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays:” the kirk, (you know, +has no minister now, explained Mrs. Dean; and they call the Methodists’ +or Baptists’ place, I can’t say which it is, at Gimmerton, a chapel.) +“Joseph had gone,” she continued, “but I thought proper to bide at +home. Young folks are always the better for an elder’s over-looking; +and Hareton, with all his bashfulness, isn’t a model of nice behaviour. +I let him know that his cousin would very likely sit with us, and she +had been always used to see the Sabbath respected; so he had as good +leave his guns and bits of indoor work alone, while she stayed. He +coloured up at the news, and cast his eyes over his hands and clothes. +The train-oil and gunpowder were shoved out of sight in a minute. I saw +he meant to give her his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted +to be presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master +is by, I offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his confusion. +He grew sullen, and began to swear. + +“Now, Mrs. Dean,” Zillah went on, seeing me not pleased by her manner, +“you happen think your young lady too fine for Mr. Hareton; and happen +you’re right: but I own I should love well to bring her pride a peg +lower. And what will all her learning and her daintiness do for her, +now? She’s as poor as you or I: poorer, I’ll be bound: you’re saving, +and I’m doing my little all that road.” + +Hareton allowed Zillah to give him her aid; and she flattered him into +a good humour; so, when Catherine came, half forgetting her former +insults, he tried to make himself agreeable, by the housekeeper’s +account. + +“Missis walked in,” she said, “as chill as an icicle, and as high as a +princess. I got up and offered her my seat in the arm-chair. No, she +turned up her nose at my civility. Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come +to the settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was starved. + +“‘I’ve been starved a month and more,’ she answered, resting on the +word as scornful as she could. + +“And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a distance from both +of us. Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and +discovered a number of books on the dresser; she was instantly upon her +feet again, stretching to reach them: but they were too high up. Her +cousin, after watching her endeavours a while, at last summoned courage +to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that +came to hand. + +“That was a great advance for the lad. She didn’t thank him; still, he +felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to +stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out what +struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was +he daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his +finger: he contented himself with going a bit farther back and looking +at her instead of the book. She continued reading, or seeking for +something to read. His attention became, by degrees, quite centred in +the study of her thick silky curls: her face he couldn’t see, and she +couldn’t see him. And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but +attracted like a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring +to touching; he put out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if +it were a bird. He might have stuck a knife into her neck, she started +round in such a taking. + +“‘Get away this moment! How dare you touch me? Why are you stopping +there?’ she cried, in a tone of disgust. ‘I can’t endure you! I’ll go +upstairs again, if you come near me.’ + +“Mr. Hareton recoiled, looking as foolish as he could do: he sat down +in the settle very quiet, and she continued turning over her volumes +another half hour; finally, Earnshaw crossed over, and whispered to me. + +“‘Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah? I’m stalled of doing naught; +and I do like—I could like to hear her! Dunnot say I wanted it, but ask +of yourseln.’ + +“‘Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma’am,’ I said, immediately. +‘He’d take it very kind—he’d be much obliged.’ + +“She frowned; and looking up, answered— + +“‘Mr. Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be good enough to +understand that I reject any pretence at kindness you have the +hypocrisy to offer! I despise you, and will have nothing to say to any +of you! When I would have given my life for one kind word, even to see +one of your faces, you all kept off. But I won’t complain to you! I’m +driven down here by the cold; not either to amuse you or enjoy your +society.’ + +“‘What could I ha’ done?’ began Earnshaw. ‘How was I to blame?’ + +“‘Oh! you are an exception,’ answered Mrs. Heathcliff. ‘I never missed +such a concern as you.’ + +“‘But I offered more than once, and asked,’ he said, kindling up at her +pertness, ‘I asked Mr. Heathcliff to let me wake for you—’ + +“‘Be silent! I’ll go out of doors, or anywhere, rather than have your +disagreeable voice in my ear!’ said my lady. + +“Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and unslinging his +gun, restrained himself from his Sunday occupations no longer. He +talked now, freely enough; and she presently saw fit to retreat to her +solitude: but the frost had set in, and, in spite of her pride, she was +forced to condescend to our company, more and more. However, I took +care there should be no further scorning at my good nature: ever since, +I’ve been as stiff as herself; and she has no lover or liker among us: +and she does not deserve one; for, let them say the least word to her, +and she’ll curl back without respect of any one. She’ll snap at the +master himself, and as good as dares him to thrash her; and the more +hurt she gets, the more venomous she grows.” + +At first, on hearing this account from Zillah, I determined to leave my +situation, take a cottage, and get Catherine to come and live with me: +but Mr. Heathcliff would as soon permit that as he would set up Hareton +in an independent house; and I can see no remedy, at present, unless +she could marry again; and that scheme it does not come within my +province to arrange. + +* * * * * + + +Thus ended Mrs. Dean’s story. Notwithstanding the doctor’s prophecy, I +am rapidly recovering strength; and though it be only the second week +in January, I propose getting out on horseback in a day or two, and +riding over to Wuthering Heights, to inform my landlord that I shall +spend the next six months in London; and, if he likes, he may look out +for another tenant to take the place after October. I would not pass +another winter here for much. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the Heights as I +proposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to +her young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not +conscious of anything odd in her request. The front door stood open, +but the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and +invoked Earnshaw from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I +entered. The fellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen. I took +particular notice of him this time; but then he does his best +apparently to make the least of his advantages. + +I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home? He answered, No; but he would +be in at dinner-time. It was eleven o’clock, and I announced my +intention of going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately +flung down his tools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not +as a substitute for the host. + +We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in +preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more +sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly +raised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment with the +same disregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning +my bow and good-morning by the slightest acknowledgment. + +“She does not seem so amiable,” I thought, “as Mrs. Dean would persuade +me to believe. She’s a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.” + +Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen. “Remove them +yourself,” she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and +retiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of +birds and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap. I approached +her, pretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied, +adroitly dropped Mrs. Dean’s note on to her knee, unnoticed by +Hareton—but she asked aloud, “What is that?” And chucked it off. + +“A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange,” I +answered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it +should be imagined a missive of my own. She would gladly have gathered +it up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it +in his waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first. +Thereat, Catherine silently turned her face from us, and, very +stealthily, drew out her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her +eyes; and her cousin, after struggling awhile to keep down his softer +feelings, pulled out the letter and flung it on the floor beside her, +as ungraciously as he could. Catherine caught and perused it eagerly; +then she put a few questions to me concerning the inmates, rational and +irrational, of her former home; and gazing towards the hills, murmured +in soliloquy: + +“I should like to be riding Minny down there! I should like to be +climbing up there! Oh! I’m tired—I’m _stalled_, Hareton!” And she leant +her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn and half a +sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness: neither caring +nor knowing whether we remarked her. + +“Mrs. Heathcliff,” I said, after sitting some time mute, “you are not +aware that I am an acquaintance of yours? so intimate that I think it +strange you won’t come and speak to me. My housekeeper never wearies of +talking about and praising you; and she’ll be greatly disappointed if I +return with no news of or from you, except that you received her letter +and said nothing!” + +She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked,— + +“Does Ellen like you?” + +“Yes, very well,” I replied, hesitatingly. + +“You must tell her,” she continued, “that I would answer her letter, +but I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might +tear a leaf.” + +“No books!” I exclaimed. “How do you contrive to live here without +them? if I may take the liberty to inquire. Though provided with a +large library, I’m frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books +away, and I should be desperate!” + +“I was always reading, when I had them,” said Catherine; “and Mr. +Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my +books. I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks. Only once, I searched +through Joseph’s store of theology, to his great irritation; and once, +Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your room—some Latin and Greek, +and some tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here—and +you gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love +of stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in +the bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody else shall. +Perhaps _your_ envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my +treasures? But I’ve most of them written on my brain and printed in my +heart, and you cannot deprive me of those!” + +Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his +private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of +her accusations. + +“Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge,” I +said, coming to his rescue. “He is not _envious_, but _emulous_ of your +attainments. He’ll be a clever scholar in a few