Fjallkonan #14 | 11 April 1900
I CANNOT DESCRIBE THE IMPACT THAT HIS STORY HAD ON me, as it seemed to be absolutely free of any human sentiment. He lowered his voice, as if noticing my reaction to what he was saying.
“No one knows what she had been up to, but the window was shut again and all was quiet once more. The Count waited a few days before he went to her, after her lover had leapt to Heaven—or Hell.143 Nobody knows what came to pass between them, but it is said that he kept going to her every night, at the same hour. This probably was a joyful time for him, though perhaps not quite so much for her—but who knows! No one saw or heard anything more, but a few months later he had women picked up from the village to provide the death service.144 She was lying dead in her bed; any more than that, people did not know. She was dressed in a garment similar to the one shown here in the portrait and placed in her coffin by command of the castle’s master. She rests here in the chapel, along with her family members. But as you see, my friend, she is still as beautiful as ever.”
“How awful to hear this,” I said, trembling with such distress that I could barely manage to shake it off. Had I been a woman, I would have believed I was going hysterical.145 I had never felt like this. Had I suddenly caught a glimpse into the bowels of the earth, with all its demons and blazing brimstone down below—as medieval people believed—I would not have reacted worse.
“Yes,” he said, “it was a major mistake on his part. The people in the region—Czechs, Tatars, Vlachs, and all the ragtag and bobtail who have swarmed to this country that we Szeklers are born to rule—have always feared and held a grudge against us, particularly us members of the Dracula family. Now they had found new gossip to enrich their chatter. And though we ignore the serpent that creeps on the ground, it will bite nonetheless.146 I have learned this the hard way. That is why I now live like a recluse, with owls and crows nesting in the towers of my forefathers’ castle. Perhaps people have also tried to smear my name while talking to you, dear friend. Come out with the truth now, what have they told you about Dracula before you came here?”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” I said candidly, “but—”
“But they insinuated all the more,” he said. “Oh, these slaves! These vagabonds! They fear Dracula, and for good reason! Vengeance and curses shall bite them long after he has found himself a new homeland!147 Come on, my dear friend,” he said, slowing down and changing his tone, “on another occasion, let us look at this picture again in daylight.”
He held up the candlestick, illuminating the portrait one last time, and then he showed me more paintings, telling me something about each of them.
It was a strange collection of family portraits, spanning over centuries. Many of the paintings were amateurishly executed and some poorly made, though others were masterpieces. What intrigued me most was the unbroken perpetuation and gradual perfection of the two or three human likenesses that consistently emerged, generation after generation. It seemed as though the clan had reached its greatest bloom with the Count and the ravishing noble lady in the magnificent portrait he had described. The same facial features as possessed by the Count could be seen in paintings from different eras, three or four of which looked so much like him that I was taken aback.148
“It is exactly as you say,” said the Count. “I am a true Dracula.”
The reoccurring features—big head with black hair, short neck, unusually broad chest, low forehead, and brown, wrinkly skin (even in the young men)—looked very different from modern, civilized people. Not even pictures I’d seen of savages had looked less appealing to me.
I praised the Count’s family for its continuously heightening beauty. Although he clearly appreciated the compliment, he changed the subject all the same.149
“Yes, my friend,” he said, “that is just more proof of what I always say—that the strongest must prevail and conquer the world. Those who are weak are only created to satisfy the needs of others more powerful. The person who knows how to exert his strength will gain supremacy and have everything at his command—beauty, prudence and knowledge—in the same way that the small seedling, growing in the graveyard, will gradually become a tall tree with the life force of a thousand generations, all contributing their strength, comeliness and other good qualities.”150
As far as I could follow, it was Darwin’s law fluttering vaguely through the Count’s mind, but he had adapted it in his own way.151
While we were discussing this, he doused the lights in the portrait gallery with a long extinguisher, and we left the room in the faint moonlight. I had managed to regain my full composure and was in a serene mood when we came down the stairs and entered into the courtyard, but then I clearly heard someone walking close to us. I turned, but the sound of footsteps seemed to move farther away, and I saw no more than a glimpse of a short, stocky man suddenly disappearing through one of the doors to the corridor.152
The count was walking ahead of me, holding the light. “What is wrong, my friend?” he asked. “Why have you stopped?”
