Jonathan Harker's Journal
3 May. Bistritz. __Left Munich
at 8:35 P. M, on 1st May, arriving
at Vienna early next morning;
should have arrived at 6:46,
but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth
seems a wonderful place, from
the glimpse which I got of it
from the train and the little
I could walk through the streets.
I feared to go very far from
the station, as we had arrived
late and would start as near
the correct time as possible.
The impression I had was that
we were leaving the West and
entering the East; the most western
of splendid bridges over the
Danube, which is here of noble
width and depth, took us among
the traditions of Turkish rule.
We left in
pretty good time, and came
after nightfall to Klausenburgh.
Here I stopped for the night
at the Hotel Royale. I had for
dinner, or rather supper, a chicken
done up some way with red pepper,
which was very good but thirsty.
(Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I
asked the waiter, and he said
it was called "paprika hendl," and
that, as it was a national dish,
I should be able to get it anywhere
along the Carpathians.
I found my smattering of German
very useful here, indeed, I don't
know how I should be able to
get on without it.
Having had some time at my
disposal when in London, I had
visited the British Museum, and
made search among the books and
maps in the library regarding
Transylvania; it had struck me
that some foreknowledge of the
country could hardly fail to
have some importance in dealing
with a nobleman of that country.
I find that the district he
named is in the extreme east
of the country, just on the borders
of three states, Transylvania,
Moldavia, and Bukovina, in the
midst of the Carpathian mountains;
one of the wildest and least
known portions of Europe.
I was not able to light on
any map or work giving the exact
locality of the Castle Dracula,
as there are no maps of this
country as yet to compare with
our own Ordance Survey Maps;
but I found that Bistritz, the
post town named by Count Dracula,
is a fairly well-known place.
I shall enter here some of my
notes, as they may refresh my
memory when I talk over my travels
with Mina.
In the population of Transylvania
there are four distinct nationalities:
Saxons in the South, and mixed
with them the Wallachs, who are
the descendants of the Dacians;
Magyars in the West, and Szekelys
in the East and North. I am going
among the latter, who claim to
be descended from Attila and
the Huns. This may be so, for
when the Magyars conquered the
country in the eleventh century
they found the Huns settled in
it.
I read that every known superstition
in the world is gathered into
the horseshoe of the Carpathians,
as if it were the centre of some
sort of imaginative whirlpool;
if so my stay may be very interesting.
(Mem., I must ask the Count all
about them.)
I did not sleep well, though
my bed was comfortable enough,
for I had all sorts of queer
dreams. There was a dog howling
all night under my window, which
may have had something to do
with it; or it may have been
the paprika, for I had to drink
up all the water in my carafe,
and was still thirsty. Towards
morning I slept and was wakened
by the continuous knocking at
my door, so I guess I must have
been sleeping soundly then.
I had for breakfast
more paprika, and a sort of
porridge of maize
flour which they said was "mamaliga",
and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat,
a very excellent dish, which
they call "impletata". (Mem.,get
recipe for this also.)
I had to hurry breakfast, for
the train started a little before
eight, or rather it ought to
have done so, for after rushing
to the station at 7:30 I had
to sit in the carriage for more
than an hour before we began
to move.
It seems to me that the further
east you go the more unpunctual
are the trains. What ought they
to be in China?
All day long we seemed to dawdle
through a country which was full
of beauty of every kind. Sometimes
we saw little towns or castles
on the top of steep hills such
as we see in old missals; sometimes
we ran by rivers and streams
which seemed from the wide stony
margin on each side of them to
be subject ot great floods. It
takes a lot of water, and running
strong, to sweep the outside
edge of a river clear.
At every station there were
groups of people, sometimes crowds,
and in all sorts of attire. Some
of them were just like the peasants
at home or those I saw coming
through France and Germany, with
short jackets, and round hats,
and home-made trousers; but others
were very picturesque.
The women looked pretty, except
when you got near them, but they
were very clumsy about the waist.
They had all full white sleeves
of some kind or other, and most
of them had big belts with a
lot of strips of something fluttering
from them like the dresses in
a ballet, but of course there
were petticoats under them.
