31 MAY

WHILE I WAS WRITING THE LAST WORDS OF MY previous entry, the Count entered. He greeted me with his normal courtesy, which I now find disturbing as I know what lies beneath. Then I took a seat on the other side of the table. I remarked something about the unusual guests in the courtyard and added some meaningless comment about what remarkable people the Tatars were.

“They are good people. I wish there were more of them—then a lot would be different. For centuries, they have faithfully²⁴³ preserved many treasures of the occult sciences that otherwise would have been forgotten.²⁴⁴ When the time has come, their loyalty will not go unrewarded.”²⁴⁵

I didn’t know how to respond to this, for never has the conduct of the “twilight people” been considered exemplary in Western Europe; their doctrines and beliefs are frowned upon as the most wretched²⁴⁶ sort of superstition, completely worthless. But the Count saved me the worry and continued,

“The chief of the Tatars gave me these letters, which, of course, I felt obliged to accept, although they are not addressed to me, and I do not know whom they are from. What is this?” he said, tearing open one of the letters. “Is this from you, dear Harker, and addressed to our good friend Peter Hawkins? But this other letter,” he ripped that one open as well, but upon seeing the strange writing—which he could not read—his face turned black as soot and he looked at me furiously. “It is a dishonest, anonymous letter that mocks trust and hospitality, but as it is unsigned, it is of no relevance to either of us.”

He set the letter on fire with a candle and threw it into the oven.

“Of course, I will take care of the letter to Hawkins, as I see that you have signed it. All letters from you, dear friend, are sacred to me, and you should know that they are in safe hands. I sincerely apologize for opening it. Perhaps it is best if you write the address again.” He handed me an envelope and bowed politely.

I had no other choice but to address the letter again and hand it back to him. He walked away with it. A few moments later, when I was about to go to my room, I found that the door of the dining room was locked from the outside. I was unnerved by this and returned to the desk, trying to calm myself as best I could. I wanted to continue my writing but couldn’t. I started to walk around, but I wasn’t calm enough for this, either. Finally, I threw myself down on the couch, and I must have fallen asleep there because I woke up when the Count came in again, seemingly in the best of moods. When he noticed I had been sleeping, he said gently, “Oh, dear friend, you are tired; you have to go to bed. The blanket is one’s best friend. Unfortunately, I will not have the pleasure of your company this evening as I have a lot to do. Good night and sleep well.”

I wished him a good night in return and saw the mockery in his face. Then I trudged to my bedroom and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. Despair can find itself some rest.²⁴⁷