I left Munich at 8:35 p.m. on May 1. The train reached Vienna the next morning, about an hour later than scheduled.
From the train, and during the short walk I took through the city, Budapest looked magnificent. I had the strange feeling that I was leaving the familiar West behind and crossing into a completely different world.
The Danube was enormous, crossed by magnificent bridges that seemed to connect two very different cultures. The farther east I went, the stronger that feeling became.
We left Vienna more or less on time and reached Klausenburgh after dark.
I stayed at the Hotel Royale that night.
For dinner, I had a local chicken dish cooked with red pepper. It was delicious, although it made me extremely thirsty.
I asked the waiter what it was called.
“Paprika hendl,” he told me.
“Is it a local specialty?”
“Yes. You can find it all along the Carpathians.”
I made a mental note to get the recipe for Mina.
My limited German was already proving useful. Without it, I suspect I would have had a very difficult time traveling through this part of Europe.
Before leaving London, I had spent some time in the British Museum researching Transylvania. Since I was going to meet a nobleman from that region, I thought it would be wise to learn something about his country beforehand.
The area Count Dracula had mentioned lies far to the east, near the borders of Transylvania, Moldavia, and Bukovina, deep in the Carpathian Mountains.
It is one of the wildest and least familiar parts of Europe.
I could not find a reliable map showing the exact location of Castle Dracula. The maps of the region were nowhere near as detailed as the surveys we have in England.
At least I knew that Bistritz, the town Dracula had named, was a reasonably well-known place.
I am writing down these notes now so that I can tell Mina about everything when I return.
Transylvania is home to several different peoples.
The Saxons live mainly in the south, along with the Wallachs, who are said to descend from the ancient Dacians. The Magyars live in the west, while the Szekelys occupy the eastern and northern regions.
I am heading into Szekely country.
They claim to be descendants of Attila and the Huns. Perhaps there is some truth to that. When the Magyars conquered this land in the eleventh century, they reportedly found the Huns already settled there.
I also read something rather amusing before coming here.
Apparently, every superstition known to mankind can be found somewhere in the Carpathians.
If that is true, my stay here should certainly be interesting.
I must remember to ask the Count about these local beliefs.
I slept badly that night.
The bed itself was comfortable, but I had several strange dreams. A dog howled beneath my window for much of the night, which probably did not help.
The paprika did not help either. I drank every drop of water in the room and was still thirsty.
Toward morning, I finally fell into a deep sleep.
Then someone began pounding on my door.
I woke up and hurried downstairs for breakfast.
There was more paprika, along with a cornmeal porridge called mamaliga and an excellent dish of eggplant stuffed with minced meat, which they called impletata.
Another recipe for Mina.
I had to eat quickly because my train was supposed to leave shortly before eight.
I reached the station at 7:30 and climbed into the carriage.
Then I sat there for more than an hour before the train finally moved.
It seems that the farther east you travel, the less interested the trains are in keeping to their schedules.
I wonder what they are like in China.
For the rest of the day, we moved slowly through some of the most beautiful countryside I had ever seen.
We passed small towns and old castles perched on steep hills, looking like illustrations from medieval books.
At other times, the railway followed rivers and streams. The wide stretches of bare stone along their banks suggested that these rivers could become enormous during floods.
At every station, I saw groups of people, and sometimes entire crowds.
Their clothes were remarkably varied.
Some looked much like peasants I had seen in England, France, and Germany. They wore short jackets, round hats, and rough trousers.
Others looked far more exotic.
The women were attractive from a distance, though some looked rather awkward when viewed more closely. Most wore loose white sleeves and wide belts decorated with long strips of fabric that moved as they walked.
The Slovaks were the most striking of all.
They wore enormous cowboy-style hats, loose dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and huge leather belts covered with brass studs.
Some of the belts were almost a foot wide.
Their trousers were tucked into tall boots. They had long black hair and thick black moustaches.
They looked like a group of old-fashioned Eastern European bandits from a stage play.
Yet I was told they were actually harmless and rather shy.