The strangest figures we saw
were the Slovaks, who were more
barbarian than the rest, with
their big cow-boy hats, great
baggy dirty-white trousers, white
linen shirts, and enormous heavy
leather belts, nearly a foot
wide, all studded over with brass
nails. They wore high boots,
with their trousers tucked into
them, and had long black hair
and heavy black moustaches. They
are very picturesque, but do
not look prepossessing. On the
stage they would be set down
at once as some old Oriental
band of brigands. They are, however,
I am told, very harmless and
rather wanting in natural self-assertion.
It was on the dark side of
twilight when we got to Bistritz,
which is a very interesting old
place. Being practically on the
frontier--for the Borgo Pass
leads from it into Bukovina--it
has had a very stormy existence,
and it certainly shows marks
of it. Fifty years ago a series
of great fires took place, which
made terrible havoc on five separate
occasions. At the very beginning
of the seventeenth century it
underwent a siege of three weeks
and lost 13,000 people, the casualties
of war proper being assisted
by famine and disease.
Count Dracula had directed
me to go to the Golden Krone
Hotel, which I found, to my great
delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned,
for of course I wanted to see
all I could of the ways of the
country.
I was evidently
expected, for when I got near
the door I faced
a cheery-looking elderly woman
in the usual peasant dress--white
undergarment with a long double
apron, front, and back, of coloured
stuff fitting almost too tight
for modesty. When I came close
she bowed and said, "The Herr
Englishman?"
"Yes," I said, "Jonathan
Harker."
She smiled, and gave some message
to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves,
who had followed her to the door.
He went, but immediately returned
with a letter:
"My friend.--Welcome
to the Carpathians. I am anxiously
expecting
you. Sleep well tonight. At three
tomorrow the diligence will start
for Bukovina; a place on it is
kept for you. At the Borgo Pass
my carriage will await you and
will bring you to me. I trust
that your journey from London
has been a happy one, and that
you will enjoy your stay in my
beautiful land.--Your friend,
Dracula."
4 May--I found that my landlord
had got a letter from the Count,
directing him to secure the best
place on the coach for me; but
on making inquiries as to details
he seemed somewhat reticent,
and pretended that he could not
understand my German.
This could not be true, because
up to then he had understood
it perfectly; at least, he answered
my questions exactly as if he
did.
He and his wife, the old lady
who had received me, looked at
each other in a frightened sort
of way. He mumbled out that the
money had been sent in a letter,
and that was all he knew. When
I asked him if he knew Count
Dracula, and could tell me anything
of his castle, both he and his
wife crossed themselves, and,
saying that they knew nothing
at all, simply refused to speak
further. It was so near the time
of starting that I had no time
to ask anyone else, for it was
all very mysterious and not by
any means comforting.
Just before
I was leaving, the old lady
came up to my room
and said in a hysterical way: "Must
you go? Oh! Young Herr, must
you go?" She was in such an excited
state that she seemed to have
lost her grip of what German
she knew, and mixed it all up
with some other language which
I did not know at all. I was
just able to follow her by asking
many questions. When I told her
that I must go at once, and that
I was engaged on important business,
she asked again:
"Do you know what day it is?" I
answered that it was the fourth
of May. She shook her head as
she said again:
"Oh, yes! I
know that! I know that, but
do you know what day
it is?"
On my saying that I did not
understand, she went on:
"It is the eve of St. George's
Day. Do you not know that to-night,
when the clock strikes midnight,
all the evil things in the world
will have full sway? Do you know
where you are going, and what
you are going to?" She was in
such evident distress that I
tried to comfort her, but without
effect. Finally, she went down
on her knees and implored me
not to go; at least to wait a
day or two before starting.
It was all very ridiculous
but I did not feel comfortable.
However, there was business to
be done, and I could allow nothing
to interfere with it.
I tried to raise her up, and
said, as gravely as I could,
that I thanked her, but my duty
was imperative, and that I must
go.
She then rose and dried her
eyes, and taking a crucifix from
her neck offered it to me.