years.” + +“And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime,” answered Catherine. +“Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty +blunders he makes! I wish you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did +yesterday: it was extremely funny. I heard you; and I heard you turning +over the dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing +because you couldn’t read their explanations!” + +The young man evidently thought it too bad that he should be laughed at +for his ignorance, and then laughed at for trying to remove it. I had a +similar notion; and, remembering Mrs. Dean’s anecdote of his first +attempt at enlightening the darkness in which he had been reared, I +observed,—“But, Mrs. Heathcliff, we have each had a commencement, and +each stumbled and tottered on the threshold; had our teachers scorned +instead of aiding us, we should stumble and totter yet.” + +“Oh!” she replied, “I don’t wish to limit his acquirements: still, he +has no right to appropriate what is mine, and make it ridiculous to me +with his vile mistakes and mispronunciations! Those books, both prose +and verse, are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to +have them debased and profaned in his mouth! Besides, of all, he has +selected my favourite pieces that I love the most to repeat, as if out +of deliberate malice.” + +Hareton’s chest heaved in silence a minute: he laboured under a severe +sense of mortification and wrath, which it was no easy task to +suppress. I rose, and, from a gentlemanly idea of relieving his +embarrassment, took up my station in the doorway, surveying the +external prospect as I stood. He followed my example, and left the +room; but presently reappeared, bearing half a dozen volumes in his +hands, which he threw into Catherine’s lap, exclaiming,—“Take them! I +never want to hear, or read, or think of them again!” + +“I won’t have them now,” she answered. “I shall connect them with you, +and hate them.” + +She opened one that had obviously been often turned over, and read a +portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed, and threw it +from her. “And listen,” she continued, provokingly, commencing a verse +of an old ballad in the same fashion. + +But his self-love would endure no further torment: I heard, and not +altogether disapprovingly, a manual check given to her saucy tongue. +The little wretch had done her utmost to hurt her cousin’s sensitive +though uncultivated feelings, and a physical argument was the only mode +he had of balancing the account, and repaying its effects on the +inflictor. He afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the +fire. I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that +sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the +pleasure they had already imparted, and the triumph and ever-increasing +pleasure he had anticipated from them; and I fancied I guessed the +incitement to his secret studies also. He had been content with daily +labour and rough animal enjoyments, till Catherine crossed his path. +Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompters +to higher pursuits; and instead of guarding him from one and winning +him to the other, his endeavours to raise himself had produced just the +contrary result. + +“Yes, that’s all the good that such a brute as you can get from them!” +cried Catherine, sucking her damaged lip, and watching the +conflagration with indignant eyes. + +“You’d _better_ hold your tongue, now,” he answered fiercely. + +And his agitation precluded further speech; he advanced hastily to the +entrance, where I made way for him to pass. But ere he had crossed the +door-stones, Mr. Heathcliff, coming up the causeway, encountered him, +and laying hold of his shoulder asked,—“What’s to do now, my lad?” + +“Naught, naught,” he said, and broke away to enjoy his grief and anger +in solitude. + +Heathcliff gazed after him, and sighed. + +“It will be odd if I thwart myself,” he muttered, unconscious that I +was behind him. “But when I look for his father in his face, I find +_her_ every day more! How the devil is he so like? I can hardly bear to +see him.” + +He bent his eyes to the ground, and walked moodily in. There was a +restless, anxious expression in his countenance, I had never remarked +there before; and he looked sparer in person. His daughter-in-law, on +perceiving him through the window, immediately escaped to the kitchen, +so that I remained alone. + +“I’m glad to see you out of doors again, Mr. Lockwood,” he said, in +reply to my greeting; “from selfish motives partly: I don’t think I +could readily supply your loss in this desolation. I’ve wondered more +than once what brought you here.” + +“An idle whim, I fear, sir,” was my answer; “or else an idle whim is +going to spirit me away. I shall set out for London next week; and I +must give you warning that I feel no disposition to retain Thrushcross +Grange beyond the twelve months I agreed to rent it. I believe I shall +not live there any more.” + +“Oh, indeed; you’re tired of being banished from the world, are you?” +he said. “But if you be coming to plead off paying for a place you +won’t occupy, your journey is useless: I never relent in exacting my +due from any one.” + +“I’m coming to plead off nothing about it,” I exclaimed, considerably +irritated. “Should you wish it, I’ll settle with you now,” and I drew +my note-book from my pocket. + +“No, no,” he replied, coolly; “you’ll leave sufficient behind to cover +your debts, if you fail to return: I’m not in such a hurry. Sit down +and take your dinner with us; a guest that is safe from repeating his +visit can generally be made welcome. Catherine! bring the things in: +where are you?” + +Catherine reappeared, bearing a tray of knives and forks. + +“You may get your dinner with Joseph,” muttered Heathcliff, aside, “and +remain in the kitchen till he is gone.” + +She obeyed his directions very punctually: perhaps she had no +temptation to transgress. Living among clowns and misanthropists, she +probably cannot appreciate a better class of people when she meets +them. + +With Mr. Heathcliff, grim and saturnine, on the one hand, and Hareton, +absolutely dumb, on the other, I made a somewhat cheerless meal, and +bade adieu early. I would have departed by the back way, to get a last +glimpse of Catherine and annoy old Joseph; but Hareton received orders +to lead up my horse, and my host himself escorted me to the door, so I +could not fulfil my wish. + +“How dreary life gets over in that house!” I reflected, while riding +down the road. “What a realisation of something more romantic than a +fairy tale it would have been for Mrs. Linton Heathcliff, had she and I +struck up an attachment, as her good nurse desired, and migrated +together into the stirring atmosphere of the town!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +1802.—This September I was invited to devastate the moors of a friend +in the north, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came +within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The ostler at a roadside +public-house was holding a pail of water to refresh my horses, when a +cart of very green oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he +remarked,—“Yon’s frough Gimmerton, nah! They’re allas three wick’ after +other folk wi’ ther harvest.” + +“Gimmerton?” I repeated—my residence in that locality had already grown +dim and dreamy. “Ah! I know. How far is it from this?” + +“Happen fourteen mile o’er th’ hills; and a rough road,” he answered. + +A sudden impulse seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange. It was scarcely +noon, and I conceived that I might as well pass the night under my own +roof as in an inn. Besides, I could spare a day easily to arrange +matters with my landlord, and thus save myself the trouble of invading +the neighbourhood again. Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to +inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our beasts, +we managed the distance in some three hours. + +I left him there, and proceeded down the valley alone. The grey church +looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier. I distinguished a +moor-sheep cropping the short turf on the graves. It was sweet, warm +weather—too warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from +enjoying the delightful scenery above and below: had I seen it nearer +August, I’m sure it would have tempted me to waste a month among its +solitudes. In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more +divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells +of heath. + +I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the +family had retreated into the back premises, I judged, by one thin, +blue wreath, curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear. I +rode into the court. Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat +knitting, and an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a +meditative pipe. + +“Is Mrs. Dean within?” I demanded of the dame. + +“Mistress Dean? Nay!” she answered, “she doesn’t bide here: shoo’s up +at th’ Heights.” + +“Are you the housekeeper, then?” I continued. + +“Eea, Aw keep th’ hause,” she replied. + +“Well, I’m Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are there any rooms to lodge me +in, I wonder? I wish to stay all night.” + +“T’ maister!” she cried in astonishment. “Whet, whoiver knew yah wur +coming? Yah sud ha’ send word. They’s nowt norther dry nor mensful +abaht t’ place: nowt there isn’t!” + +She threw down her pipe and bustled in, the girl followed, and I +entered too; soon perceiving that her report was true, and, moreover, +that I had almost upset her wits by my unwelcome apparition, I bade her +be composed. I would go out for a walk; and, meantime she must try to +prepare a corner of a sitting-room for me to sup in, and a bedroom to +sleep in. No sweeping and dusting, only good fire and dry sheets were +necessary. She seemed willing to do her best; though she thrust the +hearth-brush into the grates in mistake for the poker, and +malappropriated several other articles of her craft: but I retired, +confiding in her energy for a resting-place against my return. +Wuthering Heights was the goal of my proposed excursion. An +after-thought brought me back, when I had quitted the court. + +“All well at the Heights?” I inquired of the woman. + +“Eea, f’r owt ee knaw!” she answered, skurrying away with a pan of hot +cinders. + +I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but it was +impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away and made my +exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind, +and the mild glory of a rising moon in front—one fading, and the other +brightening—as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road +branching off to Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. Before I arrived in sight +of it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along the +west: but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of +grass, by that splendid moon. I had neither to climb the gate nor to +knock—it yielded to my hand. That is an improvement, I thought. And I +noticed another, by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and +wallflowers wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruit-trees. + +Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a +coal-district, a fine red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which +the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable. But the house +of Wuthering Heights is so large that the inmates have plenty of space +for withdrawing out of its influence; and accordingly what inmates +there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. I +could both see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and +listened in consequence; being moved thereto