August 24
My dearest Lucy,
I know you must be wondering what happened after we said goodbye at the railway station in Whitby.
I reached Hull safely, caught the boat to Hamburg, and then took the train to Buda-Pesth. I hardly remember the journey at all. I only knew that I was going to Jonathan and that I would probably have to nurse him, so I needed to save my strength and get as much sleep as possible.
When I finally saw my dear Jonathan, my heart broke.
He was terribly thin, pale, and weak. The strength and confidence that used to shine in his eyes were gone. Even the calm dignity that I once told you about had disappeared. He looked like a broken version of himself.
He says he cannot remember anything that happened to him for a long time.
I think he wants me to believe that, and I will never force him to remember. Whatever happened must have been terrible. Trying to recall it might damage his already weakened mind.
Sister Agatha, who is both kind and an excellent nurse, told me that during his illness he said many frightening things. I asked her what he had said, but she would not tell me. She crossed herself and said that the words of a sick person belong to God, and that a nurse must keep such things secret.
She is such a gentle soul. The next day, when she saw how worried I was, she spoke about it again.
“I can tell you this much, my dear,” she said. “It was nothing Jonathan had done wrong. You have no reason to worry about him as his future wife. He has not forgotten you or what he owes you. He was terrified by things so terrible that no ordinary person could explain them.”
I think she was afraid I might wonder whether Jonathan had fallen in love with another woman.
The idea of me being jealous of Jonathan seems ridiculous. And yet, Lucy, I must admit something quietly to you: I felt a sudden rush of happiness when I learned that no other woman was involved.
I am sitting beside his bed now, watching him sleep.
He is waking.
When Jonathan opened his eyes, he asked for his coat because he wanted something from one of the pockets. I asked Sister Agatha to bring all his belongings. Among them was his notebook.
I immediately thought that the notebook might contain some clue about what had happened to him. I was about to ask if I could read it, but somehow he must have understood what I was thinking.
“Go over to the window for a moment,” he said. “I want to be alone.”
I did as he asked.
A moment later he called me back.
When I returned, his hand was resting firmly on the notebook.
“Wilhelmina,” he said solemnly.
I knew then how serious he was. He had not called me by that name since the day he asked me to marry him.
“You know what I believe about trust between a husband and wife. There should be no secrets between us. I have suffered a terrible shock. Whenever I try to remember it, my head spins, and I cannot tell whether what happened was real or merely the nightmare of a madman.
“You know I have had brain fever, and that illness can make a person lose his reason. The secret is in this book, but I do not want to know it.
“I want to leave all of that behind and begin my life again—with you.”
We had already decided that we would marry as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made.
“Are you willing to share my ignorance, Wilhelmina? Here is the notebook. Take it and keep it. Read it if you wish, but never tell me what it contains.
“Unless, of course, some serious duty ever forces me to return to those terrible hours, whether they happened while I was awake, asleep, sane, or mad.”
He collapsed back against the pillows, completely exhausted.
I put the notebook beneath his pillow and kissed him.
Then I asked Sister Agatha to speak to the Superior and see if our wedding could take place that very afternoon.
I waited anxiously for the answer.
Soon she returned.
“The chaplain from the English mission church has been sent for,” she told me. “You can be married within the hour, or as soon as Jonathan wakes.”
Lucy, the wedding has happened.
I feel deeply solemn, but I have never been happier.
Jonathan woke shortly after the appointed time. Everything was ready, and he sat upright in bed with pillows supporting him.
When he said, “I will,” his voice was firm and strong.
I could hardly speak. My heart was so full that even those simple words seemed to catch in my throat.
The Sisters were unbelievably kind to us. I pray that I will never forget them or the serious promises I made today.
And now I must tell you about my wedding present to Jonathan.
After the chaplain and the Sisters left us alone, I took the notebook from beneath his pillow.
Oh, Lucy, this is the first time I have ever written the words “my husband.”
I wrapped the notebook in white paper and tied it with the pale blue ribbon that had been around my neck. I sealed the knot with wax, using my wedding ring as the seal.
Then I kissed the package and showed it to Jonathan.
“I will keep it like this,” I told him. “It will always remind us that we trust each other. I will never open it unless I must do so for your sake or because some serious duty requires it.”
Jonathan took my hand.
It was the first time he had ever held his wife’s hand.
“This is the dearest thing in the whole world to me,” he said. “If I had to live through the past again to win it, I would do so.”
Poor dear. He meant only part of the past, but his sense of time is still confused. I would not be surprised if he sometimes mixes up the month or even the year.
What could I say?