I did not know what to do,
for, as an English Churchman,
I have been taught to regard
such things as in some measure
idolatrous, and yet it seemed
so ungracious to refuse an old
lady meaning so well and in such
a state of mind.
She saw, I
suppose, the doubt in my face,
for she put the rosary
round my neck and said, "For
your mother's sake," and went
out of the room.
I am writing up this part of
the diary whilst I am waiting
for the coach, which is, of course,
late; and the crucifix is still
round my neck.
Whether it is the old lady's
fear, or the many ghostly traditions
of this place, or the crucifix
itself, I do not know, but I
am not feeling nearly as easy
in my mind as usual.
If this book should ever reach
Mina before I do, let it bring
my good-bye. Here comes the coach!
5 May. The Castle.--The gray
of the morning has passed, and
the sun is high over the distant
horizon, which seems jagged,
whether with trees or hills I
know not, for it is so far off
that big things and little are
mixed.
I am not sleepy, and, as I
am not to be called till I awake,
naturally I write till sleep
comes.
There are many odd things to
put down, and, lest who reads
them may fancy that I dined too
well before I left Bistritz,
let me put down my dinner exactly.
I dined on
what they called "robber
steak"--bits of bacon, onion,
and beef, seasoned with red pepper,
and strung on sticks, and roasted
over the fire, in simple style
of the London cat's meat!
The wine was Golden Mediasch,
which produces a queer sting
on the tongue, which is, however,
not disagreeable.
I had only a couple of glasses
of this, and nothing else.
When I got on the coach, the
driver had not taken his seat,
and I saw him talking to the
landlady.
They were evidently talking
of me, for every now and then
they looked at me, and some of
the people who were sitting on
the bench outside the door--came
and listened, and then looked
at me, most of them pityingly.
I could hear a lot of words often
repeated, queer words, for there
were many nationalities in the
crowd, so I quietly got my polyglot
dictionary from my bag and looked
them out.
I must say
they were not cheering to me,
for amongst them were "Ordog"--Satan, "Pokol"--hell, "stregoica"--witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"--both
mean the same thing, one being
Slovak and the other Servian
for something that is either
werewolf or vampire. (Mem.,I
must ask the Count about these
superstitions.)
When we started, the crowd
round the inn door, which had
by this time swelled to a considerable
size, all made the sign of the
cross and pointed two fingers
towards me.
With some difficulty, I got
a fellow passenger to tell me
what they meant. He would not
answer at first, but on learning
that I was English, he explained
that it was a charm or guard
against the evil eye.
This was not very pleasant
for me, just starting for an
unknown place to meet an unknown
man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted,
and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic
that I could not but be touched.
I shall never forget the last
glimpse which I had of the inn
yard and its crowd of picturesque
figures, all crossing themselves,
as they stood round the wide
archway, with its background
of rich foliage of oleander and
orange trees in green tubs clustered
in the centre of the yard.
Then our driver,
whose wide linen drawers covered
the whole
front of the boxseat,--"gotza" they
call them--cracked his big whip
over his four small horses, which
ran abreast, and we set off on
our journey.
I soon lost
sight and recollection of ghostly
fears in the beauty
of the scene as we drove along,
although had I known the language,
or rather languages, which my
fellow-passengers were speaking,
I might not have been able to
throw them off so easily. Before
us lay a green sloping land full
of forests and woods, with here
and there steep hills, crowned
with clumps of trees or with
farmhouses, the blank gable end
to the road. There was everywhere
a bewildering mass of fruit blossom--apple,
plum, pear, cherry. And as we
drove by I could see the green
grass under the trees spangled
with the fallen petals. In and
out amongst these green hills
of what they call here the "Mittel
Land" ran the road, losing itself
as it swept round the grassy
curve, or was shut out by the
straggling ends of pine woods,
which here and there ran down
the hillsides like tongues of
flame. The road was rugged, but
still we seemed to fly over it
with a feverish haste. I could
not understand then what the
haste meant, but the driver was
evidently bent on losing no time
in reaching Borgo Prund. I was
told that this road is in summertime
excellent, but that it had not
yet been put in order after the
winter snows. In this respect
it is different from the general
run of roads in the Carpathians,
for it is an old tradition that
they are not to be kept in too
good order. Of old the Hospadars
would not repair them, lest the
Turk should think that they were
preparing to bring in foreign
troops, and so hasten the war
which was always really at loading
point.
