Брэм Стокер
Dracula / Дракула

© Берестова А. И., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2023

© ООО «ИД «Антология», 2023

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Chapter I

JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

(Kept in shorthand.)

3 May. Bistritz. I left Munich at 8:35 p. m., on 1st May, arrived at Vienna early next morning. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and a little 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 very wide and deep, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

We left very near the correct time, and came to Klausenburgh in the late evening. 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. I asked the waiter, and he said it was a national dish called “paprika hendl,” and that I would be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians. I found my little knowledge of German very useful here; indeed, I don't know how I would be able to get on without it.

When in London, I had visited the British Museum library and found some information about Transylvania; I had thought that some knowledge of the country would be important 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 parts of Europe. I was not able to find the exact locality of the Castle Dracula on any map or in any book, but I found that Bistritz, the post-town named by Count Dracula, is a rather well-known place. I will write here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I tell Mina about my travels.

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 visit may be very interesting. (I must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. Perhaps, it was because of a dog howling all night under my window; or it was because of the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept soundly and was wakened by a loud knock at my door. I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was “mamaliga,” and eggplant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call “impletata.” I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight. But 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 farther east you go, the more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we went through a country which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top of steep hills. At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of clothes. Some of them were dressed just like the peasants at home or in 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 ungainly about the waist. They had all full white sleeves, 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 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, almost 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. In the theatre they would act the part of some old Oriental band of brigands. But I am told that they are very harmless and rather lacking in natural self-assertion.

We got to Bistritz at dusk. It is a very interesting old place. It has had a very stormy existence. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it endured a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people because of the war, famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel. I liked it very much because it was very old-fashioned, and 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 was met by a cheerful elderly woman in the usual peasant dress – white undergarment with long double apron, front, and back, of coloured fabric, that fitted almost too tightly for modesty. She bowed and said, “The Herr Englishman?” “Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.” She smiled, and said something to an elderly man, 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 stagecoach 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 hope that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your visit to my beautiful land.

“Your friend,

“DRACULA.”

4 May. My landlord told me that the Count, in his letter to him, had directed him to get the best place on the coach for me. But when I wanted to get some details, he pretended that he could not understand my German. He and his wife looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He murmured 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, he and his wife crossed themselves and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was all very mysterious and not at all 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 anxious state that it seemed that she had lost all knowledge of German, and spoke in some other language which I did not know at all. I had to ask her many questions before I was able to understand her. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I had an important business, she asked again:

“Do you know what day it is?” I said that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:

“Oh, yes! I know that! But 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 power? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?”

Her anxiety was so evident that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and begged 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, I had business to do, and I could not allow anything to interfere with it. So I thanked her, but said that my business was urgent, and that I must go. She then rose, took a crucifix from her neck and offered it to me. I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I had been taught to consider such things idolatrous, and yet it seemed so impolite to refuse an old lady in such a state of mind. She saw, I think, 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 while I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my neck. I do not know whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many superstitious traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, 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. I am not sleepy, and, naturally, I write till sleep comes. There are many strange things to write down.

When I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw that he was 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 came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them with pity. A lot of queer words were often repeated. So I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them up. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were “Ordog” – Satan, “pokol” – hell, “stregoica” – witch, “vrolok” – either werewolf or vampire. (I must ask the Count about these superstitions).

When the coach started, the people round the inn door all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me. I asked a fellow-passenger to tell me what they meant. He explained that it was a charm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me: I was going to an unknown place to meet an unknown man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic, and I was touched. Then our driver cracked his big whip over his four small horses and we set off on our journey.

The spring scenery along the road was so beautiful that I soon forgot ghostly fears. But if I had known the language which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I would not have forgotten them so easily.

The road was rough, but we almost flew over it with a feverish speed. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but it seemed that the driver was not going to lose any time on the road to Borgo Pass.

By the roadside were many crosses, and as we flew by, my companions all crossed themselves. Now and again we passed peasant's carts with groups of home-coming peasants sitting on them. As the evening fell, it began to get very cold, and in the growing dusk various trees merged into one dark mistiness. But in the deep valleys the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wanted to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver said that it was dangerous to walk here. “The dogs are too fierce,” he said. Then he added, “And you may have enough of such things before you go to sleep.” He evidently meant it as a grim joke, for he looked round to see the approving smile of the rest. He only stopped for a moment to light his lamps.

