Fjallkonan #45 | 19 November 1900

25 MAY

I HAVE BEEN FEELING SICK AT HEART AFTER WHAT I HAVE seen and heard here.

I don’t believe I’m wrong in saying that the Count is becoming more ominous with every passing day. He is certainly very kind when he speaks, but I can feel the mockery in his words, which are becoming all the more ambiguous, and sometimes when I make the mistake of looking into his eyes his expression terrifies me.

Since writing to Mr. Hawkins and Wilma of my need to stay here for a few more weeks, I have not heard from them. And every time I complain that not a single letter has arrived, the Count answers something like,

“Why should I, an old hermit, deal with the outside world? Who would write to me and to whom should I write? Here in the mountains, the land is sparsely populated and the flooding rivers have now broken many bridges, making transportation difficult. You must excuse us, my young friend, if our traffic connections and other facilities—which are sufficient to us—are less advanced than those in the center of the civilized world. I hope, however, that the roads will improve when the snowmelt abates.”

I noted that this would most likely be his last word on the matter, and because I’d written to Wilma that the mail connections here were far from perfect, I assumed she wouldn’t worry or become restless if she didn’t receive a letter from me.

But I personally cannot stay calm; God knows that.

Two days after the Count told me about the communication problems, I found five or six newspapers in his library, both in English and French, including an issue of the Times—and all were much more recent than the newspapers the Count had shown me before. It occurred to me that the post deliveries were not all that infrequent, as my host had told me they were. I’ve also got the impression that he’s very familiar with various political events that have only recently occurred. He said that he’d heard about them from his acquaintances in the neighborhood, but it’s quite peculiar that any of these neighbors would be so well informed when floods and other natural obstacles are inhibiting the mail connections here.

But there is more.

A few days ago, I forgot my watch in the library when I left the Count and went to bed. When I noticed it was missing I got up and returned to the library, taking the light with me. My watch was lying on the table under some loose letters that had been placed on top of it. When I moved them aside, I saw two or three letters sealed and addressed by the Count. I read the addresses and was surprised to find that the letters were directed to men known throughout Europe for their involvement in political, social and cultural affairs.

I itched to open one of these letters, but I didn’t dare do so.

When I laid them back on the table I saw that there were also letters the Count had opened to read. I was flabbergasted to find that these letters were only three days old!

There was absolutely no reason to deplore the slow mail connections. Why had the Count not wanted to tell me the truth?

Now I didn’t hesitate to read the letter lying open next to me. It was in French and was signed by a well-known man.

Its author expressed his gratitude for a very high remittance, which he’d received from the Count with the honorable letter of 16 May—that is to say, last week—and he wrote that he’d completed the missions that had been entrusted to him with that message. After various elusive paragraphs—in which several people were named by their initials only—the letter reached its conclusion, reading,

“With tireless dedication, everything is finally set for the great revolution. Our cause acquires new followers every day. Those of mankind who are ‘chosen’ have suffered for far too long under unbearable oppression, bigotry, and the shame of majority rule. We have outgrown these slave morals and will soon reach the point where we can preach the message of freedom.

The world must bow before the strong ones.”

This is the very phrase constantly repeated by the Count.

The text itself, however, didn’t weigh heavily on me; neither did the well-known name it was signed by. What shocked me most was the fact that, as I saw now, the Count had regularly been sending and receiving letters since I’d arrived here!

I wanted to read more of the letters and even saw the name of a well-known Englishman on one of them, but I had the distinct feeling that I should leave, sensing that she was on her way to me. I ran back to my bedroom and twice locked the door behind me.

I feel safer this way. – – –

It was several days later that the following incident occurred—the incident that proved to me I’m in a most life-threatening situation here.

I sat in the Count’s library and wrote, as I often do. He came in and greeted me, giving me the good news that he could now send a man to Bistritz, and that now I could write home, if I wanted.²³⁶

Although I didn’t believe him, I expressed my joy and got up to fetch paper and pen.

“Here is everything you need, my friend,” the Count growled. “Time is running out.” He opened a drawer and gave me some paper and a pen. Then, with a an innocent expression on his face, he said,

“The mail service here is slow and uncertain, and so it would be best if you write three messages with three dates. I will ask the postmaster to ensure that your letters are passed on in time, so that your friends may know when to expect your return.” He could see that I didn’t understand his proposal. “You see,” he said, “you will write in the first letter that you have finished your work here and that you will be coming home in a few days. In the second letter, please write that you will leave the next day. And in the third letter—well, let’s see—yes, write in it that you are on your way to Bistritz.”²³⁷

My jaw dropped and I stared at him, but he returned my look with such an evil glare that I didn’t dare utter another word.

It’s no use to try and protest against his will, and I’m afraid he suspects that I know too much—and thus will never let me out of here alive.

I gasped a few words, indicating that I would do as he told me, and asked what dates I should put on the letters.

The first letter should be dated 12 June; the second 19 June; and the third 22 June.²³⁸

It felt as though I’d been sentenced to death but I wrote as instructed nevertheless.