We reached Bistritz around twilight.
It is an old and fascinating town.
Because it lies near the frontier and close to the road leading through Borgo Pass into Bukovina, it has suffered a great deal of violence over the centuries.
About fifty years ago, several devastating fires destroyed large parts of the town.
And early in the seventeenth century, Bistritz endured a siege that lasted three weeks. Around thirteen thousand people died, not only from the fighting but also from hunger and disease.
Count Dracula had instructed me to stay at the Golden Krone Hotel.
I was pleased to find that the place was old-fashioned and traditional. I wanted to experience as much of the local culture as possible.
Someone was clearly expecting me.
As I approached the entrance, an elderly woman in traditional peasant clothing came out to meet me.
She smiled and bowed.
“The Herr Englishman?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Jonathan Harker.”
She immediately spoke to an elderly man who had followed her outside.
He disappeared inside and soon returned with a letter.
It was from Dracula.
My friend, Welcome to the Carpathians. I am eagerly awaiting your arrival. Sleep well tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, the coach will leave for Bukovina, and I have reserved a seat for you. At Borgo Pass, my carriage will be waiting. It will take you directly to my castle. I hope your journey from London has been pleasant, and I hope you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful country. Your friend, Dracula
4 May
I soon discovered that the innkeeper had received another letter from the Count instructing him to make sure I had the best seat on the coach.
But when I asked questions about Dracula, the man suddenly became strangely evasive.
He even pretended not to understand my German.
That was obviously untrue. Until then, he had understood me perfectly well.
His wife, the elderly woman who had welcomed me the night before, kept exchanging frightened looks with him.
Finally, he muttered that the Count had already sent the money and that he knew nothing else.
I asked him directly:
“Do you know Count Dracula?”
Neither he nor his wife answered.
“What can you tell me about his castle?”
The moment I mentioned it, both of them crossed themselves.
“We know nothing,” the innkeeper said.
Then they refused to discuss the matter any further.
It was all very strange.
And, frankly, rather unsettling.
There was no time to ask anyone else because my coach was due to leave.
Just before I departed, the old woman came rushing up to my room.
“Must you really go?”
She looked terrified.
“Oh, young Herr, must you go?”
“I’m afraid I must,” I told her. “I have important business.”
She seemed almost hysterical.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“May fourth.”
“Yes, I know that.”
She shook her head.
“But do you know what day it really is?”
I stared at her.
“I don’t understand.”
“It is the eve of St. George’s Day.”
She lowered her voice.
“When midnight comes tonight, evil things are supposed to have their greatest power.”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Do you know where you are going?”
I tried to reassure her.
“There is nothing to worry about. I am simply traveling to meet Count Dracula.”
But she would not listen.
She dropped to her knees.
“Please don’t go. Stay here for another day or two.”
Her fear was so intense that I almost felt embarrassed for her.
The whole thing seemed ridiculous.
Still, I could not deny that her behavior had made me uneasy.
“I am grateful for your concern,” I said gently, helping her to her feet. “But I have a duty to fulfill. I must go.”
She wiped her eyes.
Then she took a small crucifix from around her neck and held it out to me.
I hesitated.
As an English Churchman, I had always been taught to be cautious about such religious objects.
But refusing her would have seemed cruel.
She must have noticed my hesitation.
Without saying anything more, she placed the rosary around my neck.
“For your mother’s sake,” she whispered.
Then she left.
I am writing this while waiting for the coach.
Naturally, it is late.
The crucifix is still around my neck.
I cannot decide whether my uneasiness comes from the old woman’s fear, the strange stories I have heard about this region, or the crucifix itself.
Whatever the reason, I no longer feel as confident as I did when I first arrived.
If this diary somehow reaches Mina before I do, she will understand that I was thinking of her when I said goodbye.
The coach is here.
I must go.
5 May — The Castle
The morning has long since brightened, and the sun is now high above the distant horizon.
I am not sleepy, so I may as well record everything that happened last night.
Before leaving Bistritz, I had another local meal.
They called it robber steak.