When it grew dark, the passengers, one after the other, spoke to the driver in some excitement, as though asking him to go faster. He flogged the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and encouraged them to go faster with wild cries. The coach rocked and swayed like a boat on a stormy sea. Then the road grew more even, and it seemed that we flew along. The mountains were on each side of the road. We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts. It was impossible to refuse them because they were given in simple good faith, with a kind word, and that strange mixture of 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, too, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was expected. At last we saw the Pass before us. There were dark 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 transport which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the light of lamps through the blackness, but all was dark. The only light was the light of our own lamps, in which the steam from our tired horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the white sandy road before us, but there was no sign of a carriage on it. I was disappointed, but the passengers seemed glad that there was no carriage. I was already thinking what to do best, when the driver looked at his watch and said something in a very low voice. I thought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then he turned to me and 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.” While he was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and jerk wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then, among a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a carriage, with four horses, drove up and stopped beside our coach. The horses were coal-black and splendid animals. The driver was a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which hid 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 our 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 told 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 sharplooking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my fellow-travellers 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 smile. The passenger turned his face away and crossed himself.

“Give me the Herr's luggage,” said the driver.

My bags were swiftly taken out and put in the carriage. Then I got off the coach, and the driver helped me into the carriage with a hand that caught my arm in a grab of steel. Without a word he took his reins, the horses turned, he cracked his whip and called to his horses, and we swept into the darkness of the Pass on the way to Bukovina. I felt a strange cold, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was put over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German: “The night is chilly, mein Herr, and my master the Count asked me to take good care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should want it.” I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there. I felt a little strangely, and not a little frightened. I think that if there had been any alternative I would have taken it, instead of taking that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a great speed 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. So I remembered some noticeable point, and found that this was so. But I feared to ask the driver what this all meant. But I wanted to know how time was passing; I struck a match and looked at my watch; it was almost midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the collective superstition about midnight and the recent events influenced me. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Then a dog began to howl as if from fear somewhere far in a farmhouse. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till a wild howling began; it seemed that it came from all over the country. At the first howl the horses began jerk, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but still shivered. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us, a louder and a sharper howling – that of wolves—began. I wanted to jump from the carriage and run; the horses reared up again and jerked 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 became quiet enough, so that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them. He stroked them and whispered something in their ears; they became quite manageable again, though they still shivered. The driver again took his seat and started off at a great speed.

Soon we passed through a tunnel formed by trees that arched right over the roadway, and great rocks guarded us on either side. It grew colder and colder still; the snow began to fall, and soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The cold wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The howling of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I grew terribly afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least worried; he turned his head to left and right all the time, 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 too; he at once stopped the horses, jumped to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. I did not know what to do. The howling of the wolves grew closer. The driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat, and we continued our journey. The same thing repeated many times. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness I could watch the driver's movements. He went to where the blue flame arose, gathered a few stones, and 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 gleam all the same. This frightened me, but as the effect was only momentary, I decided that my eyes deceived me in the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we went on through the darkness, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.

When a blue flame appeared again, the driver went further from the carriage than before. During his absence, the horses began to shiver worse than ever and to snort and scream with fear. I could not see any reason for it, for the howling of the wolves had stopped altogether; but just then the moon appeared behind the crest of a rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves. In the grim silence, they were a hundred times more terrible than even when they howled. I was nearly paralysed by fear.

The wolves began to howl at once as though the moonlight had had some strange effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared up, but the living ring of terror surrounded them on every side. I called the coachman, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the ring and to help his approach. I shouted and beat the side of the carriage. I hoped to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance to come to the carriage. Soon I heard his imperious command and saw him on the roadway. He moved his long arms, as though he was sweeping aside some invisible obstacle; the wolves fell back. Just then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, and we were in darkness again.

When I could see again, the driver was getting into the carriage, and the wolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a terrible fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The time seemed endless as we swept on our way, now in almost complete darkness, for the clouds hid the moon. We continued to ascend, with occasional periods of quick descent. Suddenly, I felt that the driver was pulling up the horses, and I saw the courtyard of a big ruined castle. No light came from its tall black windows, and its broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky.

Chapter II

JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

(continued)

5 May. Evidently, I had been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake, I would have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the darkness the courtyard looked very big, and several dark ways led from it under great round arches.

When the carriage stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to help me get off. Then he took out my bags and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and took the reins; the horses started forward, and the carriage disappeared down one of the dark ways.

