by Bram Stoker
This was really an alarming occurrence. Combined with the other extraordinary things I had encountered, it exacerbated the feeling of uneasiness I had whenever the Count was around me. As I continued shaving, these thoughts in my mind, I saw that the razor cut was bleeding and that blood had dripped from my chin to my shirt. I turned back toward the Count, searching for something to wipe away the blood. When Count saw my bleeding face, his eyes began to blaze with a demonic violence and passion. He touched the string of my mother’s Enâm case, and his facial expression changed suddenly. That evil passion faded so quickly, I could not believe what I had just seen.
The Count:
“Be careful, please be careful not to cut your face; such things are very dangerous in our country!” said the Count, and taking my shaving mirror from in front of me he continued:
“Here is the thing that caused you this trouble. Let us throw this filthy thing away!” And with his tremendously strong hands he opened a large window and flung my mirror from it. Then he stormed out of the room.
When I went into the dining room the table was ready and I had my breakfast. It is strange, but I have never seen the Count eat anything, or drink water or wine! After breakfast I decided to explore the castle. I found a room with windows facing south. The castle was just on the edge of a very dangerous and terrible cliff. A stone thrown here could fall a thousand meters without hitting anything. The view was of a range of pine trees. The scene was quite beautiful and relaxing, but at the moment I am in no mood to talk about beauty or relaxation. For after exploring the castle a little further, I realized that many of the very large and heavy doors I came across in every direction were locked, and that there was no exit to the outside except from the castle’s windows.
The castle is like a giant, terrible prison…
And I am the prisoner!
CHAPTER III
FROM AZMİ BEY’S DIARY—continued
When I realized I was nothing but a prisoner in the castle, I felt a maddening fear and a rush of insanity. I went up and down all the stairs and tried to peer from every window and door. But a few moments later, exhaustion and despair overpowered my other feelings. When I recall that state of mind a few hours later, I think that I had gone completely mad; but when I became convinced that escape was impossible, I strangely regained my sense of calm. I took shelter in my room. I began coolly to consider what to do. I am thinking still. But it is impossible to reach a conclusion. One thing is absolutely clear: I will not tell the Count what I am thinking; it is no use. He knows better than I do that I am trapped. If I say that he is the one keeping me locked in here and that there is surely a motive behind it, he would try to deceive me. The only thing I can do is keep my thoughts to myself and stay alert and vigilant. I know that I am either deceived by my own imaginary fears, like an infant, or I am in terrible, desperate straits!
Just as I was thinking these things, I heard the large door close downstairs, and I knew that Count Dracula had returned. Since he did not come to the library where I was, I went to my bedroom and saw the Count there, making my bed himself. This was strange. But my suspicions were confirmed by what I saw. There is no servant of any kind in the castle. This new thought gave me a fright; it meant that the strange driver who brought me in the coach to the castle was none other than the Count himself. This was a terrible thought! With what kind of evil strength had this man effortlessly subdued thousands of wild wolves on that hellish night? What made the people of Bistriç give me looks of intense pity, fear, and reticence as though I were a sheep headed for the slaughter? Apart from the crucifix the landlady gave me, had not the innocent villagers I accompanied on the trip given me strange gifts like garlic and wild rose? Now that I remembered the cross the landlady gave to me, I put my hand in my pocket. It was still there; I could not bring myself to throw away that woman’s precious keepsake. But amid the wild thoughts filling my head, the crucifix recalled to me the miniature Enâm on my neck, with its significance to me because of my dear departed mother’s will. Oh, how strange. Now I put my hand on my chest and felt the small, exquisitely crafted case under my shirt. It gave me a sense of unimaginable strength and comfort. The smiling face of my dear, pure, devout mother flashed before my eyes in a cluster of light. I am not an unbeliever; but to a man who has been indifferent to his religious duties, the feeling of strength and comfort from the presence and contact of an Enâm was really astonishing. I will try to force Count Dracula to talk about himself tonight.
