5 May.—I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been
fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable
place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and
as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it
perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able
to see it by daylight.
When the caleche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out
his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his
prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice
that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my
traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to
a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a
projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim
light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had
been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped
again into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started
forward, and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark
openings.
I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do.
Of bell or knocker there was no sign. Through these frowning walls
and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could
penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and
fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among
what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I
had embarked? Was this a customary 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.
Solicitor, 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 were awake. It
all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I
should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn
struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in
the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the
pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed
awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be
patient, and to wait the coming of morning.
Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step
approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the
gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling
chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was
turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great
door swung back.
Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white
moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single
speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique
silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe
of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the
draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right
hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with
a strange intonation.
“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!”
He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue,
as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The
instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved
impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a
strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by
the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead
than a living man. Again he said.
“Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave
something of the happiness you bring!” The strength of the
handshake was so much akin to 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 to make
sure, I said interrogatively, “Count Dracula?”
He bowed in a courtly was as he replied, “I am Dracula, and I
bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is
chill, and you must need to eat and rest.”As he was speaking, he
put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my
luggage. He had carried it in before I could forestall him. 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 traps along the passage, and then up a great winding
stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our
steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door,
and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was
spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs,
freshly replenished, flamed and flared.
The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and
crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small
octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window
of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and
motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight. For here was a great
bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, also added
to but lately, for the top logs were fresh, which sent a hollow
roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside
and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door.
“You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by
making your toilet. I trust 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 seemed to
have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my
normal state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger. So
making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.
I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side
of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a
graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said,
“I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will I trust,
excuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined already, and I
do not sup.”
I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had
entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a
charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at
least, gave me a thrill of pleasure.
“I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a
constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for
some time to come. But I am happy to say I can send a sufficient
substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a
young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very
faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into
manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you
will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all
matters.”
The count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish,
and I fell to at once on 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 question as to my journey, and I told him by
degrees all I had experienced.
By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s desire
had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which
he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not
smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of
a very marked physiognomy.
His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge
of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed
forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely
elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the
nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion.
The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was
fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth.
These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed
astonishing 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.
Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his
knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine.
But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they
were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say,
there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and
fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his
hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been
that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came
over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.
The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim
sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his
protruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the
fireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards
the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There
seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I
heard as if 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!” Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to
him, he added,”Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into
the feelings of the hunter.” Then he rose and said.
“But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow
you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the
afternoon, so sleep well and dream well!” With a courteous bow, he
opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered
my bedroom.
I am all in a sea of wonders. 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 again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed
the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke
of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room
where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with
coffee kept hot by the pot being 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.” I set
to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell,
so that I might let the servants know I had finished, but I could
not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house,
considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round
me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that
it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the
chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest
and most beautiful fabrics, and must have 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
they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the
rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my
table, and 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. Some time after I had finished my meal, I do not
know whether to call it breakfast of dinner, for it was between
five and six o’clock when I had it, I looked about for something to
read, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked
the Count’s permission. 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. The door opposite
mine I tried, but found locked.
In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of
English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of
magazines and newspapers. A table in the center was littered with
English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very
recent date. The books were of the most varied kind, history,
geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law, all
relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There
were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the
“Red” and “Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, the Army and Navy
Lists, and it somehow gladdened my heart to see it, the Law
List.
Whilst 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 went on.
“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is
much that will interest you. These companions,” and he laid his
hand on some of the books, “have been good friends to me, and for
some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have
given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to
know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to
go through the crowded streets of your mighty 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! As
yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I
look that I know it to speak.”
“But, Count,” I said, “You know and speak English thoroughly!”
He bowed gravely.
“I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate,
but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would
travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not
how to speak them.
“Indeed,” I said, “You speak excellently.”
“Not so,” he answered. “Well, I know that, did I move and speak
in your London, none there are who would not know me for a
stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. I am a
The common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a
strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to
care not for. I am content 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 so long master that I
would be master still, or at least that none other should be master
of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter
Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London.