I told him I was the happiest woman in the world. I had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust. Along with those came my love and my duty for the rest of my life.
When he kissed me and pulled me close with his weak arms, it felt like a sacred promise between us.
Lucy, do you know why I am telling you all this?
Not simply because it has made me happy, but because you are so dear to me.
I was lucky enough to be your friend and guide when you left school and began preparing for adult life. Now I want you to see, through the eyes of a very happy wife, where duty has led me.
I hope that when you marry, your life will be just as happy.
May God give you a long life filled with sunshine, without cruel winds, without neglect of duty, and without distrust.
I cannot wish you a life without pain, because no one can avoid that. But I hope you will always be as happy as I am today.
Good-bye, my dear. I am sending this letter immediately, and perhaps I will write again soon.
I must stop now. Jonathan is waking.
I have to go to my husband.
Your loving,
Mina Harker
August 30
My dearest Mina,
Millions of kisses and all my love to you! I hope you will soon be back home with your husband.
I wish you could return soon enough to stay with us here in Whitby. The sea air would surely help Jonathan. It has certainly done wonders for me.
I have a huge appetite, plenty of energy, and I sleep wonderfully.
You will be pleased to hear that I have completely stopped sleepwalking. I do not think I have gotten out of bed once at night for more than a week.
Arthur says I am getting fat.
Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you—Arthur is here with us!
We have been walking, driving, riding, rowing, playing tennis, and fishing together. And I love him more than ever.
He says he loves me more than ever too, but I am not sure that is possible. When we first became engaged, he told me that he could never love me more than he already did.
But what does any of that matter?
There he is calling for me now.
I must go.
Your loving,
Lucy
P.S. Mother sends her love. Poor dear seems to be feeling a little better.
P.P.S. We are going to be married on September 28.
August 20
Renfield’s condition has become even more fascinating.
After his violent attack, he remained extremely aggressive for an entire week. Then, one night, just as the moon rose, he suddenly became calm.
He kept repeating to himself:
“Now I can wait. Now I can wait.”
The attendant came to tell me, and I went downstairs immediately.
He was still wearing the straitjacket and was locked in the padded room, but the flushed, feverish look had disappeared from his face. His eyes had returned to their old pleading, almost submissive expression.
I was satisfied with his condition and ordered the attendants to release him.
They hesitated, but eventually obeyed.
Renfield noticed their distrust. He came close to me and whispered while keeping a suspicious eye on the attendants.
“They think I could hurt you! Imagine me hurting you! The fools!”
It was strangely comforting to realize that, even in his madness, he did not see me as one of the ordinary people around him.
But I still cannot understand what he means.
Does he believe that he and I have some kind of connection? Does he think we are supposed to stand together? Or does he believe that he can gain something enormous from me and therefore needs me to remain safe?
I will have to find out.
Tonight he refuses to talk.
I even offered him a kitten, and later a grown cat, but neither interested him.
“I don’t care about cats,” he said. “I have more important things to think about now. I can wait. I can wait.”
Eventually I left him.
The attendant told me that he remained quiet until almost dawn. Then he became restless, followed by another violent attack. Eventually he exhausted himself and fell into a kind of coma.
The same thing has happened for three nights now.
He is violent throughout the day, then becomes completely calm from moonrise until sunrise.
There seems to be some outside influence controlling these changes.
I have had an idea.
Tonight, we will test him.
He escaped once without our help. This time, we will deliberately give him the opportunity to escape while having men ready to follow him.
Perhaps we can discover where he goes and what he wants.
August 23
As Disraeli once said, the unexpected always happens.
Our “bird” refused to fly when we opened the cage.
All our careful preparations were useless.
Still, we learned something important: his periods of calm last for quite a while.
From now on, we can loosen his restrictions for several hours every day. Even if his mind does not benefit from the freedom, his body will.
And now I am being called again.
The patient has escaped.
Later
Another strange night.
Renfield waited until the attendant entered his room to check on him. Then he suddenly rushed past the man and ran down the corridor.
I ordered the attendants to follow him.
Once again, we entered the grounds of the deserted house.
We found him in exactly the same place as before, pressed against the old chapel door.
The moment he saw me, he became violently angry. If the attendants had not grabbed him in time, I believe he would have tried to kill me.
But while we were holding him, something strange happened.
Renfield suddenly struggled even harder.
Then, just as suddenly, he became calm.
I instinctively looked around.
There was nothing there.
I followed his gaze toward the moonlit sky.
The only thing I could see was a huge bat flying silently westward.
Most bats circle and dart through the air. This one flew in a straight line, almost as if it knew exactly where it was going.
Renfield became calmer with every passing second.