by a mingled sense of +curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered. + +“Con-_trary_!” said a voice as sweet as a silver bell. “That for the +third time, you dunce! I’m not going to tell you again. Recollect, or +I’ll pull your hair!” + +“Contrary, then,” answered another, in deep but softened tones. “And +now, kiss me, for minding so well.” + +“No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.” + +The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed +and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features +glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the +page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a +smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of +inattention. Its owner stood behind; her light, shining ringlets +blending, at intervals, with his brown locks, as she bent to +superintend his studies; and her face—it was lucky he could not see her +face, or he would never have been so steady. I could; and I bit my lip +in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing +something besides staring at its smiting beauty. + +The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the pupil +claimed a reward, and received at least five kisses; which, however, he +generously returned. Then they came to the door, and from their +conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on +the moors. I supposed I should be condemned in Hareton Earnshaw’s +heart, if not by his mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions +if I showed my unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then; and +feeling very mean and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the +kitchen. There was unobstructed admittance on that side also; and at +the door sat my old friend Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song; which +was often interrupted from within by harsh words of scorn and +intolerance, uttered in far from musical accents. + +“I’d rayther, by th’ haulf, hev’ ’em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to +neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver!” said the tenant of the kitchen, in +answer to an unheard speech of Nelly’s. “It’s a blazing shame, that I +cannot oppen t’ blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, +and all t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’ warld! +Oh! ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s another; and that poor lad ’ll be +lost atween ye. Poor lad!” he added, with a groan; “he’s witched: I’m +sartin on’t. Oh, Lord, judge ’em, for there’s norther law nor justice +among wer rullers!” + +“No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,” retorted +the singer. “But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, +and never mind me. This is ‘Fairy Annie’s Wedding’—a bonny tune—it goes +to a dance.” + +Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced; and recognising me +directly, she jumped to her feet, crying—“Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! +How could you think of returning in this way? All’s shut up at +Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us notice!” + +“I’ve arranged to be accommodated there, for as long as I shall stay,” +I answered. “I depart again to-morrow. And how are you transplanted +here, Mrs. Dean? tell me that.” + +“Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went +to London, and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray! Have you +walked from Gimmerton this evening?” + +“From the Grange,” I replied; “and while they make me lodging room +there, I want to finish my business with your master; because I don’t +think of having another opportunity in a hurry.” + +“What business, sir?” said Nelly, conducting me into the house. “He’s +gone out at present, and won’t return soon.” + +“About the rent,” I answered. + +“Oh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,” she observed; +“or rather with me. She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I +act for her: there’s nobody else.” + +I looked surprised. + +“Ah! you have not heard of Heathcliff’s death, I see,” she continued. + +“Heathcliff dead!” I exclaimed, astonished. “How long ago?” + +“Three months since: but sit down, and let me take your hat, and I’ll +tell you all about it. Stop, you have had nothing to eat, have you?” + +“I want nothing: I have ordered supper at home. You sit down too. I +never dreamt of his dying! Let me hear how it came to pass. You say you +don’t expect them back for some time—the young people?” + +“No—I have to scold them every evening for their late rambles: but they +don’t care for me. At least, have a drink of our old ale; it will do +you good: you seem weary.” + +She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse, and I heard Joseph +asking whether “it warn’t a crying scandal that she should have +followers at her time of life? And then, to get them jocks out o’ t’ +maister’s cellar! He fair shaamed to ’bide still and see it.” + +She did not stay to retaliate, but re-entered in a minute, bearing a +reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness. +And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff’s +history. He had a “queer” end, as she expressed it. + +* * * * * + + +I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving +us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine’s sake. My first +interview with her grieved and shocked me: she had altered so much +since our separation. Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for +taking a new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, +and he was tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my +sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to +see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; +and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other +articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered +myself we should get on in tolerable comfort. The delusion did not last +long. Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable +and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the +garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as +spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to +quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she preferred +quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her +solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often +obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the +house to himself; and though in the beginning she either left it at his +approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or +addressing him—and though he was always as sullen and silent as +possible—after a while, she changed her behaviour, and became incapable +of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and +idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he +lived—how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and +dozing. + +“He’s just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?” she once observed, “or a +cart-horse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What +a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if +you do, what is it about? But you can’t speak to me!” + +Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth nor look +again. + +“He’s, perhaps, dreaming now,” she continued. “He twitched his shoulder +as Juno twitches hers. Ask him, Ellen.” + +“Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs, if you don’t +behave!” I said. He had not only twitched his shoulder but clenched his +fist, as if tempted to use it. + +“I know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the kitchen,” she +exclaimed, on another occasion. “He is afraid I shall laugh at him. +Ellen, what do you think? He began to teach himself to read once; and, +because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a +fool?” + +“Were not you naughty?” I said; “answer me that.” + +“Perhaps I was,” she went on; “but I did not expect him to be so silly. +Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? I’ll try!” + +She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and +muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck. + +“Well, I shall put it here,” she said, “in the table-drawer; and I’m +going to bed.” + +Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But +he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her +great disappointment. I saw she was sorry for his persevering sulkiness +and indolence: her conscience reproved her for frightening him off +improving himself: she had done it effectually. But her ingenuity was +at work to remedy the injury: while I ironed, or pursued other such +stationary employments as I could not well do in the parlour, she would +bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. When Hareton was +there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book +lying about: that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a +mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to +smoking with Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of +the fire, the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked nonsense, +as he would have called it, the younger doing his best to seem to +disregard it. On fine evenings the latter followed his shooting +expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to +her, and ran off into the court or garden the moment I began; and, as a +last resource, cried, and said she was tired of living: her life was +useless. + +Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society, had +almost banished Earnshaw from his apartment. Owing to an accident at +the commencement of March, he became for some days a fixture in the +kitchen. His gun burst while out on the hills by himself; a splinter +cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach +home. The consequence was that, perforce, he was condemned to the +fireside and tranquillity, till he made it up again. It suited +Catherine to have him there: at any rate, it made her hate her room +upstairs more than ever: and she would compel me to find out business +below, that she might accompany me. + +On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some cattle; and, +in the afternoon, I was busy getting up linen in the kitchen. Earnshaw +sat, morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was +beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window-panes, +varying her amusement by smothered bursts of songs, and whispered +ejaculations, and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the +direction of her cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the +grate. At a notice that I could do with her no longer intercepting my +light, she removed to the hearthstone. I bestowed little attention on +her proceedings, but, presently, I heard her begin—“I’ve found out, +Hareton, that I want—that I’m glad—that I should like you to be my +cousin now, if you had not grown so cross to me, and so rough.” + +Hareton returned no answer. + +“Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! do you hear?” she continued. + +“Get off wi’ ye!” he growled, with uncompromising gruffness. + +“Let me take that pipe,” she said, cautiously advancing her hand and +abstracting it from his mouth. + +Before he could attempt to recover it, it was broken, and behind the +fire. He swore at her and seized another. + +“Stop,” she cried, “you must listen to me first; and I can’t speak +while those clouds are floating in my face.” + +“Will you go to the devil!” he exclaimed, ferociously, “and let me be!” + +“No,” she persisted, “I won’t: I can’t tell what to do to make you talk +to me; and you are determined not to understand. When I call you +stupid, I don’t mean anything: I don’t mean that I despise you. Come, +you shall take notice of me, Hareton: you are my cousin, and you shall +own me.” + +“I shall