“It’s nothing—just that I heard footsteps behind us,” I said, “and I thought I saw someone slip through the door over there, by the corridor.”
It occurred to me that although my bedroom faces the direction of the corridor, I had never heard anyone enter or wander around in it.
“A man walking here?” he asked. “You must be kidding. No one is here. It was probably just the echo of our footsteps and your own shadow.”
“But I saw it with my own eyes …”
“I can assure you, my friend, that no living creature sets foot in here at this hour—unless it was old Natra, but she never comes this way.153 You said yourself that you do not believe in ghosts.”
“Yes, but here one might be led to believe differently,” I said.
“What you saw was nothing more than a trick of the senses,” said the Count.
When we reached the living room, everything was prepared as usual: The candles were lit and the dishes were set on the table. The Count invited me to dine, but he said that he himself didn’t have an appetite, as he usually does not sup so late. I haven’t seen him touch any food since I arrived, but as the master of this estate he should be able to have his meals whenever he wants, and it would be consistent with his usual manners that he would prefer to eat by himself.
“With your permission, I will sit here while you eat,” he said, taking a seat by the fireplace. “I would like to practice my English.”
Yes, that would explain why he is so talkative with me. His English has progressed a great deal in these past few days. I’ve noticed that he has an unusually sensitive ear for languages, as he corrects his pronunciation as soon as he hears that mine is different.
When I finished my dinner I seated myself in the chair opposite him.
“What you said earlier in the hallway reminded me of something,” he said. “The superstitious cowards here in the surrounding countryside maintain that this castle I live in is full of spectres and evil spirits, because of how rich its history is—because here, there is much to remember from the past that the general public does not get to know. I struggle to find workmen, even if I offer higher pay, because they are simply too frightened. These poor wretches. I know that in the big city of London such superstitious views are not adhered to, but I still feel that it is best for your health to always stay inside after dark. The evening air is detrimental to you, and you may see or hear things that you don’t understand. I only hope that you are comfortable and well here and that you will stay with me for a few weeks—as I have said before. I wouldn’t take it kindly if you were to leave before I feel it is time for you to depart. I hope that you stay here with me for one more month, from this date on.”154
Staying here for so long didn’t suit me at all, but I didn’t have the courage to say so. So instead I mentioned my employer, Mr. Hawkins.
“I will let him know. In fact, I have asked him for his permission already,” he said sternly. “Yes, you will stay. There are many things to be found in my library, including works of art—but no ghosts,” he said, laughing heartily. “As I have told you, these superstitious people talk about a white-clad woman wandering about the castle, but it is none other than the poor young girl whom you’ve already met, living upstairs”—he pointed up to the ceiling—“and she is rumored to appear when danger lurks. Still, I ask that you remember if you ever see any glimpse of white that it is no ghost, only her. She truly is dazzling enough to be dangerous, but not to you. She has, as I have told you, bats in the belfry, believing she is the noble lady whom she resembles in the portrait. She wanders around the castle looking for her cavalier. It is sad, but then again, it is also amusing.”
He spoke with such arrogant airs that I could barely stand to listen to him, so in an effort to say something I asked him whether his mentally disturbed relative155 would accompany him to London.
“No, no! Don’t even let that idea cross your mind. As captivating as she is, she could easily end up in the claws of a Casanova, as you call them—I have read about them in your books as well.156 It would be a risk to take her to London. It’s more suitable for her to stay here at home, in this secluded place. Don’t you think so?”
I said something to the effect of him knowing what the best arrangement would be in regard to this matter.
“Of course,” he said, “but now it is nearly twelve o’clock. I can no longer rob you of your sleep and also have a few letters to write. Good night, my friend, sleep well and long.”