Dracula in Istanbul

by Bram Stoker

  “How dare you?” he said. “How dare you touch a man who belongs to me? Have I not forbidden you to touch?”

  Then he continued in a calm, soft voice:

  “Do not be angry, your time will come; you shall kiss him also. After I am finished with him. Now leave, for there is work that I must make him do.”

  Then one of the girls pointed to a large bag which the Count had thrown upon the floor as he entered, and which appeared to have something alive within it.

  “So tonight we have nothing but this?” she asked.

  Count Dracula nodded his head yes; one of the girls leapt upon the bag with the passion of a hyena and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me, I heard the wail of a child from the bag.

  I turned away in infinite horror as the girls knelt down around the bag and ran off with it. But they did not pass through the door; they simply faded into the cold moonlight. Presently, I must have completely blacked out.

  CHAPTER IV

  FROM AZMİ BEY’S DIARY—continued

  When I awoke I found myself in my room and in my bed. If everything I had seen was not a nightmare, then the Count himself must have brought me here from that terrible room. My clothes had been folded in a manner which was not my habit; my watch was unwound. As I regarded this room that I once despised, it appeared to me now a haven and a robust shelter. For those terrible creatures I saw in that evil room, who I only now realize were waiting to suck my blood, would not be able to get in here.

  18 May.—I wanted to visit that room again to learn the truth; but when I reached the door I found it locked from the inside. Not only was it locked, but it had been pulled into the frame with such strength that part of the woodwork was splintered. This means that what I saw was not a dream; it was real…

  19 May.—No doubt I am in a terrifying situation. Last night the Count told me to write three letters, since my work here was almost done; in the first letter I was to write that my job here was finished and that I would be leaving the castle in a few days; the second letter would say that I was leaving the next day; and the third would make it appear that I had arrived at the hotel in Bistriç. I wanted to object; but in my helpless position, quarreling openly with the Count would be insanity. I was afraid of exciting his anger and suspicion. He explained that the postal service in Transylvania was irregular and that I would ease the minds of my friends in Istanbul if I wrote to them in advance. Despairingly, I gave in and asked him what dates I should put on the letters. After some thought, he said:

  “The first letter will be June 12, the second will be June 19, and the third will be June 29!”

  Oh! Now I know how long I shall live. God, my great God!

  28 May.—Since the last time I wrote in this journal I have imagined a thousand ways to escape and a thousand kinds of torment. I wrote letters to inform those in Istanbul of my situation, but after I awoke one morning I discovered that all of my travel clothes, the writing paper in my bag, and the letters had disappeared. Fortunately I have been carrying this notebook near my breast. In spite of all this, the Count never changes his manner toward me; all we lack are those long, friendly talks. In the morning the Count is nowhere to be seen, as always. At night we only meet at dinner time. As I looked through the window of my room today I saw some Slovakian villagers carrying heavy, rectangular crates to their carriages. I wanted to shout, to give them a sign, but it is impossible. They are too far away. My God, I am going insane. What shall I do, what shall I do?

  24 June, before sunrise.—I am still here… I am still in this wretched hell. Last night the Count stayed with me for a while, then went up to his room and locked the door from the inside. A few moments later I rose slowly from the table and went to the window near the spiral staircase to watch for the Count. I saw some gypsies coming and going from the castle, doing something with shovels and pickaxes, and I wanted to discover what was going on.

  As I looked out of the window I saw the Count emerge from his, and I hid myself. Bizarrely, the Count was wearing my travel clothes, taken from my room! Then a cold shudder ran through my body. The bag that I saw that night, containing the small child whom those three women passionately and joyfully snatched and ran away with, was hanging around the Count’s neck!

  Count Dracula again slid down the wall like a lizard and vanished. I decided to wait for his return and made myself comfortable; I began to watch the scenery outside, shimmering in the moonlight. But suddenly I felt a kind of awakening, and it was as if the scenery in front of me began to change. Glittering, quivering dust particles floated in the air and started to whirl round and gather in clusters outside the windows. These bright eddies took weird forms and shapes. Suddenly I understood that I was being hypnotized; with an almost superhuman effort I rose with my eyes wide open and ran to my room, uttering an indescribable scream. For I had seen those three girls again, forming in those shapes!

  I waited in my candle-lit room for about two hours with unspeakable feelings. Sometime later a noise issued from the Count’s room and suddenly I heard something that sounded like a muted, sharp cry. Then fell a deep, horrible silence. I wanted to run to the door and fling it open, but it was locked. I was trapped here. Exhausted, I sat down on the floor and cried like a baby.

  As I sat there with tears in my eyes, I heard the shriek of a woman who sounded as though she were being tortured, and I ran to the window. Yes, there was a woman in the courtyard with dishevelled hair. She was holding her chest as though she had run out of breath from running. When she saw my face in the window, she leapt forward and screamed in a menacing and spiteful voice:

  “Monster, give me back my child!”

  Then she fell to her knees, raised her hands, and begged and cried. Hearing her, my heart shattered to pieces.