I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. There was no sign of bell or knocker; it was not likely that my voice could be heard behind these thick walls and dark windows. The time I waited seemed endless, and doubts and fears filled me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was awaiting me? Was this a usual 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, 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 was awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I would suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn light in the room. But my flesh answered the pinching test. 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 heavy steps behind the great door. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back, and the great door opened.

I saw a tall old man, clean shaven, with a long white moustache, and dressed in black from head to foot. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, the flame from which threw long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man made a courtly inviting gesture with his right hand and said in excellent English, but with a strange intonation: “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!” He did not move to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. But as I stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and grasped my hand with a strength that made me wince. His hand 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 like 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 I said interrogatively: “Count Dracula?” He bowed in a courtly way as he replied: “I am Dracula; and I welcome you, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in.

The night air is cold, and you must need to eat and rest.” As he was speaking, he stepped out and took my luggage. 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 luggage along the passage, and then up the stair, and along another great passage. At the end of it he opened a heavy door, and I saw a well-lit room in which a table was laid for supper, and a great fire of logs flamed in a great fireplace.

The Count crossed the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room with a single lamp, and, as it seemed, without a window of any sort. When we passed through this, he opened another door, and invited me to enter. It was a welcome sight, for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire. The Count himself left my luggage inside and said, before he closed the door and went out:

“You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself. I hope 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 helped me reach my normal state. All my doubts and fears disappeared. I felt that I was very hungry. So I made a hasty toilet and went into the other room.

My host stood there at the fireplace. He said: “Please, be seated and have supper. You will, I hope, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not have supper.”

I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me.

He opened it and read it. Then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One part of it gave me pleasure.

“I regret that I cannot come myself because of an attack of gout.But I am happy to say I can send an adequate substitute, one in whom I have every confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent. He is discreet and silent.He will be ready to serve you during his stay, and will take your instructions in all matters.”

The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish where there was 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 about my journey, and I told him all I had experienced.

When I finished my supper, my host offered me a cigar and we sat by the fire. He excused himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity to see him properly, and found his appearance very remarkable.

He had a very strong aquiline face, with high bridge of the thin nose and unusually arched nostrils, with high domed forehead. His hair grew thinly round the temples but thickly elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive and bushy, and almost met over the nose. The mouth was firm and rather cruel-looking, with very sharp white teeth; they protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed surprising 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.

The backs of his hands seemed rather white and fine, but now I could see them properly in the firelight, and I noticed that they were rather coarse – broad, with short and thick fingers. Strange, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and sharp-pointed. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not suppress a shudder. A horrible feeling of nausea came over me, perhaps, because his breath was foul. Evidently, the Count noticed it and sat down again on his own side of the fireplace, with a grim sort of smile, which showed his protruding teeth. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first grey light of the coming dawn. There was a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as though 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!”

He saw, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, and added: “Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot understand the feelings of the hunter.” Then he rose and said: “But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you can sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon. So sleep well and dream well!”

With a courtly bow, he opened the door to the octagonal room for me himself, and I entered my bedroom…

I am full of bewilderment. 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 early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept long and awoke late in the day. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where I had had supper, and found a cold breakfast laid out. Coffee was kept hot in the pot 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.” When I finished my meal, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know that I had, but I could not find one. It seemed certainly strange to me. There are extraordinary evidences of wealth in the house. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully made that it must be very expensive. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas are of the most expensive and most beautiful fabrics, and, of course, had 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 moth-eaten. But there is no mirror in any of the rooms. 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. I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count's permission. I looked about for something to read, but 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.

I was very glad to find in the library a great number of English books, magazines and newspapers. English magazines and newspapers were not of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind – history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law – all about England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such reference books as the London Directory, the Army and Navy Lists, the Law List.

While 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 laid his hand on some of the books and said: “These companions have been good friends to me. Through them I have come to know and love your great England. I want very much to go through the crowded streets of your enormous 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! I only know your tongue through books. With your help, my friend, I hope to learn to speak it.”

I said that he spoke English very well. The Count thanked me for the compliment and said: “I know the grammar and the words, but yet I do not know how to speak them. If I moved and spoke in your London, everybody would know at once that I am a foreigner. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; common people know me; I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men do not know him and do not pay attention to him. I am contented if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or pauses in his speaking if he hears my words, ‘Ha, ha! a stranger!' I have been master so long that I would like to stay master, or at least that none other would be master of me. You came to me not only as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins to tell me all about my new estate in London. You will, I hope, stay here with me for awhile, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation. And, please, correct my mistakes, even the smallest ones. 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 I would willingly help him, and asked if I might come into the library 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 if you could see with my eyes and know what I know, you would perhaps understand better.” 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 many things will be strange to you. No, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be.”