It was simply beef, bacon, and onions covered with red pepper, placed on sticks, and roasted over a fire.
The wine was called Golden Mediasch. It had a strange sharp taste on the tongue, but I actually liked it.
I drank only two glasses.
When I reached the coach, the driver was still talking with the innkeeper.
They were obviously discussing me.
Several people sitting near the entrance joined the conversation.
Every so often, they looked at me with expressions of pity.
I could hear certain words being repeated again and again.
Since the crowd spoke several different languages, I pulled out my dictionary and looked them up.
I wish I had not.
One word meant Satan.
Another meant hell.
There were words for witch, werewolf, and vampire.
I made another mental note.
I definitely needed to ask Dracula about the superstitions of this region.
When the coach finally started, the crowd outside the inn suddenly crossed themselves.
Then they raised two fingers toward me.
I asked one of my fellow passengers what they were doing.
At first, he refused to answer.
But when he learned that I was English, he explained.
“It is protection against the evil eye.”
I tried to laugh it off.
But I could not ignore the feeling that everyone believed I was heading into serious danger.
What surprised me was that they were not hostile.
Quite the opposite.
They seemed genuinely sorry for me.
Many of them offered blessings as I left.
I will never forget the sight of those people standing around the inn courtyard, crossing themselves as the coach disappeared.
Our driver then cracked his long whip.
Four small horses pulled the coach forward together.
And we began our journey.
At first, the beauty of the countryside distracted me from everything that had happened.
If I had understood the conversations around me, however, I might have remained nervous.
The land stretched out in green hills covered with forests.
Farmhouses appeared here and there on the slopes.
Everywhere, fruit trees were in bloom.
Apple, plum, pear, and cherry blossoms covered the countryside.
The road twisted between the hills, disappearing around bends or vanishing beneath the edge of the pine forests.
The road itself was rough, but our driver pushed the horses hard.
We seemed to race across it.
At the time, I could not understand why he was in such a hurry.
Later, I learned that the road had not yet been repaired after the winter.
The roads in this part of the Carpathians were traditionally left in poor condition.
Long ago, local rulers had been afraid that repairing them would make it easier for foreign armies to invade.
Beyond the green hills, the Carpathian Mountains rose dramatically.
Massive forests climbed toward the peaks.
The afternoon sun painted the mountains in deep blue, purple, green, and brown.
Far away, snow-covered peaks rose above the rest.
Occasionally, I could see waterfalls shining through enormous gaps in the mountains.
One of the passengers suddenly touched my arm.
“Look!”
He pointed toward a snow-covered peak.
“Isten szek!”
“God’s seat.”
Then he crossed himself.
As evening approached, the light began to disappear.
The snow-covered mountain peaks still reflected the last pink glow of sunset, but everything around us was already turning dark.
We passed more peasants in traditional clothing.
There were crosses beside the road, and whenever we passed one, my fellow passengers crossed themselves.
Some peasants knelt beside small shrines, completely absorbed in prayer.
I also noticed strange things I had never seen before.
Hay was stored high in trees.
White-barked birches shone in the fading light.
Peasant carts carried groups of people returning home.
The Cszeks wore white sheepskins, while the Slovaks wore colorful ones.
Some Slovaks carried long wooden staffs with axes attached to the ends.
As night came, the temperature dropped sharply.
The road climbed deeper into the mountains.
Dark forests surrounded us, and patches of old snow remained in the valleys.
The trees seemed to close around the road.
The mountains rose like walls on both sides.
The wind moaned through the rocks, and the branches crashed together above us.
I began to feel the same uneasiness that had followed me from Bistritz.
At one particularly steep section, the horses struggled.
I offered to get out and walk.
The driver immediately refused.
“No, no. You must stay in the coach.”
“Why?”
“The dogs here are too fierce.”
Then he gave me a strange smile.
“And you may have enough to worry about before you go to sleep.”
I could not tell whether he was joking.
He stopped only long enough to light the coach lamps.
Once it became completely dark, the passengers grew increasingly nervous.
They kept speaking to the driver, urging him to go faster.
