© Bram Stoker, 2019

ISBN 978-5-0050-2502-9

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D R A C U L A

CHAPTER I

JONATHAN BARKER’S JOURNAL

(Kept in shorthand.)

3 May. Bistritz. Left Munich at 8:35 p. M., on ist May, ar-

riving 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 Klaus-

enburgh. 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 moun-

2 Dracula

tains; 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 Wal-

lachs, 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. 1^

read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into

the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some

sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interest-

ing. (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 castl^ 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 oi

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 3

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 be-

ginning 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 peas-

ant 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 to-morrow the dili-

gence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At

4 Dracula

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 Ger-

man. This could not be true, because up to then he had under-

stood 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

r _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 levying, the old lady came up to my room

and said in a very liysteric^L 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 o|j^GegreJs^^

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

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 5

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»

j 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 dis-

agreeable. 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 pity-

ingly. 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, "vrolokj» and» vlko-

slak» 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>

6 Dracula

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 diffi-

culty 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 plel^nt 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 cross-

ing 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 lan-

guage, 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 every-

where 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 re-

pair them, lest the Turk should think that they were preparing

to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten the war which was al-

ways really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 7

slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians them-

selves. 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 moun-

tains, 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 en our serpentine way, to be right before us:

«Look! Isten szek!» «God’s seat!» and he crossed him-

self 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 Slo-