Midnight.—I have had a long conversation with the Count. I have asked him some questions and he is remarkably interested in my nation’s history, in those brave Turkish armies and Turkish raiders, in the old Turkish political ideas, and in the history of this country, Erdel—that is, Transylvania. He answered my queries with surprising knowledge and vividness, even for a Transylvanian. As he talked of this country’s history, and in particular its wars, he spoke with rage, strength, and enthusiasm, as though he had been personally involved in the events. But I also noticed how he restrained himself and tried to give a milder tone to his words and behavior. He specifically wished to bypass or gloss over events centered around the Turkish Empire. This seemed only natural; could he behave otherwise with a Turk? He would not have felt it appropriate to vaunt or glorify his namesake, who perpetrated terrible, bloody cruelties and tortures on Turks; who broke his oath, his word of honor many times and earned such sinister nicknames as Devil Voivode and Impaler Voivode, even if the man is a hero of sorts for Transylvanians. But because of this I realized a fact that provoked in me perhaps undue and excessive resentment and disgust. Was not the man who employs me, whose castle I have slept in, whose bread I have eaten, and who stands before me today, Count Dracula of Transylvania? A descendant of that historical, merciless, cruel Wallachian Prince Dracula, the Impaler Voivode! And even this ruined castle, where eagles would fear to nest, is a remnant from the Impaler Voivode’s time, and one of his last remaining strongholds. Ah, my dear, sweet historian Güzin, how I long to see you now. If you were here, who knows what you might feel and say about this coincidence—of a similar name turning out to be a lineage, a family. I wish I could write down everything the Count said during this conversation. But in addition to the worries already in my mind, I was so shocked by this coincidence that the experience of tonight gave the impression of a bad dream, a nightmare. For now I was under the roof of a castle which once sheltered the Impaler Voivode. How many times did he hide in this remote castle to escape the avenging sword of Turkish raiders, his hands still stained with the blood of innocent, unarmed Turkish women and children whom he had killed, impaled, and nailed on the head? Perhaps he threw the last of his Turkish captives into that dark, desolate courtyard—or even tortured them to death right outside this room!
Although the Count attempted to appear calm, as he grew excited he wandered around the room, pulling at his long white moustache almost aggressively and grasping whatever he came across as though he wished to crush it. I shall put down some of the things he said in those unbalanced, excited moments:
“We Szekelys have the right to be a proud people, for the blood of a heroic race flows through our veins! The bravest fighters from the north and west of Europe were halted here. They could not pass this region, for those nations found the Huns, the Huns of great Attila here. Those Huns, with their bravery and fury, swept the whole world with a storm of fire. They spelled the doom of other nations. The defeated, ignorant peoples believed that these heroes were descended from a race which, exiled from Turkestan, had bred with devils in the deserts. Fools, nitwits! What devil, what spirit, what wizard has been created that was as fierce, as brave, and as illustrious as great Attila? Turk Effendi, you get your share of my praise too. This Attila, these Huns whose blood I am proud to carry in my veins, are your ancestors too. That is why we Szekelys were entrusted with the protection of the border between Hungary and Turkey. These two sister nations fought for centuries with heroic ideals, and both sides washed the mou
ntains and rivers with their blood. Was it not the brave Dracula who crossed the Danube River to fight the terrible Turkish armies, after tasting defeat on the bloody plains of Kosovo, to clear this shame and disgrace from my ancestors? Such a shame that his treacherous brother sold this country to you, and my people bore the yoke of enslavement under the Turkish sword. They say that great Dracula was a traitor and abandoned his soldiers when he was defeated. Bah, what importance do such things have? A few thousand peasants without a leader are nothing. If Dracula made it out alive, the war could begin again. But if he had died, all would have been over…”
The Count suddenly came to his senses and lapsed into silence. Forcing a smile, he said quietly:
“Oh Azmi Bey, I waste time abandoning myself to these memories of the past; they are now only sweet, thrilling illusions!”