It seemed that he wanted to talk, so I asked him many questions about things that had already happened to me or I had noticed. In general he answered my questions most frankly, but sometimes he avoided the subject, or pretended not to understand. When I asked him, for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames, he told me that there was a legend that on a certain night of the year – last night, in fact, when all evil spirits have uncontrolled power, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been hidden. Then he explained that last night I had travelled through the region of a very stormy past, that a lot of men's blood, patriots or invaders, had been spilled in that region. He said that the the patriots – men and women, the aged and the children, had fought the invaders bravely, but if the invader was triumphant, he found little, for everything valuable had been hidden in the friendly soil.

I was surprised that with such clear sign – a blue flame – the treasure had remained undiscovered so long. The Count smiled, and his 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, go outdoors. And, dear sir, even if he did go out, he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own mark.”

We talked a little of some other matters. Then the Count asked me to tell him of London and of his house there. I apologized for my negligence and went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. While I was in my room, I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through it, I noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp lighted, for it was by this time quite dark. The lamps were also lighted in the library. When I came in, the Count cleared the books and papers from the table, and we 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. I understood that he had studied the subject of the surroundings beforehand, for he evidently knew very much more than I did.

After I told him the facts of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet and he signed the necessary papers, he asked me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to him the following notes which I had made at the time of that search: “At Purfleet, on a by-road, it seems I came across just such a place as is required, and it was for sale. The estate 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 area of the estate is some twenty acres. There are many trees on it, which make it in places shadowy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake. The house is very large and it dates, I think, to medieval times, for one part of it looks like part of a main tower of a medieval castle, and is close to an old chapel or church. There are straggling additions to the house, so I can only guess what area it covers. I think it is very large. There are very few houses near the estate. A very large house was recently added 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 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 make up a century! I am also glad that there is a chapel of old times. We, Transylvanian nobles, do not love to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I do not look for merriment or the bright sensual pleasure of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and merry. I am no longer young, and my heart, through arduous years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to merriment. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and prefer to be alone with my thoughts when I may.” However, it seemed that somehow his words and his appearance did not agree, or perhaps the form of his face made his smile look malevolent and gloomy.

Presently, the Count asked me to put all my papers together, excused himself and left the room. While he was away, I began to look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas. It was opened naturally at England, as though that map had been much used. Several places were marked by little circles. One was near London on the east side, where his new estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.

The Count was absent nearly an hour. “Still at your books?” he said when he returned. “Good! But you must not work all the time. Come, I am informed that your supper is ready.” He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I saw an excellent supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out while he was away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted while I ate.

After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count continued to chat with me and ask all sorts of questions. Though I was not sleepy, I felt that it was getting very late indeed but I did not say anything, for I felt I was obliged to meet my host's wishes in every way. All at once we heard the crow of a cock. It sounded supernaturally shrill in the clear morning air. Count Dracula jumped to his feet and said: “Why, there is the morning again! How thoughtless of me to let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation about 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 bedroom and wrote of this day in my journal before I went to bed.

8 May. I am glad that from the beginning I went into detail when I wrote in this book, for there is something very strange about this place and I wish I had never come here. May be this strange night-existence is telling on me. But that is not all! If there were any one to talk to, I could endure 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. I will write down prosaic facts; imagination must not run riot with me. If it does, I am lost.

I only slept a few hours; I woke up and felt that I could not sleep any more, so I got up. My shaving glass hung by the window; the whole room was reflected in it. I was just beginning to shave when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice: “Good-morning,” but I did not see his reflection in the glass. I jerked and cut my chin slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. I turned around and answered the Count's salutation. Then I turned to the glass again, and again there was no reflection of the Count in the mirror! But the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder! The whole room behind me was reflected, but there was no sign of a man in it, except myself. This increased that vague feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near. At that moment I saw that the blood from the cut was trickling over my chin. I wanted to find some sticking plaster and half turned from the mirror. When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly grabbed 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.