have naught to do wi’ you and your mucky pride, and your +damned mocking tricks!” he answered. “I’ll go to hell, body and soul, +before I look sideways after you again. Side out o’ t’ gate, now, this +minute!” + +Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat chewing her lip, +and endeavouring, by humming an eccentric tune, to conceal a growing +tendency to sob. + +“You should be friends with your cousin, Mr. Hareton,” I interrupted, +“since she repents of her sauciness. It would do you a great deal of +good: it would make you another man to have her for a companion.” + +“A companion!” he cried; “when she hates me, and does not think me fit +to wipe her shoon! Nay, if it made me a king, I’d not be scorned for +seeking her good-will any more.” + +“It is not I who hate you, it is you who hate me!” wept Cathy, no +longer disguising her trouble. “You hate me as much as Mr. Heathcliff +does, and more.” + +“You’re a damned liar,” began Earnshaw: “why have I made him angry, by +taking your part, then, a hundred times? and that when you sneered at +and despised me, and—Go on plaguing me, and I’ll step in yonder, and +say you worried me out of the kitchen!” + +“I didn’t know you took my part,” she answered, drying her eyes; “and I +was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you +to forgive me: what can I do besides?” + +She returned to the hearth, and frankly extended her hand. He blackened +and scowled like a thunder-cloud, and kept his fists resolutely +clenched, and his gaze fixed on the ground. Catherine, by instinct, +must have divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that +prompted this dogged conduct; for, after remaining an instant +undecided, she stooped and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The +little rogue thought I had not seen her, and, drawing back, she took +her former station by the window, quite demurely. I shook my head +reprovingly, and then she blushed and whispered—“Well! what should I +have done, Ellen? He wouldn’t shake hands, and he wouldn’t look: I must +show him some way that I like him—that I want to be friends.” + +Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell: he was very careful, +for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and when he did +raise it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his eyes. + +Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white +paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to +“Mr. Hareton Earnshaw,” she desired me to be her ambassadress, and +convey the present to its destined recipient. + +“And tell him, if he’ll take it, I’ll come and teach him to read it +right,” she said; “and, if he refuse it, I’ll go upstairs, and never +tease him again.” + +I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by my +employer. Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee. +He did not strike it off, either. I returned to my work. Catherine +leaned her head and arms on the table, till she heard the slight rustle +of the covering being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated +herself beside her cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed: all his +rudeness and all his surly harshness had deserted him: he could not +summon courage, at first, to utter a syllable in reply to her +questioning look, and her murmured petition. + +“Say you forgive me, Hareton, do. You can make me so happy by speaking +that little word.” + +He muttered something inaudible. + +“And you’ll be my friend?” added Catherine, interrogatively. + +“Nay, you’ll be ashamed of me every day of your life,” he answered; +“and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it.” + +“So you won’t be my friend?” she said, smiling as sweet as honey, and +creeping close up. + +I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round +again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of +the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on +both sides; and the enemies were, thenceforth, sworn allies. + +The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their +position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. +He, poor man, was perfectly aghast at the spectacle of Catherine seated +on the same bench with Hareton Earnshaw, leaning her hand on his +shoulder; and confounded at his favourite’s endurance of her proximity: +it affected him too deeply to allow an observation on the subject that +night. His emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as +he solemnly spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it with +dirty bank-notes from his pocket-book, the produce of the day’s +transactions. At length he summoned Hareton from his seat. + +“Tak’ these in to t’ maister, lad,” he said, “and bide there. I’s gang +up to my own rahm. This hoile’s neither mensful nor seemly for us: we +mun side out and seearch another.” + +“Come, Catherine,” I said, “we must ‘side out’ too: I’ve done my +ironing. Are you ready to go?” + +“It is not eight o’clock!” she answered, rising unwillingly. “Hareton, +I’ll leave this book upon the chimney-piece, and I’ll bring some more +to-morrow.” + +“Ony books that yah leave, I shall tak’ into th’ hahse,” said Joseph, +“and it’ll be mitch if yah find ’em agean; soa, yah may plase yerseln!” + +Cathy threatened that his library should pay for hers; and, smiling as +she passed Hareton, went singing upstairs: lighter of heart, I venture +to say, than ever she had been under that roof before; except, perhaps, +during her earliest visits to Linton. + +The intimacy thus commenced grew rapidly; though it encountered +temporary interruptions. Earnshaw was not to be civilized with a wish, +and my young lady was no philosopher, and no paragon of patience; but +both their minds tending to the same point—one loving and desiring to +esteem, and the other loving and desiring to be esteemed—they contrived +in the end to reach it. + +You see, Mr. Lockwood, it was easy enough to win Mrs. Heathcliff’s +heart. But now, I’m glad you did not try. The crown of all my wishes +will be the union of those two. I shall envy no one on their wedding +day: there won’t be a happier woman than myself in England! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +On the morrow of that Monday, Earnshaw being still unable to follow his +ordinary employments, and therefore remaining about the house, I +speedily found it would be impracticable to retain my charge beside me, +as heretofore. She got downstairs before me, and out into the garden, +where she had seen her cousin performing some easy work; and when I +went to bid them come to breakfast, I saw she had persuaded him to +clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and +they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the +Grange. + +I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished in a +brief half-hour; the black-currant trees were the apple of Joseph’s +eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flower-bed in the midst of +them. + +“There! That will be all shown to the master,” I exclaimed, “the minute +it is discovered. And what excuse have you to offer for taking such +liberties with the garden? We shall have a fine explosion on the head +of it: see if we don’t! Mr. Hareton, I wonder you should have no more +wit than to go and make that mess at her bidding!” + +“I’d forgotten they were Joseph’s,” answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled; +“but I’ll tell him I did it.” + +We always ate our meals with Mr. Heathcliff. I held the mistress’s post +in making tea and carving; so I was indispensable at table. Catherine +usually sat by me, but to-day she stole nearer to Hareton; and I +presently saw she would have no more discretion in her friendship than +she had in her hostility. + +“Now, mind you don’t talk with and notice your cousin too much,” were +my whispered instructions as we entered the room. “It will certainly +annoy Mr. Heathcliff, and he’ll be mad at you both.” + +“I’m not going to,” she answered. + +The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking primroses in +his plate of porridge. + +He dared not speak to her there: he dared hardly look; and yet she went +on teasing, till he was twice on the point of being provoked to laugh. +I frowned, and then she glanced towards the master: whose mind was +occupied on other subjects than his company, as his countenance +evinced; and she grew serious for an instant, scrutinizing him with +deep gravity. Afterwards she turned, and recommenced her nonsense; at +last, Hareton uttered a smothered laugh. Mr. Heathcliff started; his +eye rapidly surveyed our faces. Catherine met it with her accustomed +look of nervousness and yet defiance, which he abhorred. + +“It is well you are out of my reach,” he exclaimed. “What fiend +possesses you to stare back at me, continually, with those infernal +eyes? Down with them! and don’t remind me of your existence again. I +thought I had cured you of laughing.” + +“It was me,” muttered Hareton. + +“What do you say?” demanded the master. + +Hareton looked at his plate, and did not repeat the confession. Mr. +Heathcliff looked at him a bit, and then silently resumed his breakfast +and his interrupted musing. We had nearly finished, and the two young +people prudently shifted wider asunder, so I anticipated no further +disturbance during that sitting: when Joseph appeared at the door, +revealing by his quivering lip and furious eyes that the outrage +committed on his precious shrubs was detected. He must have seen Cathy +and her cousin about the spot before he examined it, for while his jaws +worked like those of a cow chewing its cud, and rendered his speech +difficult to understand, he began:— + +“I mun hev’ my wage, and I mun goa! I _hed_ aimed to dee wheare I’d +sarved fur sixty year; and I thowt I’d lug my books up into t’ garret, +and all my bits o’ stuff, and they sud hev’ t’ kitchen to theirseln; +for t’ sake o’ quietness. It wur hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but +I thowt I _could_ do that! But nah, shoo’s taan my garden fro’ me, and +by th’ heart, maister, I cannot stand it! Yah may bend to th’ yoak an +ye will—I noan used to ’t, and an old man doesn’t sooin get used to new +barthens. I’d rayther arn my bite an’ my sup wi’ a hammer in th’ road!” + +“Now, now, idiot!” interrupted Heathcliff, “cut it short! What’s your +grievance? I’ll interfere in no quarrels between you and Nelly. She may +thrust you into the coal-hole for anything I care.” + +“It’s noan Nelly!” answered Joseph. “I sudn’t shift for Nelly—nasty ill +nowt as shoo is. Thank God! _shoo_ cannot stale t’ sowl o’ nob’dy! Shoo +wer niver soa handsome, but what a body mud look at her ’bout winking. +It’s yon flaysome, graceless quean, that’s witched our lad, wi’ her +bold een and her forrard ways—till—Nay! it fair brusts my heart! He’s +forgotten all I’ve done for him, and made on him, and goan and riven up +a whole row o’ t’ grandest currant-trees i’ t’ garden!” and here he +lamented outright; unmanned by a sense of his bitter injuries, and +Earnshaw’s ingratitude and dangerous condition. + +“Is the fool drunk?” asked Mr. Heathcliff. “Hareton, is it you he’s +finding fault with?” + +“I’ve pulled up two or three bushes,” replied the young man; “but I’m +going to set ’em again.” + +“And why have you pulled them up?” said the master. + +Catherine wisely put in her tongue. + +“We wanted to plant some flowers there,” she cried. “I’m the only +person to blame, for I wished him to do it.” + +“And who the devil gave _you_ leave to touch a stick about the place?” +demanded her father-in-law, much surprised. “And who ordered _you_ to +obey her?” he added, turning to Hareton. + +The latter was speechless; his cousin replied—“You shouldn’t grudge a +few yards of earth for me to ornament, when you have taken all my +land!” + +“Your land, insolent slut! You never had