By this time it was close on morning. We parted company.
(I have noticed that my diary looks a great deal like “A Thousand and One Nights” or the ghostly visits of Hamlet’s father, always beginning in the evening. And ending when the rooster crows…)
12 May.[7]—Tonight the Count asked me questions about legal matters in Turkey. For instance whether he could, in writing, authorize multiple individuals to handle various matters on his behalf in Istanbul. This was followed by questions about business management, freight companies, and shipping agents in Istanbul.
For example, he had obtained the addresses of some shipping companies who could deliver to specific addresses or destinations in Istanbul by ferry. Their addresses and advertisements were already in the books and catalogues in the library. And the Count’s knowledge of such matters, as well as the workings of our ports, was exceptional.
Presently he asked, indifferently:
“Have you written to your director Rıfat Bey or anyone else?
When I answered, “No!” he put his hand on my shoulder: “If that is so, my friend, then you must write to my friend Rıfat Bey by name and tell him that you shall stay here with me for another month to complete the job.”
My heart felt gripped by a claw of ice. I could not help myself and asked:
“Will I stay so long?”
“I desire it much; let me even say that I will take no excuses. Did not your director Rıfat Bey say that you are responsible for handling my difficult affairs here?”
What could I say to this? Apart from everything else, this job had been given to me by my director, and in a way my patron, Rıfat Bey. How could I let childish fears disrupt all this work? And there was something about Count Dracula’s words which reminded me that I was already a prisoner here.
Then he took out three sheets of notepaper and three envelopes from his pockets and handed them to me. On them I wrote two letters: one to Rıfat Bey and the other to my dear fiancée Güzin. In that time the Count wrote two or three letters in French, referring to some books on his desk. When I finished, he took my two letters from the desk and went into another room, presumably to take care of other business. During this time, I swiftly looked at the addresses of the other letters. One of these was written to an employment agency in Istanbul and the other was to a freight company. Presently Count Dracula returned, and after picking up these letters he said:
“I trust you will forgive me, but I have much business that I must take care of tonight.”
Having said this, he walked to the door; but then he suddenly stopped and added these words:
“I must explain something very important: if you leave these rooms, never fall asleep in any other part of the castle. For this ruined castle has been the scene of many great events, and there are bad dreams for those who choose their sleeping places unwisely. Should you feel tired somewhere else, return to your bedroom or here immediately!”
The Count left and I was lost in thought. Could there be a worse, more terrifying nightmare than this supernatural darkness that has been closing in around me?
One or two hours later.—Oh, I would prefer to sleep anywhere but in the presence of Count Dracula!
After the Count left, I went to my bedroom. After a time, I came out again. I went up the stone stair where I could look out to the south. Although I had no chance of reaching the expanse below, seeing it provided some relief. I was already on edge; although I tried to give myself courage, dark clouds were settling inside my mind. As I looked through the window, the moonlight illuminated the scene as though it were daytime. I leaned out to get a better look around when my eye caught something strange, moving slowly, a story below me.
What I saw was the head of Count Dracula leaning out from the window. I stepped back and watched. At first this did not seem of particular interest. But a few moments later my feelings changed to terror and confusion when I saw the Count completely emerge from the window and climb, like a lizard, down the outer wall of the castle above that steep, dark cliff. I absolutely could not believe my eyes. But there he was, Count Dracula. He was moving downward, grasping the irregular protrusions of the wall with his fingers.
What kind of a man, or creature in human form, is this?