Then he said:
“You don’t need to tie me. I’ll go quietly.”
We returned to the house without any trouble.
I cannot explain it, but there was something deeply ominous about his sudden calm.
I will not forget this night.
August 24
I have decided to follow Mina’s example and keep a diary.
That way, when we meet again, we will have plenty to talk about.
I wonder when that will be.
I wish Mina were here with me. I feel terribly unhappy.
Last night I seemed to fall into the same kind of strange dream I had in Whitby.
Perhaps it is the change of air. Perhaps it is because I am back home.
Whatever the reason, the dreams are dark and frightening. I cannot remember them, but I wake with a terrible sense of fear.
I feel weak and exhausted.
When Arthur came to lunch, he looked deeply worried when he saw me. I simply did not have the energy to pretend to be cheerful.
Perhaps I should sleep in Mother’s room tonight.
I will find some excuse and ask her.
August 25
Another terrible night.
Mother did not seem pleased when I suggested sleeping in her room. She does not look well herself, and perhaps she is afraid that worrying about me will make things worse.
I tried to stay awake and managed it for a while.
But when the clock struck midnight, I woke from a light sleep. So I must already have been drifting off.
I heard something scratching or flapping against the window, but I ignored it.
I remember nothing after that.
I must have fallen asleep.
The dreams were terrible again. I wish I could remember them.
This morning I feel horribly weak.
My face looks frighteningly pale, and my throat hurts.
I must have something wrong with my lungs. Sometimes I feel as though I simply cannot get enough air.
I will try to cheer up when Arthur comes.
I know it will make him miserable if he sees me looking like this.
August 31
My dear Jack,
I need you to do me a favor.
Lucy is ill.
She has no clear disease that I can identify, but she looks terribly unwell and seems to grow weaker every day.
I have asked her whether something is troubling her, but I do not dare question her mother. Given Mrs. Westenra’s current condition, upsetting her about Lucy could be dangerous.
Mrs. Westenra has already told me that her own heart disease is very serious. She knows she may not have much time left, although poor Lucy still does not know.
I am convinced that something is weighing heavily on Lucy’s mind.
I am almost beside myself with worry. Looking at her is painful.
I told her I wanted you to examine her. She resisted at first—I understand why—but eventually agreed.
Please come to Hillingham tomorrow at two for lunch. I want you to arrive then so Mrs. Westenra will not suspect anything.
After lunch, Lucy will arrange to be alone with you.
I will come for tea, and then we can leave together.
I am terribly anxious and want to speak with you privately after you have examined her.
Please don’t fail me.
Arthur
September 1
I have been called away because my father is worse.
I am writing to him now.
Please send me a full report by tonight’s post at the Ring.
Send a telegram if anything urgent happens.
Arthur
September 2
My dear Art,
I want to tell you immediately what I think about Miss Westenra’s health.
As far as I can determine, she has no specific disease or obvious physical disorder.
But I am far from satisfied with her appearance.
She looks dramatically different from the last time I saw her.
Unfortunately, I was unable to examine her as thoroughly as I would have liked. Our friendship makes some parts of a medical examination awkward in a way that neither medical practice nor science can completely overcome.
So I will tell you exactly what happened and let you draw some of your own conclusions.
When I arrived, Lucy seemed cheerful.
Her mother was there, and within seconds I realized that Lucy was doing everything she could to hide how she really felt and prevent her mother from worrying.
I suspect she understands how careful she needs to be.
We had lunch together and all tried our best to be cheerful. Surprisingly, our effort actually made the meal pleasant.
Afterward, Mrs. Westenra went to rest, leaving Lucy alone with me.
We went into her private sitting room.
She remained cheerful while the servants were coming and going. But the moment I closed the door, her expression changed completely.
She sank into a chair with a deep sigh and covered her eyes with one hand.
I knew I had my chance to examine her properly.
She smiled sadly.
“I really hate talking about myself.”
I reminded her that everything she told a doctor would remain confidential. I also told her how worried you were.
She immediately understood.
“Tell Arthur anything you think he needs to know,” she said. “I don’t care about myself. I care about him.”
That gave me complete freedom to speak with you.
I could see that she had lost blood and looked pale, but I could not find the usual signs of anemia.
By pure chance, I was able to examine her blood.
While I was struggling to open a stiff window, a cord snapped and Lucy cut her hand slightly on the broken glass.
It was only a small wound, but it gave me an opportunity to collect a few drops of blood.
The results were completely normal.
In fact, her blood suggested that she was physically healthy.
Everything else I could examine also seemed normal.
Yet there had to be a reason for her condition.