  Suddenly, from somewhere high in the castle, I heard the familiar whisper of the Count. He spoke words that did not sound human, and he was answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. A few minutes later, packs of wolves filled the courtyard. The poor woman could not even make a sound. I had gone completely mad. I only saw the wolves licking their lips and leaving the courtyard.

  But I could not pity the woman. For I knew now what had become of her child, and I said: “It is fortunate its mother died as well!”

  What am I going to do? How can I escape this hell, oh dear God!

  25 June, morning.—The things that have happened to me repeat every night. I have not once seen the Count in daylight since I have been in this castle. Does this man sleep when everyone is awake and only roam about when all are asleep? Ah, if I could only get into his room just once. But his door is always locked.

  And then suddenly it occurred to me: could I not enter his room from the window as he has done? Yes, it is very dangerous, but there is no other choice; what is the worst that could happen? I might fall and die… But would not this death be a hundred times better than that which I endure now—and the hell that awaits me? Perhaps today my interest in sports and gymnastics will profit me. The power, protection, and presence of God grow in my heart.

  I entrust you to God, my dear Güzin; farewell dear Rıfat Bey, whom I love as much as my own father! If I die and am lost, will you remember me?

  Same day, around noon.—Finally I have made the effort and by the grace of God I have returned to my room alive. I must put down everything as it happened. While I still felt the vigor and courage provoked by the sadness in my heart, I quickly ran to the window above the staircase. Filled with a strength that a man can feel only once or twice in his life, I began to climb the outer wall of the castle like a ladder. My nerves were so tense that I was not frightened by the abyss below. I knew the window the Count had gone in, for I had observed it many times; but when I finally entered it, I felt an intense excitement.

  The room was completely empty! The few items that were there were covered in a hundred year-old layer of dust. I searched for the key, but it was nowhere to be seen. However, there was a heap of gold and money stacked in one c
orner. In this were old gold coins from every nation. Gold coins from Rome, Hungary, Austria, Britain, France, Greece, and Turkey from centuries ago! This pile too had a thick film of dust on top. There was not a single coin in it less than a hundred years old.

  When I could not find the keys for the main room and outer doors, I forced another door on the side; I was able to open this one easily. It led to a stone hallway terminating in a steep staircase. I plucked up my courage and descended these dark stairs. A moment later I found myself inside a small, ruined chapel that smelled of mold and freshly dug soil. It seemed to serve as some kind of mausoleum or family grave. There was nothing around of interest to me; but because I saw an open trap door with wide steps a little further on, I decided to go down. This place was some kind of tomb or crypt. There was light coming through from some unknown source, aiding me to see some of the broken tombs and coffins. When my eyes adjusted to this place I noticed that the earth here was freshly dug. There were many large wooden crates in the center of the room.

  There, in one of the great boxes of which I counted fifty, all there for some unknown purpose, on a pile of newly dug earth lay the Count! It was impossible to tell if the man was actually dead or just asleep. His eyes were open and as cold and motionless as stone, and he had the frozen look of death on his face. But despite the pallor of body and face, his cheeks showed the vigor and warmth of life and his lips had the same bright red glow. On the other hand, there was no movement in his pulse or heart. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced here and there with holes.

  I leaned over the body to search for the door keys. But I saw such a hateful and hostile look in those still, powerless, dead eyes—though surely unconscious of my presence—that I lost all my courage and fortitude. I turned and fled like a lunatic to take shelter in my room.

  29 June.—Today is the date of the last of the three letters that the Count made me write. The Count awakened me from sleep, and with surprising kindness he said:

  “My friend Azmi Bey, tomorrow you will be leaving. Since I have many things to take care of, we may not be able to see each other again. Tomorrow, some Slovakian villagers and gypsies will come to the castle and move your things. After they leave, my carriage will come and carry you to the mail coach at the Burgo Pass.”

  He shook my hand firmly. I wanted to say something, to beg him; but he closed the door without looking back. I ran to the door at the last moment. I wanted to force it, to take it apart. But at that moment I heard a whisper from the other side. I stopped and listened, as though hypnotized. The voice of the Count was speaking slowly:

  “Back; go back to your place. The time has not yet come. Be patient and wait; you will get what you desire tomorrow night!”

  These words were answered by the sensuous, sultry laughter of women. Then, all the voices disappeared.

  I walked to the middle of the room and fell down on my knees.

  So my end—that terrible, hellish moment—is so near! Tomorrow, tomorrow? Oh great merciful God, help me!

  My hands went to my throat. I took my mother’s Enâm from its case and began crying and kissing it without even a thought of reading it!

  30 June.—The crow of a rooster revealed to me that I had escaped danger for a night. The daylight boosted the confidence and determination that I had lost to fear. I am prepared to do anything to avoid the death that waits for me, grinning with its skeletal face, twelve hours from now. I opened my door and went out. I was determined at any cost to go to the place where I had seen the Count sleeping and take the keys, even if I had to do battle with ghouls. A few moments later I had reached the crypt by way of the window and the gold room. The crate in which the Count slept lay in the same spot; but its lid was also in place, ready to be nailed down.

