Stoker, Bram - Dracula

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(Converted by Xowetrobe)

CHAPTER 1

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

3 May. Bistritz:- Left Munich at 8:35 P.M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early

next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth

seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the

little I could 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 of noble width

and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. 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.

(Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called “paprika

hendl,” and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along

the Carpathians.

I found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I don’t know how I

should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British

Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding

Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could

hardly fail to have some importance 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 portions of Europe.

I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the Castle

Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with our own

Ordance Survey Maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by Count

Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as they

may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in

the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the

Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going

among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may

be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they

found the Huns settled in it.

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 stay may be very interesting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of

queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my window, which may

have had something to do with it; or it may have been the paprika, for I had to

drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept

and was wakened by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have

been sleeping soundly then.

I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they

said was “mamaliga”, and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish,

which they call “impletata”. (Mem., get recipe for this also.)

I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or rather it ought

to have done so, for 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 further east you go the more unpunctual are the trains.

What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of beauty of

every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top of steep hills such

as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers and streams which seemed

from the wide stony margin on each side of them to be subject ot great floods. It

takes a lot of water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.

At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts

of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I saw com-

ing through 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

clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, 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 we saw 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, nearly 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. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old

Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather

wanting in natural self-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very inter-

esting old place. Being practically on the frontier—for the Borgo Pass leads from

it into Bukovina— it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows

marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible

havoc on five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth cen-

tury it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of

war proper being assisted by famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found,

to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course 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 faced a cheery-looking

elderly woman in the usual peasant dress— white undergarment with a long dou-

ble apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty.

When I came close she bowed and said, “The Herr Englishman?”

“Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.”

She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirtsleeves, 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 tonight. At three tomorrow the diligence 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 trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that

you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land:- Your friend, Dracula.”

4 May—I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him

to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details

he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my

German.

This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least,

he answered my questions exactly as if he did.

He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a

frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a let-

ter,and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and

could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and,

saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so

near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very

mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a hysteri-

cal way: “Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?” She was in such an

excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and

mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just

able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at

once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:

“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was the fourth of May. She

shook her head as she said again:

“Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?”

On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock

strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you

know where you are going, and what you are going to?” She was in such evident

distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally, she went down on

her knees and implored 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, there was busi-

ness to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it.

I tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my

duty was imperative, and that I must go.

She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to

me.

I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to

regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious

to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind.

She saw, I suppose, 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 whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is,

of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my neck.

Whether it is the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or

the crucifix itself, I do not know, 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 goodbye. Here

comes the coach!

5 May. The Castle:- The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over

the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not,

for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed.

I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep

comes.

There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that

I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.

I dined on what they called “robber steak”—bits of bacon, onion, and beef, sea-

soned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple

style of the London cat’s meat!

The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue,

which is, however, not disagreeable.

I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.

When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking

to 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 pityingly. I could hear a lot of words

often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd, so I

quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out.

I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were “Ordog”—Satan,

“Pokol”—hell, “stregoica”—witch, “vrolok” and “vlkoslak”—both mean the

same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either

werewolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions.)

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time swelled

to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers

towards me.

With some difficulty, I got a fellow passenger to tell me what they meant. He

would not answer at first, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it

was a charm or guard against the evil eye.

This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place to meet an

unknown man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so

sympathetic that I could not but be touched.

I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn yard and its crowd of

picturesque figures,all crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway,

with its background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clus-

tered in the centre of the yard.

Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the

boxseat,—”gotza” they call them—cracked his big whip over his four small hors-

es, which ran abreast, and we set off on our journey.

I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the scene as we

drove along, although had I known the language, or rather languages, which my

fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so

easily. Before us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and

there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank

gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blos-

som— apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could see the green grass

under the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green

hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road, losing itself as it swept

round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods,

which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was

rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not under-

stand then what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no

time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summertime excel-

lent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter snows. In this respect

it is different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is an old tra-

dition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of old the Hospadars would

not repair them, lest the Turk should think that they were preparing to bring in for-

eign troops, and so hasten the war which was always really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes of forest up

to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right and left of us they tow-

ered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon them and bringing out all the glori-

ous colours of this beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the

peaks, green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspec-

tive of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the dis-

tance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in

the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again

the white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as we

swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak of a

mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to be right before

us.

“Look! Isten szek!”—”God’s seat!”—and he crossed himself reverently.

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us,

the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This was emphasized by the

fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the sunset, and seemed to glow out

with a delicate cool pink. Here and there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in pic-

turesque attire, but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside

were many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves.

Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did

not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender of devo-

tion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world. There were many things new

to me. For instance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here and there very beautiful mass-

es of weeping birch, their white stems shining like silver through the delicate

green of the leaves.

Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon—the ordinary peasants’s cart—with its

long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this

were sure to be seated quite a group of homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with

their white, and the Slovaks with their coloured sheepskins, the latter carrying

lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get

very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the

gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep

between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood

out here and there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the

road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing

down upon us, great masses of greyness which here and there bestrewed the trees,

produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and

grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into

strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind

ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite

our driver’s haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk

up them, as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. “No, no,” he said.

“You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce.” And then he added, with what

he evidently meant for grim pleasantry— for he looked round to catch the approv-

ing smile of the rest—”And you may have enough of such matters before you go

to sleep.” The only stop he would make was a moment’s pause to light his lamps.

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the passengers,

and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as though urging him to further

speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries

of encouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the darkness

I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us,as though there were a cleft in

the hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater. The crazy coach rocked

on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had

to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the

mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us.

We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered

me gifts, which they pressed upon me with an earnestness which would take no

denial. These were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in

simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that same strange mix-

ture of fear-meaning 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, craning over the edge

of the coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something very

exciting was either happening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no

one would give me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for

some little time. And at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern

side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppres-

sive 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 conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment

I expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness, but all was dark. The

only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our

hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandy road lying

white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew

back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I

was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking at his watch,

said to the others something which I could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly

and in so low a tone, I thought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then turning

to me, he spoke 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 tomorrow or the next day, better the next day.” Whilst

he was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the

driver had to hold them up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants

and a universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove up

behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash

of our lamps as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and splen-

did animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great

black hat, which seemed to hide 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 the driver, “You are early tonight, 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 wished him to go on

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摘要：

(ConvertedbyXowetrobe)CHAPTER1JonathanHarker’sJournal3May.Bistritz:-LeftMunichat8:35P.M.,on1stMay,arrivingatViennaearlynextmorning;shouldhavearrivedat6:46,buttrainwasanhourlate.Buda-Pesthseemsawonderfulplace,fromtheglimpsewhichIgotofitfromthetrainandthelittleIcouldwalkthroughthestreets.Ifearedtogove...

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