He whipped the horses and shouted at them until they raced forward.
Soon I saw a faint gray opening between the mountains.
The coach began to shake violently.
It swayed from side to side like a boat caught in a storm.
I had to hold on tightly.
Then the road became smoother, and we rushed forward.
The mountains seemed to close around us.
We were entering Borgo Pass.
One by one, the passengers began giving me small gifts.
They insisted that I take them.
Each gift came with a blessing and another sign of the cross.
I was deeply touched by their kindness, even though I could not understand why they were so frightened for me.
As we entered the pass, everyone suddenly leaned over the side of the coach and stared into the darkness.
Something was clearly happening.
Or something was expected to happen.
I asked several passengers what was wrong.
None of them would tell me.
At last, the pass opened toward the eastern side.
Dark clouds covered the sky.
The air felt heavy, almost as though a storm were about to break.
I began looking for the carriage Dracula had promised to send.
I expected to see its lamps at any moment.
But there was nothing.
Only the weak light from our own lamps, shining through the steam rising from the horses.
The road ahead was pale in the darkness.
No carriage waited there.
The passengers seemed relieved.
The driver checked his watch.
Then he quietly said something to the others.
I could barely hear him.
He turned toward me.
“There is no carriage here.”
“What?”
“The Count is not expecting you after all.”
He paused.
“You should continue to Bukovina. He can send for you tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after.”
Before I could answer, the horses suddenly became wild.
They reared and snorted.
The driver struggled to control them.
Then I heard the passengers screaming.
Everyone began crossing themselves.
A carriage had appeared behind us.
It overtook our coach and stopped beside us.
It was a calèche pulled by four magnificent black horses.
The driver was a tall man with a long brown beard and a large black hat that hid most of his face.
I could see only his eyes.
In the lamplight, they seemed to shine with an almost reddish glow.
He looked at our driver.
“You are early tonight, my friend.”
The coach driver stammered.
“The English gentleman was in a hurry.”
The stranger smiled.
“So that is why you wanted him to continue to Bukovina?”
His voice was calm.
“You cannot deceive me. I know too much, and my horses are fast.”
When he smiled, I noticed his mouth.
His lips were unusually red.
His teeth were very white and sharp.
One of my fellow passengers whispered a line from an old poem:
“The dead travel fast.”
The strange driver clearly heard him.
He smiled again.
The passenger immediately looked away and crossed himself.
The driver turned to our coachman.
“Give me the English gentleman’s luggage.”
My bags were quickly transferred to the calèche.
I climbed down from the coach.
The stranger reached out to help me.
His hand closed around my arm.
His grip was unbelievably strong.
For a moment, I felt as though my arm were caught in a steel trap.
Without another word, he took the reins.
The horses turned.
The calèche disappeared into the darkness of Borgo Pass.
I looked back.
The people on the coach were still crossing themselves as they watched me leave.
Then our driver cracked his whip, and the coach continued toward Bukovina.
As their lamps faded into the distance, I suddenly felt terribly alone.
Then the strange driver threw a heavy cloak around my shoulders and placed a blanket over my knees.
He spoke in excellent German.
“The night is cold, mein Herr. My master, the Count, ordered me to take good care of you.”
He pointed beneath the seat.
“There is a flask of slivovitz there if you need it.”
I declined the drink.
Still, I was strangely comforted by knowing it was there.
The farther we traveled, the more uneasy I became.
If there had been any way to turn back, I think I would have taken it.
The carriage raced through the darkness.
After some time, the driver suddenly turned onto another road.
Then, later, he turned again.
I began to recognize the same trees and rocks.
It seemed as though we were traveling in circles.
I wanted to ask where we were going, but I was afraid to speak.
If the driver intended to delay me or take me somewhere else, there was very little I could do about it.
Eventually, I wanted to know how close we were to midnight.
I struck a match and checked my watch.
It was only a few minutes before midnight.
A cold feeling passed through me.
The old woman’s warning suddenly seemed much less ridiculous.
Then a dog began howling somewhere in the distance.