You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our
talking I may learn the English intonation. And I would that you
tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I
am sorry that I had to be away so long today, but you will, I know
forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.” Of course I
said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come
into that room 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 did you see with my
eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better
understand.” 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 there shall be to you many strange
things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences
already, you know something of what strange things there may
be.”
This led to much conversation, and as it was evident that he
wanted to talk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many
questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come
within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned
the conversation by pretending not to understand, but generally he
answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had
got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of
the preceding night, as for instance, why the coachman went to the
places where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me
that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year,
last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have
unchecked sway, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure
has been concealed.
“That treasure has been hidden,” he went on, “in the region
through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt.
For it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian,
the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all
this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men,
patriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times,
when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the
patriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the
children too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the
passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their
artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but
little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly
soil.”
“But how,” said I, “can it have remained so long undiscovered,
when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble
to look? “The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums,
the 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, stir without his doors. And, dear
sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the
peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would
not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you
would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places
again?”
“There you are right,” I said. “I know no more than the dead
where even to look for them.” Then we drifted into other
matters.
“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the house
which you have procured for me.” With an apology for my remissness,
I went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was
placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the
next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been
cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the
dark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found
the Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world,
and English . When I came in he cleared the books
and papers from the table, and with him I 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.
He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject
of the neighborhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much
more than I did. When I remarked this, he answered.
“Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I
go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan, nay,
pardon me. I fall into my country’s habit of putting your
patronymic first, my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side
to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably
working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins.
So!”
We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the
estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his
signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with
them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had
come across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which I
had made at the time, and which I inscribe here.
“At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as
seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice
that the place was for sale. It was 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 estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old
Quatre Face, as the house is four sided, agreeing with the cardinal
points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite
surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many
trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep,
dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as
the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house
is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval
times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few
windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of
a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter
it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house,
but I have taken with my Kodak views of it from various points. The
house had been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can
only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very
great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very
large house only recently added to 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 myself 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 go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a
chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that
our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor
mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling
waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young, and my
heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is attuned to
mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are
many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and
casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with
my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his look did not
seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile
look malignant and saturnine.
Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to pull my
papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look
at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found
opened naturally to England, as if that map had been much used. On
looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on
examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east
side, manifestly where his new estate was situated. The other two
were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.
It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned.
“Aha!” he said. “Still at your books? Good! But you must not work
always. Come! I am informed that your supper is ready.” He took my
arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent
supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he
had dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the
previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as
on the last evening, and the Count stayed with me, chatting and
asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour after hour. I
felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say
anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host’s wishes in
every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had
fortified me, but I could not help experiencing that chill which
comes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its
way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death
die generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide.
Anyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post,
experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All
at once we heard the crow of the cock coming up with preternatural
shrillness through the clear morning air.
Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said, “Why there is the
morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must
make your conversation regarding 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 room and drew the curtains, but there was little
to notice. My window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was
the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again,
and have written of this day.
8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was
getting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail from
the first, for there is something so strange about this place and
all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of
it, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night
existence is telling on me, but would that that were all! If there
were any one to talk to I could bear 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. Let me be prosaiac so far as
facts can be. It will help me to bear up, and imagination must not
run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I
stand, or seem to.
I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I
could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by
the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand
on my shoulder, and heard the Count’s voice saying to me, “Good
morning.” I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him,
since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me.
In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the
moment. Having answered the Count’s salutation, I turned to the
glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could
be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over
my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The
whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man
in it, except myself.
This was startling, and coming on the top of so many strange
things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness
which I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I
saw the the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over
my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half round to
look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his
eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a
grab at 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.
“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is
more dangerous that you think in this country.” Then seizing the
shaving glass, he went on, “And this is the wretched thing that has
done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with
it!” And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand,
he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces
on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without
a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave,
unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is
fortunately of metal.
When I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I
could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is
strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must
be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in
the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking
towards the South.
The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every
opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a
terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a
thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can
reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift
where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the
rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.
But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen
the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywere, and all
locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle
walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison,
and I am a prisoner!