any,” said Heathcliff. + +“And my money,” she continued; returning his angry glare, and meantime +biting a piece of crust, the remnant of her breakfast. + +“Silence!” he exclaimed. “Get done, and begone!” + +“And Hareton’s land, and his money,” pursued the reckless thing. +“Hareton and I are friends now; and I shall tell him all about you!” + +The master seemed confounded a moment: he grew pale, and rose up, +eyeing her all the while, with an expression of mortal hate. + +“If you strike me, Hareton will strike you,” she said; “so you may as +well sit down.” + +“If Hareton does not turn you out of the room, I’ll strike him to +hell,” thundered Heathcliff. “Damnable witch! dare you pretend to rouse +him against me? Off with her! Do you hear? Fling her into the kitchen! +I’ll kill her, Ellen Dean, if you let her come into my sight again!” + +Hareton tried, under his breath, to persuade her to go. + +“Drag her away!” he cried, savagely. “Are you staying to talk?” And he +approached to execute his own command. + +“He’ll not obey you, wicked man, any more,” said Catherine; “and he’ll +soon detest you as much as I do.” + +“Wisht! wisht!” muttered the young man, reproachfully; “I will not hear +you speak so to him. Have done.” + +“But you won’t let him strike me?” she cried. + +“Come, then,” he whispered earnestly. + +It was too late: Heathcliff had caught hold of her. + +“Now, _you_ go!” he said to Earnshaw. “Accursed witch! this time she +has provoked me when I could not bear it; and I’ll make her repent it +for ever!” + +He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her locks, +entreating him not to hurt her that once. Heathcliff’s black eyes +flashed; he seemed ready to tear Catherine in pieces, and I was just +worked up to risk coming to the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers +relaxed; he shifted his grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed +intently in her face. Then he drew his hand over his eyes, stood a +moment to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to Catherine, +said, with assumed calmness—“You must learn to avoid putting me in a +passion, or I shall really murder you some time! Go with Mrs. Dean, and +keep with her; and confine your insolence to her ears. As to Hareton +Earnshaw, if I see him listen to you, I’ll send him seeking his bread +where he can get it! Your love will make him an outcast and a beggar. +Nelly, take her; and leave me, all of you! Leave me!” + +I led my young lady out: she was too glad of her escape to resist; the +other followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to himself till dinner. +I had counselled Catherine to dine upstairs; but, as soon as he +perceived her vacant seat, he sent me to call her. He spoke to none of +us, ate very little, and went out directly afterwards, intimating that +he should not return before evening. + +The two new friends established themselves in the house during his +absence; where I heard Hareton sternly check his cousin, on her +offering a revelation of her father-in-law’s conduct to his father. He +said he wouldn’t suffer a word to be uttered in his disparagement: if +he were the devil, it didn’t signify; he would stand by him; and he’d +rather she would abuse himself, as she used to, than begin on Mr. +Heathcliff. Catherine was waxing cross at this; but he found means to +make her hold her tongue, by asking how she would like _him_ to speak +ill of her father? Then she comprehended that Earnshaw took the +master’s reputation home to himself; and was attached by ties stronger +than reason could break—chains, forged by habit, which it would be +cruel to attempt to loosen. She showed a good heart, thenceforth, in +avoiding both complaints and expressions of antipathy concerning +Heathcliff; and confessed to me her sorrow that she had endeavoured to +raise a bad spirit between him and Hareton: indeed, I don’t believe she +has ever breathed a syllable, in the latter’s hearing, against her +oppressor since. + +When this slight disagreement was over, they were friends again, and as +busy as possible in their several occupations of pupil and teacher. I +came in to sit with them, after I had done my work; and I felt so +soothed and comforted to watch them, that I did not notice how time got +on. You know, they both appeared in a measure my children: I had long +been proud of one; and now, I was sure, the other would be a source of +equal satisfaction. His honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off +rapidly the clouds of ignorance and degradation in which it had been +bred; and Catherine’s sincere commendations acted as a spur to his +industry. His brightening mind brightened his features, and added +spirit and nobility to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it the same +individual I had beheld on the day I discovered my little lady at +Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. While I admired +and they laboured, dusk drew on, and with it returned the master. He +came upon us quite unexpectedly, entering by the front way, and had a +full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at +him. Well, I reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless +sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red fire-light +glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with +the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and she +eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn, that neither +experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity. + +They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr. Heathcliff: perhaps +you have never remarked that their eyes are precisely similar, and they +are those of Catherine Earnshaw. The present Catherine has no other +likeness to her, except a breadth of forehead, and a certain arch of +the nostril that makes her appear rather haughty, whether she will or +not. With Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is singular at +all times, _then_ it was particularly striking; because his senses were +alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity. I suppose +this resemblance disarmed Mr. Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in +evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young +man: or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet. He +took the book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then +returned it without any observation; merely signing Catherine away: her +companion lingered very little behind her, and I was about to depart +also, but he bid me sit still. + +“It is a poor conclusion, is it not?” he observed, having brooded +a while on the scene he had just witnessed: “an absurd termination to +my violent exertions? I get levers and mattocks to demolish the two +houses, and train myself to be capable of working like Hercules, and +when everything is ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a +slate off either roof has vanished! My old enemies have not beaten me; +now would be the precise time to revenge myself on their +representatives: I could do it; and none could hinder me. But where is +the use? I don’t care for striking: I can’t take the trouble to raise +my hand! That sounds as if I had been labouring the whole time only to +exhibit a fine trait of magnanimity. It is far from being the case: I +have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle +to destroy for nothing. + +“Nelly, there is a strange change approaching; I’m in its shadow at +present. I take so little interest in my daily life that I hardly +remember to eat and drink. Those two who have left the room are the +only objects which retain a distinct material appearance to me; and +that appearance causes me pain, amounting to agony. About _her_ I won’t +speak; and I don’t desire to think; but I earnestly wish she were +invisible: her presence invokes only maddening sensations. _He_ moves +me differently: and yet if I could do it without seeming insane, I’d +never see him again! You’ll perhaps think me rather inclined to become +so,” he added, making an effort to smile, “if I try to describe the +thousand forms of past associations and ideas he awakens or embodies. +But you’ll not talk of what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally +secluded in itself, it is tempting at last to turn it out to another. + +“Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a +human being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would +have been impossible to have accosted him rationally. In the first +place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with +her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my +imagination, is actually the least: for what is not connected with her +to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, +but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every +tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object +by day—I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men +and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world +is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I +have lost her! Well, Hareton’s aspect was the ghost of my immortal +love; of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, +my happiness, and my anguish— + +“But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you: only it will let you +know why, with a reluctance to be always alone, his society is no +benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer: and it +partly contributes to render me regardless how he and his cousin go on +together. I can give them no attention any more.” + +“But what do you mean by a _change_, Mr. Heathcliff?” I said, alarmed +at his manner: though he was neither in danger of losing his senses, +nor dying, according to my judgment: he was quite strong and healthy; +and, as to his reason, from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on +dark things, and entertaining odd fancies. He might have had a +monomania on the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point +his wits were as sound as mine. + +“I shall not know that till it comes,” he said; “I’m only half +conscious of it now.” + +“You have no feeling of illness, have you?” I asked. + +“No, Nelly, I have not,” he answered. + +“Then you are not afraid of death?” I pursued. + +“Afraid? No!” he replied. “I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, +nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and +temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and +probably _shall_, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black +hair on my head. And yet I cannot continue in this condition! I have to +remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is +like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the +slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I +notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one +universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties +are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so +unwaveringly, that I’m convinced it _will_ be reached—and +_soon_—because it has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the +anticipation of its fulfilment. My confessions have not relieved me; +but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour +which I show. O God! It is a long fight; I wish it were over!” + +He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to himself, till I +was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did, that conscience had +turned his heart to an earthly hell. I wondered greatly how it would +end. Though he seldom before had revealed this state of mind, even by +looks, it was his habitual mood, I had no doubt: he asserted it +himself; but not a soul, from his general bearing, would have +conjectured the fact. You did not when you saw him, Mr. Lockwood: and +at the period of which I speak, he was just the same as then; only +fonder of continued solitude, and perhaps still more laconic in +company. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +For some days after that evening, Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at +meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy. +He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing +rather to absent himself; and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed +sufficient sustenance for him. + +One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and +out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning +I found he was still away. We were in April then: the weather was sweet +and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the +two dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom. After +breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with +my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; and she beguiled +Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident, to dig and +arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the +influence of Joseph’s complaints. I was comfortably revelling in the +spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my +young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose +roots for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr. +Heathcliff was coming in. “And he spoke to me,” she added, with a +perplexed countenance. + +“What did he say?” asked Hareton. + +“He told me to begone as fast as I could,” she answered. “But he looked +so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at +him.” + +“How?” he inquired. + +“Why, almost bright and cheerful. No, _almost_ nothing—_very much_ +excited, and wild, and glad!” she replied. + +“Night-walking amuses him, then,” I remarked, affecting a careless +manner: in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain +the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would +not be an every-day spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff +stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, +he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of +his whole face. + +“Will you have some breakfast?” I said. “You must be hungry, rambling +about all night!” I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not +like to ask directly. + +“No, I’m not hungry,” he answered, averting his head, and speaking +rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the +occasion of his good humour. + +I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a proper +opportunity to offer a bit of admonition. + +“I don’t think it right to wander out of doors,” I observed, “instead +of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate this moist season. I +daresay you’ll catch a bad cold, or a fever: you have something the +matter with you now!” + +“Nothing but what I can bear,” he replied; “and with the greatest +pleasure, provided you’ll leave me alone: get in, and don’t annoy me.” + +I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat. + +“Yes!” I reflected to myself, “we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot +conceive what he has been doing.” + +That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate +from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting. + +“I’ve neither cold nor fever, Nelly,” he remarked, in allusion to my +morning’s speech; “and I’m ready to do justice to the food you give +me.” + +He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the +inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the +table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out. We +saw him walking to and fro in the garden while we concluded our meal, +and Earnshaw said he’d go and ask why he would not dine: he thought we +had grieved him some way. + +“Well, is he coming?” cried Catherine, when her cousin returned. + +“Nay,” he answered; “but he’s not angry: he seemed rarely pleased +indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice; and then he +bid me be off to you: he wondered how I could want the company of +anybody else.” + +I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he +re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: the same +unnatural—it was unnatural—appearance of joy under his black brows; the +same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of +smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, +but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates—a strong thrilling, rather than +trembling. + +I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should? And I +exclaimed—“Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff? You look +uncommonly animated.” + +“Where should good news come from to me?” he said. “I’m animated with +hunger; and, seemingly, I must not eat.” + +“Your dinner is here,” I returned; “why won’t you get it?” + +“I don’t want it now,” he muttered, hastily: “I’ll wait till supper. +And, Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other +away from me. I wish to be troubled by nobody: I wish to have this +place to myself.” + +“Is there some new reason for this banishment?” I inquired. “Tell me +why you are so queer, Mr. Heathcliff? Where were you last night? I’m +not putting the question through idle curiosity, but—” + +“You are putting the question through very idle curiosity,” he +interrupted, with a laugh. “Yet I’ll answer it. Last night I was on the +threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my +eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me! And now you’d better go! +You’ll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you, if you refrain +from prying.” + +Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more perplexed +than ever. + +He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on +his solitude; till, at eight o’clock, I deemed it proper, though +unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning +against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was +turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; the +room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so +still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was +distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or +through the large stones which it could not cover. I uttered an +ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and commenced +shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. + +“Must I close this?” I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not +stir. + +The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr. Lockwood, I +cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those +deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, +not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle +bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness. + +“Yes, close it,” he replied, in his familiar voice. “There, that is +pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick, +and bring another.” + +I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph—“The +master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire.” For I +dared not go in myself again just then. + +Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went: but he brought it +back immediately, with the supper-tray in his other hand, explaining +that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he wanted nothing to eat till +morning. We heard him mount the stairs directly; he did not proceed to +his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed: its +window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get +through; and it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, +of which he had rather we had no suspicion. + +“Is he a ghoul or a vampire?” I mused. I had read of such hideous +incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him +in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost +through his whole course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to +that sense of horror. “But where did he come from, the little dark +thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?” muttered Superstition, as +I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary +myself with imagining some fit parentage for him; and, repeating my +waking meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim +variations; at last, picturing his death and funeral: of which, all I +can remember is, being exceedingly vexed at having the task of +dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the sexton +about it; and, as he had no surname, and we could not tell his age, we +were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, “Heathcliff.” +That came true: we were. If you enter the kirkyard, you’ll read, on his +headstone, only that, and the date of his death. + +Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose, and went into the garden, as +soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his +window. There were none. “He has stayed at home,” I thought, “and he’ll +be all right to-day.” I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my +usual custom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the +master came down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of +doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. + +On my re-entrance, I found Mr. Heathcliff below. He and Joseph were +conversing about some farming business; he gave clear, minute +directions concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly, and +turned his head continually aside, and had the same excited expression, +even more exaggerated. When Joseph quitted the room he took his seat in +the place he generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. +He drew it nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at +the opposite wall, as I supposed, surveying one particular portion, up +and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager interest +that he stopped breathing during half a minute together. + +“Come now,” I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, “eat and +drink that, while it is hot: it has been waiting near an hour.” + +He didn’t notice me, and yet he smiled. I’d rather have seen him gnash +his teeth than smile so. + +“Mr. Heathcliff! master!” I cried, “don’t, for God’s sake, stare as if +you saw an unearthly vision.” + +“Don’t, for God’s sake, shout so loud,” he replied. “Turn round, and +tell me, are we by ourselves?” + +“Of course,” was my answer; “of course we are.” + +Still, I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I was not quite sure. With a +sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front among the +breakfast things, and leant forward to gaze more at his ease. + +Now, I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I regarded +him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something within two +yards’ distance. And whatever it was, it communicated, apparently, both +pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes: at least the anguished, yet +raptured, expression of his countenance suggested that idea. The +fancied object was not fixed, either: his eyes pursued it with +unwearied diligence, and, even in speaking to me, were never weaned +away. I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food: if +he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he +stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched +before they reached it, and remained on the table, forgetful of their +aim. + +I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed attention +from its engrossing speculation; till he grew irritable, and got up, +asking why I would not allow him to have his own time in taking his +meals? and saying that on the next occasion I needn’t wait: I might set +the things down and go. Having uttered these words he left the house, +slowly sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the +gate. + +The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came. I did not retire to +rest till late, and when I did, I could not sleep. He returned after +midnight, and, instead of going to bed, shut himself into the room +beneath. I listened, and tossed about, and, finally, dressed and +descended. It was too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a +hundred idle misgivings. + +I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff’s step, restlessly measuring the floor, +and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, resembling a +groan. He muttered detached words also; the only one I could catch was +the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment or +suffering; and spoken as one would speak to a person present; low and +earnest, and wrung from the depth of his soul. I had not courage to +walk straight into the apartment; but I desired to divert him from his +reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire, stirred it, and +began to scrape the cinders. It drew him forth sooner than I expected. +He opened the door immediately, and said—“Nelly, come here—is it +morning? Come in with your light.” + +“It is striking four,” I answered. “You want a candle to take upstairs: +you might have lit one at this fire.” + +“No, I don’t wish to go upstairs,” he said. “Come in, and kindle _me_ a +fire, and do anything there is to do about the room.” + +“I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any,” I replied, +getting a chair and the bellows. + +He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching distraction; his +heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to leave no space for +common breathing between. + +“When day breaks I’ll send for Green,” he said; “I wish to make some +legal inquiries of him while I can bestow a thought on those matters, +and while I can act calmly. I have not written my will yet; and how to +leave my property I cannot determine. I wish I could annihilate it from +the face of the earth.” + +“I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff,” I interposed. “Let your will be +a while: you’ll be spared to repent of your many injustices yet! I +never expected that your nerves would be disordered: they are, at +present, marvellously so, however; and almost entirely through your own +fault. The way you’ve passed these three last days might knock up a +Titan. Do take some food, and some repose. You need only look at +yourself in a glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are +hollow, and your eyes blood-shot, like a person starving with hunger +and going blind with loss of sleep.” + +“It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest,” he replied. “I assure +you it is through no settled designs. I’ll do both, as soon as I +possibly can. But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water +rest within arms’ length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then +I’ll rest. Well, never mind Mr. Green: as to repenting of my +injustices, I’ve done no injustice, and I repent of nothing. I’m too +happy; and yet I’m not happy enough. My soul’s bliss kills my body, but +does not satisfy itself.” + +“Happy, master?” I cried. “Strange happiness! If you would hear me +without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make you +happier.” + +“What is that?” he asked. “Give it.” + +“You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff,” I said, “that from the time you were +thirteen years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and +probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period. You +must have forgotten the contents of the book, and you may not have +space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to send for some one—some +minister of any denomination, it does not matter which—to explain it, +and show you how very far you have erred from its precepts; and how +unfit you will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before +you die?” + +“I’m rather obliged than angry, Nelly,” he said, “for you remind me of +the manner in which I desire to be buried. It is to be carried to the +churchyard in the evening. You and Hareton may, if you please, +accompany me: and mind, particularly, to notice that the sexton obeys +my directions concerning the two coffins! No minister need come; nor +need anything be said over me.—I tell you I have nearly attained _my_ +heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me.” + +“And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast, and died by that +means, and they refused to bury you in the precincts of the kirk?” I +said, shocked at his godless indifference. “How would you like it?” + +“They won’t do that,” he replied: “if they did, you must have me +removed secretly; and if you neglect it you shall prove, practically, +that the dead are not annihilated!” + +As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring he retired +to his den, and I breathed freer. But in the afternoon, while Joseph +and Hareton were at their work, he came into the kitchen again, and, +with a wild look, bid me come and sit in the house: he wanted somebody +with him. I declined; telling him plainly that his strange talk and +manner frightened me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be +his companion alone. + +“I believe you think me a fiend,” he said, with his dismal laugh: +“something too horrible to live under a decent roof.” Then turning to +Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me at his approach, he +added, half sneeringly,—“Will _you_ come, chuck? I’ll not hurt you. No! +to you I’ve made myself worse than the devil. Well, there is _one_ who +won’t shrink from my company! By God! she’s relentless. Oh, damn it! +It’s unutterably too much for flesh and blood to bear—even mine.” + +He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk he went into his +chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the morning, we heard +him groaning and murmuring to himself. Hareton was anxious to enter; +but I bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth, and he should go in and see him. When +he came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found +it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better, and would be +left alone; so the doctor went away. + +The following evening was very wet: indeed, it poured down till +day-dawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed +the master’s window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. He +cannot be in bed, I thought: those showers would drench him through. He +must either be up or out. But I’ll make no more ado, I’ll go boldly and +look. + +Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to +unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them +aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there—laid on his back. His eyes +met mine so keen and fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile. I +could not think him dead: but his face and throat were washed with +rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice, +flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; no +blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I +could doubt no more: he was dead and stark! + +I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his forehead; I +tried to close his eyes: to extinguish, if possible, that frightful, +life-like gaze of exultation before any one else beheld it. They would +not shut: they seemed to sneer at my attempts; and his parted lips and +sharp white teeth sneered too! Taken with another fit of cowardice, I +cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and made a noise, but +resolutely refused to meddle with him. + +“Th’ divil’s harried off his soul,” he cried, “and he may hev’ his +carcass into t’ bargin, for aught I care! Ech! what a wicked ’un he +looks, girning at death!” and the old sinner grinned in mockery. I +thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly +composing himself, he fell on his knees, and raised his hands, and +returned thanks that the lawful master and the ancient stock were +restored to their rights. + +I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably recurred +to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But poor Hareton, +the most wronged, was the only one who really suffered much. He sat by +the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, +and kissed the sarcastic, savage face that every one else shrank from +contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs +naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel. + +Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master +died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four +days, fearing it might lead to trouble, and then, I am persuaded, he +did not abstain on purpose: it was the consequence of his strange +illness, not the cause. + +We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished. +Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, +comprehended the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had +let it down into the grave: we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with +a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould +himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion +mounds—and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, +if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he _walks_: there are +those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and +even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll say, and so say I. Yet that +old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on ’em looking out +of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death:—and an odd +thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one +evening—a dark evening, threatening thunder—and, just at the turn of +the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs +before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were +skittish, and would not be guided. + +“What is the matter, my little man?” I asked. + +“There’s Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t’ nab,” he blubbered, +“un’ I darnut pass ’em.” + +I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so I bid him +take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from +thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard +his parents and companions repeat. Yet, still, I don’t like being out +in the dark now; and I don’t like being left by myself in this grim +house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift +to the Grange. + +“They are going to the Grange, then?” I said. + +“Yes,” answered Mrs. Dean, “as soon as they are married, and that will +be on New Year’s Day.” + +“And who will live here then?” + +“Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep +him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut +up.” + +“For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it?” I observed. + +“No, Mr. Lockwood,” said Nelly, shaking her head. “I believe the dead +are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity.” + +At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning. + +“_They_ are afraid of nothing,” I grumbled, watching their approach +through the window. “Together, they would brave Satan and all his +legions.” + +As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look +at the moon—or, more correctly, at each other by her light—I felt +irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and, pressing a remembrance +into the hand of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my +rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen as they opened the house-door; +and so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his +fellow-servant’s gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately recognised +me