by Stoker, Bram
The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out in front, and pointed 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 ardor 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 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 further resistance. The sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell 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 so 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 service! Oh, God!” he cried suddenly, struggling 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 notebooks 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
This is it. This is the chapter that gives us the ultimate battle between Good and Evil. This is the chapter in which Stoker’s much-praised epistolary narrative technique allows him to give us what is truly a Battle Royale in the most effective way.
Mina’s passages express a near-idyllic quality, despite the undercurrent of evil possibility. Yet we know that this is a somewhat relaxed prelude to what is coming.
Mina states her goal and her hope: That she can be made clean. This simple presentation reinforces all we know about the credible motivations of the characters.
We jump to Van Helsing, so that another voice and another set of perceptions can fill us in on what is happening.
Van Helsing is attuned to the changes in Mina. He knows they do not bode well. It is the epistolary narrative structure that clues us to this.
As a side note, the word vif is French for brisk or spry. Van Helsing is confused and concerned by her malaise and sudden turn-around. Even so, he seems to shrug his shoulders at the end of this paragraph and is willing to follow the clues wherever they may lead.
Is this the reason she knows, or is Mina, under Dracula’s telepathic direction, trying to lure Van Helsing into a trap? Mina has the brain power to deceive if she wishes. Stoker keeps us guessing.
It is the laugh that chills us. Van Helsing’
s descriptions have set the mood, and now, hearing this … Stoker’s sense of timing is sure; he knows just when to introduce this uh-oh moment.
Another decided “uh-oh.” Stoker is building the tension. Has Mina turned? Will she attack Van Helsing? Or …
Note how Van Helsing does not overtly state his fear that Mina is slipping into vampirism, although that is clearly what he suspects. The psychology is on-target: It’s a human fear that by naming a threat you make it real.
This answers any question for us as to Van Helsing’s growing suspicions.
We know those women. We might not have considered them for lo these many pages, but now, Dracula’s harem is on the scene. And that, in turn, means Dracula himself is not far off.
That smile might well have made Van Helsing quit his “rejoicing.”
Another ultracreepy moment, and it stems from three nameless, relatively minor characters. But Stoker employs them here as menace and harbinger.
Stoker has just given us a lengthy scene of unrelieved, claustrophobic terror. The vampire women without the circle, Van Helsing and the vampirizing Mina within, the dead horses, the snow …
The sun in its reality and its symbolism is the perfect note on which to end this entry.
Note the concise nature of the following two entries by Jonathan and Seward. The pace is again accelerating after the long night of oppressive fear.
Now Van Helsing can see his hallucinatory, surreal experience as real. The sun has strengthened his resolve. He knows what he must do.
Stoker gives us the one word, the name: It says everything.
Wow! Van Helsing has just dispatched the three women of Dracula’s vampire harem. He is exactly the right choice to have done this deed: Not just wiser in the way of vampires than his companions, he is older than the other men, and therefore less subject to libidinous urges and less likely to be taken in by the vampire ladies’ charms.
How does she know? Van Helsing has reason to fear.
By seeing the action through Mina’s eyes—via her journal—Stoker effectively gives us a panoramic view that is more personal than would have been the case with a third-person omniscient author point of view. We see the scene and get her perceptions of it as well.
Van Helsing is energized: quick-acting and taking initiative and doing it without any needless convoluted dialogue.
This sort of narrative delivery was a staple of dramatic radio programs. Dialogue that described what was seen did the job that a narrator otherwise would have had to do. This led to sophisticated radio writing, but also to some redundant and even foolish-seeming radio plays. Here, because it is limited, it does not lessen the dramatic intensity of the scene.
All right, Mina! Grab your pistol and get ready. As always, Mina can be counted on to do what needs to be done.
The snow and the wind … nature itself seems allied with Dracula, but this seems no contrivance because, after all, it is winter, the season of death!
The activities of this large group never confuse us because we focus on the people and the acts as Mina does. She enables us to perceive the scenes.
Stoker keeps the action moving! He uses specific nouns and strong verbs. There are no “pretty turns of language”: this is straightforward action writing, and we are swept up by it.
That is some strength … but we’ve all heard stories of people who suddenly accomplish superhuman feats. The mother who lifts the car that is trapping her child. Jonathan has the greatest motivation possible—and he is imbued with superstrength to destroy his foe and save his wife.
Yes, we were geared up for one or more of the hunters to be hurt or killed, but this time it is the toughest of the crew, the hearty American. It catches us by surprise but does not seem incredible.