I have therefore begun to suspect that the problem may be psychological rather than physical.
Lucy sometimes feels that she cannot breathe properly. She also sleeps heavily and has frightening dreams that she cannot remember afterward.
She told me that she had walked in her sleep as a child. The habit returned when she was in Whitby, and on one occasion she walked outside at night and went to the East Cliff, where Mina found her.
Lucy insists that the sleepwalking has stopped recently.
I am not convinced.
So I have done what I think is best.
I have written to an old friend and former teacher of mine, Professor Van Helsing of Amsterdam. He understands mysterious illnesses better than almost anyone in the world.
I have asked him to come here.
You told me that all expenses should be covered by you, so I explained who you are and your relationship with Lucy.
I am doing this because you asked me to, and because I would gladly do anything I can for her.
Van Helsing would do the same for me because of our friendship.
Whatever reason he gives for coming, we should trust his judgment.
He can seem rather stubborn and demanding, but that is because he usually knows exactly what he is talking about.
He is a philosopher, a scientist, and a man with an unusually open mind. He has extraordinary courage, incredible self-control, and an almost unbreakable determination.
More importantly, he has one of the kindest hearts I have ever known.
I have asked him to come immediately.
I will see Lucy again tomorrow.
She will meet me at the Stores so that my visiting her again too soon will not alarm her mother.
Yours always,
John Seward
September 2
My dear friend,
I received your letter, and I am already preparing to come.
Fortunately, I can leave immediately without abandoning anyone who has placed their trust in me.
If the situation were different, I would still come to help my friend when he asks me to care for someone he loves.
Tell your friend that I am coming because you called me.
Do you remember when I was wounded and you quickly treated the poisoned wound when our other friend was too nervous to act? You helped me then when I needed you, and now I am happy to help you.
Please arrange a room for me at the Great Eastern Hotel so I can be nearby.
I would like to see the young lady as early as possible tomorrow. I may need to return to Amsterdam that night.
If necessary, I can come back again in three days and stay longer.
Until then, goodbye, my friend John.
Van Helsing
September 3
My dear Art,
Van Helsing came and has already left.
He accompanied me to Hillingham, and fortunately Lucy had arranged for her mother to be out at lunch, so we were able to examine her privately.
Van Helsing examined Lucy extremely carefully.
He will send me his conclusions, and I will tell you what he says. I was not present for every part of the examination.
I am afraid he is very concerned.
But he says he needs time to think.
When I explained how close we are and how much you trust me with Lucy’s care, he said:
“You must tell him everything you think. Tell him what I think, if you can guess it, if you wish.”
Then he became very serious.
“This is no joke. It may be a matter of life and death. Perhaps even more.”
I asked what he meant, but he refused to explain.
You must not be angry with him, Art.
His silence means that he is using all his knowledge to help Lucy.
When he is ready, he will tell us everything.
After we returned to London, I decided to write down the details of our visit as if I were preparing a newspaper report.
Van Helsing seemed not to notice.
Instead, he casually remarked that London’s smoke was not nearly as bad as it had been when he studied here as a young man.
He promised to send me his report tomorrow if possible. In any case, I will receive a letter.
As for Lucy, she was much more cheerful than when I first saw her, and she certainly looked better.
The frightening pallor that had worried you was not as severe, and her breathing was normal.
She was extremely kind to Van Helsing, as she always is, and tried hard to make him comfortable.
But I could see how much effort it required.
I believe Van Helsing noticed it too. I saw that familiar quick glance beneath his thick eyebrows.
He began talking about everything except illness.
He was so warm and friendly that Lucy gradually stopped pretending to be cheerful and actually became cheerful.
Then, without making it obvious, he gently brought the conversation back to the reason for his visit.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “I am very pleased to meet you because you are so deeply loved. That is important, even when there may be something wrong that I cannot yet see.
“They told me you were unhappy and very pale. I told them, ‘Nonsense!’”
He snapped his fingers.
“But you and I will show them they are wrong.
“How could he”—he pointed at me—“know everything about a young lady? He spends his time dealing with madmen and trying to bring them back to happiness.
“He knows a great deal about illness, but young women are different.
“He has no wife and no daughter. Young people do not always tell their troubles to other young people. They often speak more freely to someone older, someone like me, who has lived through many sorrows.
“So, my dear, we will send him outside to smoke a cigarette while you and I have a private conversation.”
I understood and went outside.
After a while, Van Helsing came to the window and called me back.
He looked serious.
“I have examined her very carefully,” he said. “There is no physical disease that explains her condition.
“I agree with you that she has lost a great deal of blood. She has lost it, yes—but she is not currently losing blood.
