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Ilustracja na okładce: Cover of Dracula, Westminster: Archibald Constable and Company, 1901. First printing of
the revised text.
Angielska wersja językowa zgodna z wydaniem z roku 1897
MY DEAR FRIEND
How these papers have been placed in sequence will be made manifest in the reading of them.
All needless matters have been eliminated, so that a history almost at variance with the
possibilities of later-day belief may stand forth as simple fact. There is throughout no statement
of past things wherein memory may err, for all the records chosen are exactly contemporary,
given from the standpoints and within the range of knowledge of those who made them.
JONATHAN HARKER S JOURNAL
(Kept in shorthand.)
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 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 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 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 horse-shoe 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
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 the 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 English-man? 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.
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.
However, 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 grey 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, 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 a couple of glasses 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 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 clustered in the centre 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 end 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 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 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 emphasised 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 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
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 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 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 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 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 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
calèche, 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 splendid 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 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 wished 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 sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One
of my companions 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 gleaming smile. The
passenger turned his face away, at the same time putting out his two fingers and crossing
himself. Give me the Herr s luggage, said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags
were handed out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the
calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip
of steel; his strength must have been prodigious. Without a word he shook his reins, the horses
turned, and we swept into the darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steam from the
horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projected against it the figures of my late
companions crossing themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and
off they swept on their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt a strange chill,
and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across
my knees, and the driver said in excellent German:—
The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all care of you. There is
a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should require
it. I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I felt a little
strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have taken
it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace 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; and so I took note of some salient
point, and found that this was so. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all
meant, but I really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any protest would have
had no effect in case there had been an intention to delay. By-and-by, however, as I was curious
to know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was
within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general
superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling
Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised
wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another,
till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which
seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the
gloom of the night. At the first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver spoke to
them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a run-away
from sudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began
a louder and a sharper howling—that of wolves—which affected both the horses and myself in
the same way—for I was minded to jump from the calèche and run, whilst they reared again
and plunged 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 so far
became quiet that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them. He petted and
soothed them, and whispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing,
and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became quite manageable again,
though they still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and shaking his reins started off at a
great pace. This time, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow
roadway which ran sharply to the right.
Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over the roadway till we
passed as through a tunnel; and again great frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side.
Though we were in shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through
the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. It grew colder and
colder still, and fine powdery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us were covered
with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew
fainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though
they were closing round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid and the horses shared
my fear. The driver however was not in the least disturbed; he kept turning his head to left and
right, 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 at the same
moment; he at once checked the horses, and, jumping to the ground, disappeared into the
darkness. I did not know what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer; but
while I wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat, and we
resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it
seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare.
Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watch the
driver s motions. He went rapidly to where the blue flame arose—it must have been very faint,
for it did not seem to illumine the place around it at all—and gathering a few stones, 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 flicker all the same. This
startled me, but as the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining
through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped onwards through
the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving
At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he had yet gone, and during
his absence, the horses began to tremble worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I
could not see any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but just then
the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-
clad rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red
tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more terrible in
the grim silence which held them than even when they howled. For myself, I felt a sort of
paralysis of fear. It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can
understand their true import.
All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had some peculiar effect on
them. The horses jumped about and reared, and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled
in a way painful to see; but the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side; and they
had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, for it seemed to me that our
only chance was to try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach. I shouted and beat
the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him
a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his voice raised in a
tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As
he swept his long arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell
back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so that
we were again in darkness.
When I could see again the driver was climbing into the calèche, and the wolves had
disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a dreadful fear came upon me, and I was
afraid to speak or move. The time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost
complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept on ascending, with
occasional periods of quick descent, but in the main always ascending. Suddenly, I became
conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a
vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken
battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky.
JONATHAN HARKER S JOURNAL—continued
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 calèche 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 out 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 the
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 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
Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own 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 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 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 way 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
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 stone-work, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and 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
questions 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
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
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 protuberant 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
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 there 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 or 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 it 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 centre 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
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
boyar; 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 pause in his speaking if he hear 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 awhile,
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 to-
day; 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 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, an English Bradshaw s Guide. 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 neighbourhood, 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
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 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 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 has 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 not
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
Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all 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 at 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 the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one 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 a 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 own 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 prosaic 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 had when the Count is near; but at the instant I saw that 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 than 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 heavy
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 terrible
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 everywhere, 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!
JONATHAN HARKER S JOURNAL—Continued
When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down
the stairs, trying every door and peering out of every window I could find; but after a little the
conviction of my helplessness over-powered all other feelings. When I look back after a few
hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap.
When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly—as
quietly as I have ever done anything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be
done. I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am
I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am
imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would
only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to
keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being
deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so,
I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.
I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door below shut, and knew that the
Count had returned. He did not come at once to the library, so I went cautiously to my own
room and found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along
thought—that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink of
the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does
himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them. This gave
me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count himself who
was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does
it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, 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 meant
the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good,
good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength to me
whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and
as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something
in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories
of sympathy and comfort?
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