“Be careful,” he said, “do not cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country.” Then he grabbed the shaving glass and with the words: “And this wretched thing has done the injury” he threw the glass out of the window. Then he left the room without a word. It is very annoying. How am I to shave? If only with the help of my watch-case.

When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was on the table, but the Count was absent. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that the Count has not yet shared any meal with me. He must be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I explored the castle a little. I went out on the stairs, and found a room that looked towards the South. The view from the window was magnificent. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. And there is a sea of green tree tops below. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.

But now I am not in the mood to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked. There is no exit anywhere except from the windows in the castle walls.

The castle is a real prison, and I am a prisoner!

Chapter III

JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

(continued)

The fact that I was a prisoner made me very nervous. I rushed up and down the stairs, tried every door and looked out of every window I could find. But soon I realized that it was useless. I began to think over what to do best. And I am certain of one thing – I should not tell the Count anything about my ideas. My only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open.

As I had made this decision, I heard that the great door below had closed, 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 saw that he was making the bed. Later, through the crack in the door, I saw how he was laying the table in the dining-room. It showed that I was right in my suspicion that there were no servants in the house. This gave me a fright, for it meant that the Count himself had been the driver of the coach that brought me here. If so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, just 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 did the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash mean? Bless that good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! It is a comfort to me whenever I touch it. Is there something in the crucifix itself, or it is a medium in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time 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 because it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that way. But I must be very careful.I do not want to awake his suspicion.

Midnight. I had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he talked very warmly on the subject and got excited as he talked. He spoke of everything, and especially of battles, as if he had been present at them all. He said 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. It all sounded as the story of his nation: “We Szekelys[1] have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave peoples who fought as the lion fights, for power. In the whirlpool of European peoples, the Ugric tribe[2] brought here the fighting spirit from Iceland, which Thor and Wodin[3] gave them. And their Berserkers[4] showed such ferocity on the seashores of Europe, Asia and even Africa that the peoples thought that the were-wolves themselves had come. Besides, when they came here, they found the Huns[5], whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, so that the dying peoples thought that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who were turned out from Scythia[6] and mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila[7], whose blood is in these veins?” He held up his arms. “Is it surprising that we were a conquering nation, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Bulgar, or the Turk sent his thousands to our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad[8] and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland, he found us here when he reached the frontier and Honfoglalas was crushed there? And when the Hungarian flood moved eastward, the victorious Magyars recognizd the Szekelys as kindred and trusted us to guard the frontier of Turkey-land. When was redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Kosovo, when the flags of the Wallach[9] and the Magyar went down beneath the Turkish Crescent? It was one of my own nation, a Dracula! He crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground! It was a great woe that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! But, in a later age, another Dracula again and again brought his troops over the great river into Turkey-land. When he was beaten back, he came again, and again, and again. Though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being killed, he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. But what good are peasants without a leader, without a leading brain and heart? Again, when we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were among their leaders, for our free spirit cannot stand any oppression. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys – and the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and their swords – can boast about such ancient family that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The days of war are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the great tribes are no more than an old tale.”

It was nearly morning, and we went to bed. (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. Last evening when the Count came from his room, he began asking me questions on legal matters and on the doing of certain kinds of business in England. I answered his questions to the best of my ability, and my impression from his comments was that his knowledge of legal matters and understanding of business were nearly professional. At the end of that conversation the Count suddenly asked me if I had written to Mr. Hawkins since my first letter. I answered that I had not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody as yet.

“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, “write to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins and to any other and say that you will stay with me for a month from now.”

My heart grew cold at the thought that I would stay at the castle so long, but I had to think of my employer Mr. Hawkins's interest, not mine and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, I saw in his eyes that I was a prisoner and could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in the expression of my face, for he said: “I ask you, my good young friend, to write only about 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 notepaper and three envelopes. I understood by the expression of his face that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I decided 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. It would puzzle the Count, if he saw it. When I had written my two letters I sat quietly, reading a book while the Count wrote several letters. Then he took up my two letters, put them with his own on the table, and left the room. I had time to look at the addresses of his four letters. One of the letters was addressed 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 had no opportunity to look at them because the Count, with another letter in his hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped them carefully. Then he turned to me and said: “I hope 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: “My dear young friend, please, do not 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! If you feel sleepy, hurry to your own bedroom or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe.

But if you are not careful, then…” He finished his speech with the movement of his hands as if he were washing them. I quite understood. I only doubted that any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which was closing around me.