“And despite her pale appearance, she is not suffering from ordinary anemia.
“I have asked her to send me her maid. I want to ask one or two questions so that I do not overlook anything.
“I already know what she will probably tell me.
“And yet there is a cause. There is always a cause for everything.
“I must return home and think.
“Send me a telegram every day. If I see anything that concerns me, I will come back.
“The case interests me deeply. And the young lady interests me too. She has a sweet nature, and I care about helping her.”
That was all he would tell me.
So, Art, you now know everything I know.
I will keep a very close watch on Lucy.
I hope your father is getting better.
It must be terribly difficult for you to be caught between two people who both mean so much to you.
I know how strongly you feel about your duty to your father, and you are right to remain with him.
But if Lucy needs you urgently, I will tell you immediately.
So please try not to worry unless you hear from me.
September 4
Renfield continues to be one of the most fascinating cases I have ever studied.
Yesterday he had only one violent episode, and it came at a very unusual time.
Just before noon, he became restless.
The attendant recognized the warning signs and immediately called for help.
The men arrived quickly.
They were just in time.
The moment the clock struck twelve, Renfield became so violent that it took all of them to restrain him.
About five minutes later, he gradually calmed down.
Eventually he became deeply depressed, and he has remained in that state ever since.
The attendant says his screams during the attack were horrifying.
When I arrived, I had to deal with several other patients who had been frightened by the noise.
I understand why.
Even from a distance, his screams had disturbed me.
Now it is after dinner.
Renfield is sitting in a corner, staring downward with a dull, miserable expression.
There is something behind his expression that I cannot understand.
Later
Another change.
At five o’clock I visited Renfield and found him as cheerful and contented as he used to be.
He was catching flies and eating them.
He was also recording each catch by scratching marks into the edge of the padded door.
When he saw me, he apologized for his earlier behavior.
Then, in a humble and almost submissive voice, he asked to return to his own room and have his notebook back.
I decided to let him have what he wanted.
He is now back in his room with the window open.
He has spread sugar from his tea across the windowsill, attracting a large number of flies.
But this time he is not eating them.
He is collecting them in a box, just as he used to.
He is also searching the corners of the room for a spider.
I tried to get him to talk about the past few days. Any clue about what is going on in his mind could be extremely valuable.
He refused.
For a moment he looked very sad.
Then he spoke as though he were talking to himself rather than to me.
“It’s all over. All over. He has abandoned me. I have no hope unless I do it myself.”
Then he suddenly turned toward me with determination.
“Doctor, would you be kind enough to give me a little more sugar? I think it would help me.”
“And the flies?” I asked.
“Yes. The flies like the sugar, and I like the flies. So naturally, I like the sugar.”
Some people think madmen cannot reason.
They are wrong.
I gave him twice the usual amount of sugar and left him perfectly happy.
I wish I could understand what is happening inside his mind.
Midnight
Another change.
I had just returned from visiting Miss Westenra, who is doing much better.
I was standing at the gate of the asylum, watching the sunset, when I heard Renfield screaming again.
His room is on this side of the building, so I could hear him much more clearly than I had earlier.
The contrast was disturbing.
Only moments before, I had been watching the beautiful London sunset, with its strange red light, dark shadows, and glowing colors spread across the dirty clouds.
Then I turned toward this cold stone building filled with suffering.
And I thought of my own lonely heart.
I reached Renfield’s room just as the sun was disappearing.
Through the window, I watched the red disk sink below the horizon.
As the sun went down, Renfield became less and less violent.
The moment the last edge of the sun disappeared, he suddenly collapsed from the attendants’ hands and lay motionless on the floor.
His recovery was astonishing.
Within minutes he stood up calmly and looked around.
I signaled the attendants not to restrain him.
I wanted to see what he would do.
He walked straight to the window and brushed away the sugar crumbs.
Then he took his box of flies, emptied it outside, and threw the box away.
He closed the window.
Then he returned to his bed and sat down.
I was so surprised that I asked:
“Aren’t you going to keep flies anymore?”
“No,” he said. “I’m tired of all that nonsense.”
He is an extraordinary case.
I wish I could understand what causes these sudden changes in him.
Wait.
Perhaps there is a clue.
Today his violent attacks happened at noon and at sunset.
Could sunlight itself have some harmful influence on certain people, just as the moon seems to affect others?
We will see.
September 4
Patient is still improving today.
September 5
Patient is much better. He is eating well, sleeping normally, and seems cheerful. His color is returning.
September 6
Terrible change for the worse.
Come immediately.
Do not lose a single hour.
I will delay telling Holmwood until I have seen you.