for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his +feet. + +My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the +kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even +in seven months: many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; and +slates jutted off, here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, +to be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms. + +I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next +the moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in heath; Edgar Linton’s +only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliff’s +still bare. + +I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths +fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind +breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever +imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WUTHERING HEIGHTS *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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+ +use eyre::{eyre, Result}; +use rustc_hash::FxHashMap; + +type GramMap = FxHashMap<[u8; N], T>; + +#[derive(Default, Debug)] +struct Grams { + grams1: GramMap<1, T>, + grams2: GramMap<2, T>, + grams3: GramMap<3, T>, + grams4: GramMap<4, T>, +} +impl Grams +where + T: Div + Copy, +{ + fn divide_by(&mut self, n: T) { + divide_by(&mut self.grams1, n); + divide_by(&mut self.grams2, n); + divide_by(&mut self.grams3, n); + divide_by(&mut self.grams4, n); + } +} + +impl Grams +where + T: Copy + + PartialOrd + + Default + + Sub + + Add + + Div + + Mul, +{ + fn normalize(&mut self, omin: T, omax: T) { + normalize(&mut self.grams1, omin, omax); + normalize(&mut self.grams2, omin, omax); + normalize(&mut self.grams3, omin, omax); + normalize(&mut self.grams4, omin, omax); + } +} + +fn divide_by + Copy>( + grams: &mut GramMap, + n: T, +) { + for v in grams.values_mut() { + *v = *v / n; + } +} + +fn normalize(grams: &mut GramMap, omin: T, omax: T) +where + T: Copy + + PartialOrd + + Default + + Sub + + Add + + Div + + Mul, +{ + let max = grams + .values() + .copied() + .max_by(|&a, &b| { + if a > b { + Ordering::Greater + } else { + Ordering::Less + } + }) + .unwrap_or(Default::default()); + let min = grams + .values() + .copied() + .min_by(|&a, &b| { + if a > b { + Ordering::Greater + } else { + Ordering::Less + } + }) + .unwrap_or(Default::default()); + + for v in grams.values_mut() { + *v = map_to_range(*v, min, max, omin, omax); + } +} + +#[test] +fn test_normalize() { + let mut input = GramMap::<1, f64>::default(); + input.insert([b'a'], 500.); + input.insert([b'b'], 300.); + input.insert([b'c'], 100.); + input.insert([b'd'], 125.); + + normalize(&mut input, 0., 100.); + assert_eq!(input[b"a"], 100.); + assert_eq!(input[b"b"], 50.); + assert_eq!(input[b"c"], 0.); + assert_eq!(input[b"d"], 6.25); +} + +// maps a number from range [amin, amax] to range [bmin, bmax] +fn map_to_range(v: V, amin: V, amax: V, bmin: V, bmax: V) -> V +where + V: Sub + + Add + + Mul + + Div + + Copy, +{ + bmin + (((v - amin) * (bmax - bmin)) / (amax - amin)) +} + +#[test] +fn test_map_to_range() { + assert_eq!(map_to_range(40, 0, 100, 0, 10), 4); + assert_eq!(map_to_range(60, 50, 100, 5, 10), 6); + assert_eq!(map_to_range(55.5, 55., 56., 0., 1.), 0.5); +} + +type GramsCounts = Grams; +type GramsFreqs = Grams; + +fn gen_data_file(path: &Path) -> Result { + let data = std::fs::read_to_string(path)?; + let mut grams = Grams::default(); + + for win in data.as_bytes().windows(4) { + *grams.grams1.entry([win[0]]).or_insert(0) += 1; + *grams.grams2.entry([win[0], win[1]]).or_insert(0) += 1; + *grams.grams3.entry([win[0], win[1], win[2]]).or_insert(0) += 1; + *grams + .grams4 + .entry([win[0], win[1], win[2], win[3]]) + .or_insert(0) += 1; + } + + // TODO: We lose a few N<4 grams here, but it's probably not that big of a deal + + Ok(grams) +} + +fn gen_data(inputs: Vec) -> Result { + let mut grams = Grams::default(); + + for dir in inputs { + for de in walkdir::WalkDir::new(dir).into_iter() { + let de = de?; + if de.file_type().is_file() { + grams = grams.combine(gen_data_file(de.path())?); + } + } + } + + Ok(grams) +} + +fn main() -> Result<()> { + let mut dirs: Vec = std::env::args().skip(1).collect(); + let grams = gen_data(dirs)?; + + Ok(()) +} diff --git a/klout/src/klout.rs b/klout/src/klout.rs index 8cf0fb5..a1e2e3c 100644 --- a/klout/src/klout.rs +++ b/klout/src/klout.rs @@ -1,14 +1,27 @@ -use std::{collections::HashMap, hash::Hash}; +use std::{collections::HashMap, hash::Hash, ops::Deref}; -use eyre::{eyre, Result}; +use eyre::{eyre, Context, Result}; +use serde::Deserialize; #[derive(Debug)] struct Matrix { width: usize, height: usize, data: Vec, +} + +#[derive(Debug)] +struct BiMatrix { + m: Matrix, to_coord: HashMap, } +impl Deref for BiMatrix { + type Target = Matrix; + + fn deref(&self) -> &Self::Target { + &self.m + } +} #[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Debug)] struct MatrixCoord { @@ -21,24 +34,32 @@ impl MatrixCoord { } } -impl Matrix { - fn new(width: usize, height: usize) -> Self { +impl Matrix { + fn new(width: usize, height: usize) -> Self + where + T: Default, + { let data = vec![T::default(); width * height]; Self { width, height, data, - to_coord: Default::default(), } } - fn val_to_coord(&self, v: &T) -> MatrixCoord { - *self.to_coord.get(v).unwrap() - } + fn from_vec(width: usize, height: usize, data: Vec) -> Result { + if width * height != data.len() { + return Err(eyre!("Invalid data len")); + } - fn val_to_index(&self, v: &T) -> usize { - self.coord_to_index(self.val_to_coord(v)) + let out = Self { + width, + height, + data, + }; + + Ok(out) } fn val_at_coord(&self, c: MatrixCoord) -> &T { @@ -63,15 +84,86 @@ impl Matrix { fn set(&mut self, v: T, c: MatrixCoord) { let i = self.coord_to_index(c); self.data[i] = v; + } + + fn size(&self) -> usize { + self.width * self.height + } +} + +impl BiMatrix { + fn new(width: usize, height: usize) -> Self + where + T: Default, + { + Self { + m: Matrix::new(width, height), + to_coord: Default::default(), + } + } + + fn from_vec(width: usize, height: usize, data: Vec) -> Result { + let m = Matrix::from_vec(width, height, data)?; + + let mut out = Self { + m, + to_coord: Default::default(), + }; + + for (i, v) in out.m.data.iter().enumerate() { + out.to_coord + .insert(*v, MatrixCoord::new(i % width, i / width)); + } + + Ok(out) + } + + fn val_to_coord(&self, v: &T) -> MatrixCoord { + *self.to_coord.get(v).unwrap() + } + + fn val_to_index(&self, v: &T) -> usize { + self.coord_to_index(self.val_to_coord(v)) + } + + fn set(&mut self, v: T, c: MatrixCoord) { + self.m.set(v, c); self.to_coord.insert(v, c); } } -type Layout = Matrix; +type Layout = BiMatrix; -fn load_initial_layout() -> Result { - let data = std::fs::read_to_string("data/initial_layout.txt")?; - let data: Vec> = data +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Hash, Debug)] +enum Hand { + Left, + Right, +} + +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Hash, Debug)] +enum Digit { + Pinky, + Ring, + Middle, + Index, +} + +#[derive(Copy, Clone, Eq, PartialEq, Hash, Debug)] +struct Finger { + digit: Digit, + hand: Hand, +} + +fn load_matrices( + paths: &Paths, +) -> Result<(Layout, Matrix, Matrix)> { + let data = std::fs::read_to_string(&paths.matrices)?; + + let mut sections = data.split("\n\n"); + let section_layout = + sections.next().ok_or(eyre!("Missing section: layout"))?; + + let data: Vec> = section_layout .lines() .map(|l| { l.split_whitespace() @@ -95,12 +187,83 @@ fn load_initial_layout() -> Result { } } - Ok(layout) + let section_fingers = + sections.next().ok_or(eyre!("Missing section: fingers"))?; + + let lines_fingers = section_fingers.lines(); + + let fingers: Vec = lines_fingers + .flat_map(|l| { + let words = l.split_whitespace(); + words + }) + .map(|w| { + let (l_or_r, digit) = w.split_at(1); + let hand = match l_or_r.to_lowercase().as_str() { + "l" => Hand::Left, + "r" => Hand::Right, + _ => return Err(eyre!("Invalid finger in data/matrices.txt")), + }; + + let digit = match digit.to_lowercase().as_str() { + "pinky" => Digit::Pinky, + "ring" => Digit::Ring, + "middle" => Digit::Middle, + "index" => Digit::Index, + _ => return Err(eyre!("Invalid finger in data/matrices.txt")), + }; + + Ok(Finger { hand, digit }) + }) + .collect::, _>>()?; + + let m_finger = Matrix::from_vec(layout.width, layout.height, fingers) + .wrap_err("When loading fingers from data/matrices.txt")?; + + let section_effort = + sections.next().ok_or(eyre!("Missing section: effort"))?; + let lines_effort = section_effort.lines(); + let efforts: Vec = lines_effort + .flat_map(|l| l.split_whitespace()) + .map(|w| w.parse()) + .collect::, _>>() + .wrap_err("When loading efforts from data/matrices.txt")?; + + let m_effort = Matrix::from_vec(layout.width, layout.height, efforts) + .wrap_err("When loading efforts from data/matrices.txt")?; + + Ok((layout, m_finger, m_effort)) +} + +#[derive(Deserialize, Debug)] +struct Paths { + matrices: String, +} + +#[derive(Deserialize, Debug)] +struct Workers { + n_workers: usize, + prefer_numcpus: bool, +} + +#[derive(Deserialize, Debug)] +struct Parameters {} + +#[derive(Deserialize, Debug)] +struct Settings { + paths: Paths, + workers: Workers, + parameters: Parameters, } fn main() -> Result<()> { - let layout = load_initial_layout()?; - // TODO: let (m_finger, m_effort) = load_matrices()?; + let settings = std::fs::read_to_string("./settings.toml")?; + let mut settings: Settings = toml::from_str(&settings)?; + if settings.workers.prefer_numcpus { + settings.workers.n_workers = num_cpus::get(); + } + + let (m_layout, m_fingers, m_effort) = load_matrices(&settings.paths)?; Ok(()) } diff --git a/nix/deno-flake/flake.nix b/nix/deno-flake/flake.nix index 6ef13b8..79fc3e6 100644 --- a/nix/deno-flake/flake.nix +++ b/nix/deno-flake/flake.nix @@ -1,36 +1,37 @@ { - inputs = { - flake-utils.url = "github:numtide/flake-utils"; - nixpkgs.url = "nixpkgs"; - }; - outputs = inputs: - let lib = import ./lib.nix; - in - inputs.flake-utils.lib.eachDefaultSystem (system: - let - nixpkgs = inputs.nixpkgs.legacyPackages.${system}; - versions = [ - ["2.0.3" "sha256-++wvqD6TunG47jp2SKW+clGOJ6Sy9CnEu2e6AgKP1X0="] - ["2.0.0" "sha256-WQ4B0sT3qTVl4/Moj0FcFg5LDZIBPbnmcfUxwrmFyYY="] - ["1.46.3" "sha256-vnDzegjO7XFqBj3dZ1T4TZfuFr3Ur2f4/2zlFUQUwSI="] - ]; - - packages = builtins.listToAttrs (builtins.map (l: - let - version = builtins.elemAt l 0; - zipHash = builtins.elemAt l 1; - in { - name = "deno-${builtins.replaceStrings ["."] ["_"] version}"; - value = lib.mkDeno { inherit version zipHash nixpkgs; }; - } - ) versions); + inputs = { + flake-utils.url = "github:numtide/flake-utils"; + nixpkgs.url = "nixpkgs"; + }; + outputs = inputs: + let lib = import ./lib.nix; + in + inputs.flake-utils.lib.eachDefaultSystem (system: + let + nixpkgs = inputs.nixpkgs.legacyPackages.${system}; + versions = [ + ["2.1.5" "sha256-xzQRtCwpksRA1XB2ILE3Gdc3r4ftT63M1WBmi6yXZzw="] + ["2.0.3" "sha256-++wvqD6TunG47jp2SKW+clGOJ6Sy9CnEu2e6AgKP1X0="] + ["2.0.0" "sha256-WQ4B0sT3qTVl4/Moj0FcFg5LDZIBPbnmcfUxwrmFyYY="] + ["1.46.3" "sha256-vnDzegjO7XFqBj3dZ1T4TZfuFr3Ur2f4/2zlFUQUwSI="] + ]; - in { packages = packages // { - deno-latest = - let - v = (builtins.elemAt (builtins.elemAt versions 0) 0); - a = "deno-${builtins.replaceStrings ["."] ["_"] v}"; - in packages.${a}; - }; - }); + packages = builtins.listToAttrs (builtins.map (l: + let + version = builtins.elemAt l 0; + zipHash = builtins.elemAt l 1; + in { + name = "deno-${builtins.replaceStrings ["."] ["_"] version}"; + value = lib.mkDeno { inherit version zipHash nixpkgs; }; + } + ) versions); + + in { packages = packages // { + deno-latest = + let + v = (builtins.elemAt (builtins.elemAt versions 0) 0); + a = "deno-${builtins.replaceStrings ["."] ["_"] v}"; + in packages.${a}; + }; + }); } diff --git a/pritty/src/main.ts b/pritty/src/main.ts new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e69de29