Beyond the green swelling hills
of the Mittel Land rose mighty
slopes of forest up to the lofty
steeps of the Carpathians themselves.
Right and left of us they towered,
with the afternoon sun falling
full upon them and bringing out
all the glorious colours of this
beautiful range, deep blue and
purple in the shadows of the
peaks, green and brown where
grass and rock mingled, and an
endless perspective of jagged
rock and pointed crags, till
these were themselves lost in
the distance, where the snowy
peaks rose grandly. Here and
there seemed mighty rifts in
the mountains, through which,
as the sun began to sink, we
saw now and again the white gleam
of falling water. One of my companions
touched my arm as we swept round
the base of a hill and opened
up the lofty, snow-covered peak
of a mountain, which seemed,
as we wound on our serpentine
way, to be right before us.
"Look! Isten szek!"--"God's
seat!"--and he crossed himself
reverently.
As we wound on our endless
way, and the sun sank lower and
lower behind us, the shadows
of the evening began to creep
round us. This was emphasized
by the fact that the snowy mountain-top
still held the sunset, and seemed
to glow out with a delicate cool
pink. Here and there we passed
Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque
attire, but I noticed that goitre
was painfully prevalent. By the
roadside were many crosses, and
as we swept by, my companions
all crossed themselves. Here
and there was a peasant man or
woman kneeling before a shrine,
who did not even turn round as
we approached, but seemed in
the self-surrender of devotion
to have neither eyes nor ears
for the outer world. There were
many things new to me. For instance,
hay-ricks in the trees, and here
and there very beautiful masses
of weeping birch, their white
stems shining like silver through
the delicate green of the leaves.
Now and again
we passed a leiter-wagon--the
ordinary peasants's cart--with
its long, snakelike vertebra,
calculated to suit the inequalities
of the road. On this were sure
to be seated quite a group of
homecoming peasants, the Cszeks
with their white, and the Slovaks
with their coloured sheepskins,
the latter carrying lance-fashion
their long staves, with axe at
end. As the evening fell it began
to get very cold, and the growing
twilight seemed to merge into
one dark mistiness the gloom
of the trees, oak, beech, and
pine, though in the valleys which
ran deep between the spurs of
the hills, as we ascended through
the Pass, the dark firs stood
out here and there against the
background of latelying snow.
Sometimes, as the road was cut
through the pine woods that seemed
in the darkness to be closing
down upon us, great masses of
greyness which here and there
bestrewed the trees, produced
a peculiarly weird and solemn
effect, which carried on the
thoughts and grim fancies engendered
earlier in the evening, when
the falling sunset threw into
strange relief the ghost-like
clouds which amongst the Carpathians
seem to wind ceaselessly through
the valleys. Sometimes the hills
were so steep that, despite our
driver's haste, the horses could
only go slowly. I wished to get
down and walk up them, as we
do at home, but the driver would
not hear of it. "No, no," he
said. "You must not walk here.
The dogs are too fierce." And
then he added, with what he evidently
meant for grim pleasantry--for
he looked round to catch the
approving smile of the rest--"And
you may have enough of such matters
before you go to sleep." The
only stop he would make was a
moment's pause to light his lamps.
When it grew
dark there seemed to be some
excitement amongst
the passengers, and they kept
speaking to him, one after the
other, as though urging him to
further speed. He lashed the
horses unmercifully with his
long whip, and with wild cries
of encouragement urged them on
to further exertions. Then through
the darkness I could see a sort
of patch of grey light ahead
of us, as though there were a
cleft in the hills. The excitement
of the passengers grew greater.