Oh… I feel the dread of this castle overpowering me. I am frightened; there is absolutely no escape from here. I am trembling, face to face with fears of which I dare not even think…
15 May.—Once more I have seen the Count crawling down the wall like a lizard. He moved down and to the left for about a hundred feet and then vanished into some sort of hole or window. When I realized the Count had left the castle, I decided to take advantage of this opportunity and explore. I went to my room and, taking a candle, began trying all the doors I encountered. All of them were locked, and the locks were incongruously new compared to the doors themselves. I went down to the courtyard where I had first entered the castle and the large door there was locked as well. The key was certainly in the Count’s room. To open that great door, or to find it open, would be the most reasonable route to escape. Afterward, I tried some of the other doors; all of them were locked, but I was able to force one which communicated with another wing, and I entered this new area of the castle. There were many rooms here. The moonlight poured in through the wide, curtainless windows, filling the room and rendering the candle in my hand almost useless. But I was glad that I had it, for there was a terrible desolation and unnatural silence all around me. Still, it seemed far better to me than my own room, which I had greatly come to hate and fear from the presence of the Count. I tried for a while to calm my nerves and felt a soft quietude come over me. I write these lines of my journal from here.
16 May, morning.—Great God, spare me from going insane! For to this I am reduced. There is no longer any assurance of peace, safety, or escape. All I can hope for is that I may not go mad. Have I gone mad already? Oh god, what have I become? Now think: This sinister castle is terrifying, so full of dark and vile things that the Count appears the least foul and dreadful among them! From these maddening, shadowy dangers I am now compelled to look to the Count for safety, even if it is only for so long as I serve his purpose.
Oh, great God, merciful and almighty God!
Let me try to be calm. For if I do not I must surely go insane. I shall pour my misery into this diary as has been my habit since childhood. It gives me some comfort to write down my grief.
The Count warned me never to sleep in any of the other rooms, but I paid this little heed. After roaming the other side of the castle and writing about it at a desk I discovered there, I put my notebook and pencil in my pocket. I began to feel sleepy. Although the Count’s warning crossed my mind, the moonlight streaming in through the window and the spectacular scenery persuaded me to sleep here. I lay down on the dusty sofa in front of the window. I think I fell asleep instantly. But what followed was so vivid, so real and substantial, that as I write these lines in daylight I cannot believe that I was sleeping. Let me explain:
I was not alone in that room in which I had fallen asleep. Judging by their dress and manner, there were three young women or girls in the room. But strangely, a
lthough they stood beneath the moonlight, they threw no shadows on the floor. These three girls came over to me, looked at me for some time, and whispered to each other. Two of them were dark beauties. Their faces resembled that of the Count. The third was fair-haired and also exceptionally beautiful. Their eyes gleamed red in the moonlight. All three of them had brilliant white teeth. These shone under cherry-red lips flush with sensuality and passion. These girls had a strange aura, and there was something about them which both attracted me and instilled in me an icy fear. I felt a strong, wicked desire deep in my heart for these girls to come and kiss me with their fiery, red lips! My dear Güzin, I should not write these things here, for perhaps one day you will read these lines and they will cause you pain; but I cannot help it, it is the truth!
They whispered, and then the three girls burst into laughter. This laughter was sweet, yet also rough and harsh, clawing at my heart. The two brunettes were urging the fair-haired girl to do something. One of them said:
“Go ahead, it is your turn; go kiss him! See, he is young and strong. He has strength enough to be kissed by all of us.”
The fair-haired girl moved forward and bent over me; I felt her breath on my face. Here I felt a faint thrill and a dull sickening sensation at the same time. I detected a foul odor, like blood. I watched, under my eyelashes, as the girl knelt down. Her face trembled, as though with intense thirst, and she licked her lips like an animal. Her crimson tongue was visible between her sharp, white teeth. That beautiful head leaned down even further. I felt a warmth on my neck and two sharp teeth touched my skin. I was in the agonizing grip of a strange, painful ecstasy—overwhelmed!
But just at that moment another sensation swept over me. From beneath my eyelashes I saw the Count approaching with a dark, furious countenance that seemed enveloped in a black cloud. With his strong hands he grasped the girl who knelt over me by her white, delicate neck. Although she displayed intense rage at this interference, he hurled that exquisite face behind him as though she were a feather, and then motioned imperiously for them to back away; this was the same command that had been given to the wolves when I traveled to the castle! The Count’s voice sounded like a snake’s hiss.