  I opened the lid and set it against the wall. There again lay the Count, but what I saw left me horrified with bewilderment. The Count had become younger, half his age. His white mustache and hair were blackened, leaving only a quarter of his hair white. His cheeks were livelier, his skin had color, and his lips were even redder. And those lips had fresh blood on them. The blood dripped down from the corners of his mouth to his chin and neck! This terrible, ominous creature now looked like a bag filled with blood. I felt an intense disgust as I leaned over the body to touch this corpse. All of my feelings, my soul, rebelled against it. However, I had to search the Count, come what may; it was my last hope. I searched Dracula thoroughly; there was no sign of the keys. Finally, as I ceased my search and looked at the Count’s face, I glimpsed such a sinister and mocking smile that it nearly made me go mad. Now I understood many truths. Many trivial, seemingly unrelated events and indications suddenly flashed before my eyes and formed into a clear picture. I was aiding this unthinkably horrible monster to come to Istanbul and my beloved country! There this devil would drink Turkish blood and create a land of devastation like the cursed Impaler Voivode who lived centuries ago. My maddening anger grew even stronger; I thought of saving the world from this evil offspring of the Impaler Voivode. But I had no weapons to cut or dismember him; I saw only a shovel used by the villagers to support the crates. I took it, raised it over my head, and struck, edge downward, that grim, ominous face with all of my strength. As I was delivering my blow, the face of the Count turned halfway toward me and his gaze, full of hatred and evil, fell full upon me. The look nearly paralyzed my hands. My fingers lost their strength and the sharp edge of the shovel turned away from the Count’s face. Thus his face was not crushed, but there was a deep gash on his forehead. The shovel fell from my hands to the ground. Pulling the handle away caused the lid to fall into place and hide that horrible sight.

  For a moment I thought about what I should do. It was as if my whole brain was on fire. Meanwhile I heard singing and footsteps from far away. That meant the workers and gypsies of whom the Count had spoken were coming. I considered fleeing castle through the door they would enter and running away toward the mountains. I began to run with all my strength to get upstairs as quickly as possible. I went upstairs, entered through the window, and tried to take a quick glance around my room before jumping outside. Alas, the window of the room slammed to with a shock as if a storm had blown it shut. I tried forcing it with all of my strength but it was impossible to open. Once again I was a prisoner in my own room.

  As I wrote these lines I could hear some of the carriages moving. Five minutes later, deadly silence had fallen again. There is no question… Right now I am alone in this castle of death with those three terrifying women.

  Oh, but I shall not stay here. I will climb down the cliff side of the castle. I will get some gold to take with me just in case. Falling from the cliff and being torn to pieces would be a thousand times better than staying with these monsters. I trust to the grace of the great God. Güzin, my precious Güzin, farewell… I am walking toward death…

  CHAPTER V

  Letter from Güzin to Şadan.

  “9 May. Cağaloğlu.

  “Dear Şadan…

  “I am very late in answering your letter; please forgive this negligence. If only you knew how much I want to be with you and spend time with you by the sea. I have been very busy lately; a teacher’s assistant never has free time. But I also create work for myself. Azmi is now an assistant attorney who can transact business on his own, and I am busy with courses to be able to help him. I have been practicing stenography, learning the typewriter, and whatnot! I will tell you all my plans when we are back together. Of course my fiancé Azmi is also acquainted with them. I just received a short, hastily-written letter from him; he is in Transylvania on important business. Who knows what kinds of things he is seeing in that historic country of the cruel, barbaric Dracula, the Impaler Voivode we read about in our history? You know how much I like those sorts of trips. Oh, the clock is striking ten now. Farewell.

  “Love,

  “Güzin

  “P.S.—I await all of your news in your letter. You have not written to me for a long time, you naugh
ty thing. Especially about that tall, handsome, curly-haired man!!”

  Letter from Şadan to Güzin.

  “Wednesday, Bakırköy.

  “Dearest Güzin;

  “How could you send me such a short letter? Is this the answer to all of mine? In any event, I am thankful for what I have. What would I have done if you were completely silent? About that ‘tall, handsome, curly-haired’ man, I think someone has been spreading rumors and trying to sow discord between us. In any event, do not stay in suspense; the name of this young and handsome man is Turan Bey. He is a major. His parents were friends with my mother and father. He fought in the War of Independence. He is in Istanbul on leave for a couple of months for health reasons. He has an old father and a charming mother. They visit us frequently. He tells us horrible war stories. But he never talks about himself; he is gallant and handsome, but very shy. However, through the major I have made another friend; Doctor Afif Bey. He is young, very kind, and trustworthy. Ah, if you were not engaged to Azmi Bey he would be just the right husband for you. Have I made a faux pas? Please do not be offended. I am sorry; you have your dearest Azmi and he can have you. But there is no harm in my speaking of this doctor! This earnest man was educated in Europe and endured the War of Independence; he tended to our wounded soldiers with the compassion of a father under those poor, horrific conditions. But why do I hesitate? I will tell you all of my secrets here, darling Güzin. That tall, handsome, heroic, and shy staff major Turan Bey and I are in love. And we have confessed it to each other.