“Oh, I have kept you up all night again. You are such good company, I did not notice the passage of time.”
And he left the room with a graceful bow.
8 May.—When I began this journal I was worried about going into too many specifics, but now I am happy that I have discussed every event in detail. I am witnessing and experiencing so many strange phenomena that it is impossible not to feel afraid. Ah, if only I could be safely out of here. Or had never come here in the first place! Perhaps sitting up every night until the morning has made me lose my nerve. But if only that were all… If I could find a friend to talk to, I could put up with this. However, it is impossible! The only one I can speak to is Count Dracula. But the Count, this man…
Oh, I am frightened. Could I be the only living soul in this castle?
When I went to bed I could not manage to sleep, so after tossing and turning for a while, I rose. I had hung my small shaving mirror beside the window, and to make use of my free time I had begun to shave, when suddenly I saw a hand touching my shoulder and heard the Count say:
“Good morning!”
I was greatly startled, for although the mirror in front of me displayed the entire room, I could not see Count Dracula in it! When I turned my head toward him in astonishment, I cut my face with the razor, though I did not notice it. After greeting the Count, I turned to the mirror once again to see if I had been mistaken. This time there could be no possibility that I was wrong; for the Count was standing right behind me and I was able to see over my shoulder. But there was still no reflection in the mirror! The area of the room behind me was visible, but there was no sign of any other man in the mirror except myself.
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 AZMI 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 Rifat Bey or anyone else?