Later. I think that I will not fear to sleep in any place where he is not. I have put the crucifix over the head of my bed – I think that my rest is thus freer from dreams.

When he left me I went to my room. But in a little while I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could look out towards the South. I wanted some fresh air. I looked out over the beautiful view in soft yellow moonlight. This beauty cheered me; there was peace and comfort in the nihgt air. I leaned from the window and suddenly saw that something was moving on a storey below me. I drew a little back from the window and looked carefully out.

As I watched, the Count emerged from the window and began to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful precipice, face down, and his cloak was spreading out around him like great wings. His fingers and toes grasped at the corners of the stones, and he moved quickly just as a lizard moves along a wall.

I am in awful fear of this horrible place; there is no escape for me; there are horrors around me that I dare not think of…

15 May. The Count went out in his lizard manner again. I knew that he had left the castle now, and decided to use the opportunity to explore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to my room and took a lamp. I tried all the doors on my way. They were all locked, as I had expected. Then I went down the stone stairs to the hall where I had entered on arrival. I pulled back the bolts easily enough and unhooked 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 for the chance when his door is unlocked, so that I may get it and escape. I continued to examine the various stairs and passages and to try the doors that opened from them. At last I found one door at the top of the stairway that was not really locked. The hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which I might not have again, so, with many efforts, I forced it back and entered. 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 looked out both west and south. On both sides 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. This was evidently the portion of the castle occupied by the ladies in old times, for the furniture was more comfortable here. I had come to hate those rooms where I met with the Count. So here I am sitting at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat and wrote 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 now. But I feel that the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere “modernity” cannot kill.

Later: the Morning of 16 May. When I had written in my diary and had fortunately put the book and pen in my pocket, I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my mind, but the soft moonlight soothed, and the view of the wide expanse from the windows gave a sense of freedom which refreshed me. I decided not to return to-night to the gloomy rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives while their gentle hearts 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. I suppose I fell asleep; I hope so. But all that followed was so frighteningly real that now, in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I cannot believe that it was all sleep.

I was not alone. The room was the same. But in the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought that I was dreaming, 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 almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was fair with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. It seemed somehow that I knew her face, and knew it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I did not remember when or where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their full lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy. I felt some craving and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to write this down. If it meets Mina's eyes some day, it will cause her pain, but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they all three laughed, a silvery, musical laugh, but it did not sound human. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on. One said: “Go on! You are first, and we will follow; yours is the right to begin.” The other added: “He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.” I lay quietly and looked out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation.

The fair girl went on her knees and leaned over me. She licked her lips like an animal; her red tongue licked the white sharp teeth. Her lips were at my throat. I could feel the soft touch of the lips on the skin of my throat, and the hard press of two sharp teeth. Then she paused. I closed my eyes in a sleepy ecstasy and waited.

But at that instant I felt the presence of the Count. He was furious. My eyes opened. The Count grasped the neck of the fair woman and with giant's power drew it back. His eyes were blazing. The red light in them was like the flames of hell-fire. His face was deathly pale. He threw the woman from him. Then he turned to the others and said: “How dare you touch him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me!” The fair girl, with a laugh of vulgar coquetry, answered him: “You yourself never loved; you never love!” The other women loughed in a mirthless and soulless manner. It seemed like the pleasure of demons. The Count looked at my face attentively and said in a soft whisper: “Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Well, now I promise you that when I am finished with him, you will kiss him at your will. Now go!”

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Notes

1

Szekelys – секлеры, этническая группа венгров в Трансильвании (Румыния); мадьяры, считающиеся остатком гуннов.

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2

Ugric tribe – племя угров, угорское племя – этническая группа венгров в Трансильвании.

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3

Thor (Тор) – бог грома и бури; Wodin (Один) – верховный бог, отец Тора (скандинавская мифология).

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4

Berserkers – берсерки, воины, главная ударная сила викингов (скандинавская мифология).

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5

Huns – гунны, древние кочевые племена, переселившиеся из Азии в Европу.

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6

Scythia – Скифия, древнее название юго-восточной части Европы. Занимала степи между устьями Дуная и Дона, включая степной Крым и лесостепные районы Северного Причерноморья.

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7

Attila – Аттила, правитель гуннов, создавший державу от Рейна до Волги.

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8

Arpad – правитель венгров.

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9

Wallach – валахи, общее название предков восточнороманских народов (румын, молдаван и др.).

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