DRACULA
The original novel
by Bram Stoker
1897
CHAPTER I.
JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.
(Kept in shorthand.)
3 May. Bistriz.- 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 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 Ordnance 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 Wallachias, 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 center 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 to 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 coming 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
interesting 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 century 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
long double 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 shirt-sleeves, 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
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 letter, 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 any one 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 very
hysterical 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 to-night, 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. How ever, there was business to be done,
and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I therefore 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 good-bye. 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 call "robber
steak"- bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on
sticks and roasted over the fire, in the 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 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- which
they call by a name meaning "word-bearer"- 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 of which mean the same thing, one being
Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf 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 every one 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 innyard 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 clustered in the center of the yard. Then our
driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the box-seat-
"gotza" they call them- cracked his big whip over his four small horses, 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 and to the road.
There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom- 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 understand 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
excellent, 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
tradition 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 foreign
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 towered,
with the afternoon sun falling full upon them and bringing out all the glorious
colors 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 perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags,
till these were themselves lost in the distance, 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 picturesque 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 devotion 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 masses 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
peasant's cart- with its long, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of
the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of home-coming 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 grayness, 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
failing 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 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 approving 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 gray 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 strange mixture
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, 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 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 now see 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 quiet
