Kitabı oku: «Dracula / Дракула»

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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.