A tall, old man stood in front of it. He had a long white mustache and no beard. He was dressed in black from head to toe. There was not even a hint of another color on the man. He held a silver, almost antique candlestick in his hand with nothing to protect the flame that flickered in the draught. The old man made a graceful, inviting gesture with his right hand, and with excellent Turkish but a strange accent he said:
“Welcome to my home. Please enter freely and of your own accord without hesitation!”
Hearing such good Turkish in this place and under these circumstances completely bewildered me. His accent resembled that of some of the Greek doctors in Istanbul.
When he took my hand and shook it, his strength was just like that harsh strength of the driver who brought me here—so much so that I suspected they were the same person. Apart from that, his hand, gripping mine as though it were about to break my bones, was as cold as ice and resembled that of a dead man.
To ease my confusion I asked:
“Do I have the honor of addressing Count Dracula?”
He bowed with great courtesy and grace:
“Yes, I am Dracula. And I am pleased to bid the lawyer Azmi Bey welcome to my castle.”
As he spoke these words in accented Turkish, the tall old man placed the candlestick on a stone. He stepped out and brought my bags inside; I objected to his taking the trouble and offered to help. He responded again in Turkish:
“Nay sir, not at all. It is very late, and my servants are not here; please let me see to your comfort myself!”
He brought the bags and trunks to a spiral staircase. After climbing the steps, we passed through a long hallway. The Count’s footsteps rang heavily in this stone passage. The Count opened a strong, heavy door at the end of the corridor. We entered a large, well-lit room. There was a round table with food set upon it and a cozy, roaring hearth visible on the other side of the room.
Count Dracula stopped, setting my bags and trunks to the side. He then opened another door, where there was a smaller, octagonal room illuminated by a single lamp. This small room had no windows. We passed through this room as well.
The Count opened a third door and motioned for me to enter. Before me was a very welcome sight, for this was a well-lit bedroom heated with a large fireplace. The giant logs in the hearth burned with pleasant crackling sounds and vented their smoke up the wide chimney. Count Dracula brought my belongings in here, left them inside the door, and said:
“After such a long journey you must surely wish to change your clothes, rest, and put your belongings in place. Here you will find everything you need. When you are ready, come into the parlor; your supper is already prepared.”
The Count quickly withdrew. The bright, warm environment in which I found myself and the kind, courteous behavior of Count Dracula had immediately dissipated all my fears and suspicions. Having then reached my natural state, I discovered that I was starving. I hastily prepared myself and went into the parlor.
Just as he said, the supper was laid out on the table. Standing next to a carved statue near the large fireplace, my host invited me to the table with a respectful and graceful gesture.
“Please, be seated and sup how you please. I ask your forgiveness because I cannot join you; I have dined a little early today and it is not my habit to eat at night.”
I handed Count Dracula the letter, sealed with red wax, written by Rifat Bey, the director of my office in Istanbul. Count Dracula opened the envelope, read the letter solemnly, and then, with a smile, gave it back to me to read. As I perused this letter from Rifat Bey, who is as dear to me as my father, I think some lines made me blush with happiness. I felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Rifat Bey, and a strong feeling of pride. Referring to his recent rheumatism, Rifat Bey wrote:
“…As such, this unfortunate illness prevents me from making this journey. But I am happy to say that I can send a highly trusted attorney of mine in my stead. He may appear very young, but he is highly energetic, cultured, enlightened, and honest. He is discreet and knows how to hold his tongue. I would like to add that he was raised under my patronage and careful supervision, and thereafter completed his education and training. Azmi Bey, my attorney and second son, will stay there as long as you wish after giving you the necessary information. He will acquaint you with the property we purchased for you in Istanbul, through our correspondence, with your permission and under your name. I am deeply sorry that I could not make this trip myself to meet you in person…”
After I finished the letter, the Count approached the table and removed the cover of a dish; a salad and the famous Hungarian Tokaji wine, with which I was only familiar through novels, complemented the supper. I made a point to drain two glasses of the wine. Count Dracula asked me many questions about my trip and I told him everything that had happened to me. I could not wait to ask many questions myself.
When the supper was over, I drew up a chair near the fire and began to smoke the cigarettes the Count offered me. Count Dracula said that he did not smoke, and apologized.
I now had the chance to observe my host closely. The Count’s face and appearance struck me as remarkable. His face was strong, very strong, and his profile was aquiline. His slim nose had a high bridge and his nostrils were arched. His forehead was lofty, so much so as to indicate nobility. His hair, which was thin at the temples, was thick and bushy elsewhere. His eyebrows were also bushy and furrowed, and they nearly conjoined above his nose. As far as I could see under his heavy, white moustache, his mouth suggested great and almost merciless determination. The teeth were strangely sharp and very pointed. And his lips were a blood-red color unusual for a man of his age; they showed an astonishing vitality. His ears were rather pale and the tops were excessively pointed. His jaw was broad and strong, and his cheeks, while thin, still appeared firm. The general impression of his face was one of exceptional pallor.
Until now I had only seen my host’s hands by the light of the fireplace, and they appeared white and delicate. But now I could see that there were hairs in the center of his palm. Beyond this, his hands and coarse fingers were long and thin and his fingernails were pointed.
As the Count leaned toward me and touched my hand, a shudder passed through my body. Moreover, the man’s breath was rank, worse than any other. It caused at that moment a wave of nausea to come over me and I was unable to conceal it. Count Dracula undoubtedly sensed this and stepped back. With a grim smile that displayed his long, sharp teeth even more, he moved back to the other side of the roaring fireplace and sat down.
For a while we were both silent. And at that moment, my eyes discerned the first shimmering rays of sunlight through the windows. There was a strange stillness. But suddenly I heard many wolves howling from the deep valleys down below. His eyes shining, the Count said:
“Listen to them… Children of the night! What a beautiful symphony they play!”
He added, upon seeing my reaction:
“Ah, you city dwellers, you can never understand the life of a hunter…”
Then he rose suddenly:
“Effendi from Istanbul, you must be very tired from your journey. Your bedroom is ready; tomorrow you may sleep as late as you wish. I have other business until the evening. Now make yourself comfortable, and dream well!”