It was a long, miserable sound, almost like a cry of terror.
Another dog answered.
Then another.
Soon the entire valley seemed filled with howling.
The horses became frightened.
They pulled against the reins and began to rear.
The driver spoke calmly to them.
Gradually, they settled down, although they continued to tremble and sweat.
Then I heard something much worse.
Wolves.
Their howls came from the mountains on both sides of us.
The horses panicked again.
So did I.
For a moment, I seriously considered jumping from the carriage and running.
The driver, however, remained completely calm.
He climbed down and stood in front of the horses.
He stroked them and whispered into their ears.
His touch had an astonishing effect.
The animals slowly became quiet.
He climbed back into his seat.
Then he drove on.
We reached the far side of the pass before he suddenly turned onto a narrow road.
Trees closed around us.
Their branches stretched over the road like a roof.
Huge rocks rose on either side.
The wind howled through the gaps between them.
Branches struck against one another overhead.
Snow began to fall.
At first, it was only a light dusting.
Soon the road, trees, horses, and carriage were covered in white.
The howling dogs gradually faded behind us.
But the wolves sounded closer.
They seemed to be following us.
I was terrified.
The driver was not.
He kept looking from side to side, as though he could see things hidden in the darkness.
Then I saw something strange.
A faint blue flame flickered somewhere beside the road.
The driver saw it too.
He immediately stopped the carriage.
Then he jumped down and disappeared into the darkness.
I had no idea what he was doing.
The wolves were getting closer.
Then, after several moments, the driver returned.
He climbed back into the carriage without explanation.
We continued.
I must have fallen asleep at some point.
The same strange event seemed to happen again and again.
Even now, I cannot tell whether I was dreaming.
At one point, the blue flame appeared very close to the road.
I watched the driver carefully.
He walked toward it and gathered several stones.
Then he arranged them around the flame in some strange pattern.
Something even stranger happened.
For a moment, he stood directly between me and the flame.
Yet the blue light remained visible through him.
I could still see it flickering.
I was shocked.
But the moment passed so quickly that I convinced myself my tired eyes had simply deceived me.
The blue flames disappeared for a while.
We continued through the darkness.
The wolves seemed to move with us, howling from all sides.
Then the driver went farther away than before.
This time, he was gone for much longer.
The horses began trembling violently.
They snorted and cried out in terror.
Then the wolves suddenly became silent.
That silence was somehow worse.
A moment later, the moon broke through the black clouds.
Its light fell across the road.
And I saw them.
Wolves.
They stood all around the carriage.
There must have been dozens of them.
Their white teeth showed between their open jaws.
Their red tongues hung from their mouths.
Their bodies were lean and powerful, their fur thick and wild.
They formed a complete circle around us.
I could barely breathe.
Fear seemed to freeze every part of my body.
Then the wolves suddenly began howling again.
The horses reared wildly.
Their eyes rolled in terror.
There was nowhere for them to run.
The wolves surrounded us completely.
I shouted for the driver.
“Come back!”
I struck the side of the carriage, hoping to frighten the wolves away and give him a clear path back to us.
Then I heard his voice.
It was loud and commanding.
I looked toward the sound.
He was standing in the road.
He raised both arms and swept them through the air as though pushing away something invisible.
The wolves immediately backed away.
Farther.
And farther still.
Then a heavy cloud passed over the moon.
Everything disappeared into darkness.
When the moonlight returned, the driver was climbing back into the carriage.
The wolves were gone.
I could not explain what I had just witnessed.
I was too frightened to ask.
We continued deeper into the mountains.
The clouds covered the moon again, leaving us almost completely surrounded by darkness.
The road kept climbing.
Occasionally it dropped sharply before rising again.
But overall, we continued upward.
Then, quite suddenly, the driver pulled on the reins.
The horses stopped.
I looked ahead.
We had arrived at a huge ruined castle.
Its walls rose out of the darkness.
Tall black windows stared down at us without a single light behind them.
The broken battlements formed a jagged silhouette against the moonlit sky.