And this is the moment!
But now Dracula will leap, panther-like, and attack …
But Jonathan nails him!
And Quincey nails him! See the power in numbers? If you find yourself in a horror story, don’t split up!
And Dracula is destroyed! He is dead and gone. And Stoker gives us that with the greatest control. He does not have even a moment of excess to end the reign of the King Vampire! That is writing!
And that is the Mina who sought mercy for the man that the Count once used to be.
Note the ability to pass over the Holy Circle.
A beautifully rendered moment: One we were hoping for and that Stoker delivers.
Once more, Stoker exhibits perfect control. Not a wasted word. Quincey dies a gallant gentleman.
The epilogue: Our happily ever after. An epilogue, usually a brief chapter after what might be thought of as the concluding chapter, often serves to reveal the fates of the characters. Readers do not necessarily want a story, particularly one in which they’ve devoted a lengthy reading time (a novel) to wrap with a click. They want to know about the lives of these characters afterward. The epilogue lets the writer provide these satisfying “after moments.”
And for those who doubt the credibility of the return to Transylvania, I ask you, how many Vietnam War veterans have chosen to return to that country to accept the peace that has come between our nations?
They did dare much for her sake. That is a splendid understatement and a totally accurate one. We say, then, a thank you and farewell to Dracula and to Bram Stoker, who have given readers an undying story of the Undead—and writers an incisive study in creating fiction.
Dracula is an ageless novel.
“The newest books are those that never grow old,” wrote Holbrook Jackson.
And a book that never grows old is a classic.
STUDY GUIDE
Introduction
As I noted at the onset, the premise of this annotated Dracula is that Bram Stoker’s classic is not only the definitive horror novel, it is a casebook on writing the horror novel. In my annotations, I frequently suggest ways to incorporate Stokerian methods in your own writing. The supplemental activities that follow give you in-depth, structured practice in selected wordsmith techniques found in Dracula. These practical lessons are meant to provide experience in using the craft tools of the successful writer.
In somewhat different forms, many of these exercises were designed for workshops that I’ve led throughout the United States, and others are from classes I teach in the creative writing department of Columbia College Chicago, specifically “Researching and Writing Historical Fiction,” and “Writing Horror.” Still others are based on writing springboards I’ve designed to help me with a particular literary device or procedure. These exercises have helped my students and me, and it is my most sincere hope that they are helpful to you.
THE EPISTOLARY FORMAT
The epistolary format of Dracula, a “polylogic epistolary novel,” enables Stoker to give us a number of narrative “voices,” some of them belonging to characters intimately involved with the narrative, others (such as newspaper accounts) seemingly more objective. A letter (or an epistle of any sort) can reveal something of its creator, of course, but it can also show us how the writer wishes to be thought of by the recipient(s) of the message—and perhaps by generations that come after.
On the following pages I have copied some letters created by historical personages—some well known, some not. Choose one of the following letters to use for this activity. You may use a sample letter word-for-word or adjust it slightly using the same voice and tone. Let it become one of the letters in an exchange of five letters you will write, back and forth. The other letter writer(s) can be either fictional or real-life historical people (perhaps reimagined), but all letters will be written by you, in distinct voices true to the time in which the genuine letter samples following were created. Use the lined pages that follow to copy the letter using what was very likely the method of the time … handwriting!
Once you have copied the first letter, consider what research you will need to do in order to write the reply. Of course, there’s the biographical element, and what is not known of a historical cha
racter’s life is a “free rein” area for a fictionist’s imagination. Then we have geographical, sociological, and political concerns of the time/place. Plus we have the interesting challenge of learning how people spoke. Many students have developed complete stories using only these letters (and several other public domain missives I provided). Some have incorporated them in longer works. All are aimed to get the creative juices flowing in unique voices and time periods.
As for me, I’ve used the “Poe letter” for three different stories, all of which were pastiches in which I pay homage to Poe by impersonating his voice and the themes associated with his writing. On occasion, I feel guilty that I’ve made more money writing as Poe than did the tragic genius. Maybe you can, too (make money, not feel guilt, I mean).
LETTER #1
June 12, 1846
My Dear Heart-My Dear Virginia,
Our mother will explain to you why I stay away from you this night. I trust the interview I am promised will result in some substantial good for me—for your dear sake and hers—keep up your heart in all hopefulness, and trust yet a little longer. On my last great disappointment I should have lost my courage but for you—my little darling wife. You are my greatest and only stimulus now, to battle with this uncongenial, unsatisfactory, and ungrateful life.