The crazy coach rocked on its
great leather springs, and swayed
like a boat tossed on a stormy
sea. I had to hold on. The road
grew more level, and we appeared
to fly along. Then the mountains
seemed to come nearer to us on
each side and to frown down upon
us. We were entering on the Borgo
Pass. One by one several of the
passengers offered me gifts,
which they pressed upon me with
an earnestness which would take
no denial. These were certainly
of an odd and varied kind, but
each was given in simple good
faith, with a kindly word, and
a blessing, and that same strange
mixture of fear-meaning movements
which I had seen outside the
hotel at Bistritz-- the sign
of the cross and the guard against
the evil eye. Then, as we flew
along, the driver leaned forward,
and on each side the passengers,
craning over the edge of the
coach, peered eagerly into the
darkness. It was evident that
something very exciting was either
happening or expected, but though
I asked each passenger, no one
would give me the slightest explanation.
This state of excitement kept
on for some little time. And
at last we saw before us the
Pass opening out on the eastern
side. There were dark, rolling
clouds overhead, and in the air
the heavy, oppressive sense of
thunder. It seemed as though
the mountain range had separated
two atmospheres, and that now
we had got into the thunderous
one. I was now myself looking
out for the conveyance which
was to take me to the Count.
Each moment I expected to see
the glare of lamps through the
blackness, but all was dark.
The only light was the flickering
rays of our own lamps, in which
the steam from our hard-driven
horses rose in a white cloud.
We could see now the sandy road
lying white before us, but there
was on it no sign of a vehicle.
The passengers drew back with
a sigh of gladness, which seemed
to mock my own disappointment.
I was already thinking what I
had best do, when the driver,
looking at his watch, said to
the others something which I
could hardly hear, it was spoken
so quietly and in so low a tone,
I thought it was "An hour less
than the time." Then turning
to me, he spoke in German worse
than my own.
"There is no carriage here.
The Herr is not expected after
all. He will now come on to Bukovina,
and return tomorrow or the next
day, better the next day." Whilst
he was speaking the horses began
to neigh and snort and plunge
wildly, so that the driver had
to hold them up. Then, amongst
a chorus of screams from the
peasants and a universal crossing
of themselves, a caleche, with
four horses, drove up behind
us, overtook us, and drew up
beside the coach. I could see
from the flash of our lamps as
the rays fell on them, that the
horses were coal-black and splendid
animals. They were driven by
a tall man, with a long brown
beard and a great black hat,
which seemed to hide his face
from us. I could only see the
gleam of a pair of very bright
eyes, which seemed red in the
lamplight, as he turned to us.
He said to
the driver, "You
are early tonight, my friend."
The man stammered
in reply, "The
English Herr was in a hurry."
To which the
stranger replied, "That
is why, I suppose, you wished
him to go on to Bukovina. You
cannot deceive me, my friend.
I know too much, and my horses
are swift."
As he spoke
he smiled, and the lamplight
fell on a hardlooking
mouth, with very red lips and
sharp-looking teeth, as white
as ivory. One of my companions
whispered to another the line
from Burger's "Lenore".
"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell." ("For
the dead travel fast.")
The strange
driver evidently heard the
words, for he looked
up with a gleaming smile. The
passenger turned his face away,
at the same time putting out
his two fingers and crossing
himself. "Give me the Herr's
luggage," said the driver, and
with exceeding alacrity my bags
were handed out and put in the
caleche. Then I descended from
the side of the coach, as the
caleche was close alongside,
the driver helping me with a
hand which caught my arm in a
grip of steel. His strength must
have been prodigious.
Without a word he shook his
reins, the horses turned, and
we swept into the darkness of
the pass. As I looked back I
saw the steam from the horses
of the coach by the light of
the lamps, and projected against
it the figures of my late companions
crossing themselves. Then the
driver cracked his whip and called
to his horses, and off they swept
on their way to Bukovina. As
they sank into the darkness I
felt a strange chill, and a lonely
feeling come over me. But a cloak
was thrown over my shoulders,
and a rug across my knees, and
the driver said in excellent
German--
"The night
is chill, mein Herr, and my
master the Count bade
me take all care of you. There
is a flask of slivovitz (the
plum brandy of the country) underneath
the seat, if you should require
it."
I did not take any, but it
was a comfort to know it was
there all the same. I felt a
little strangely, and not a little
frightened. I think had there
been any alternative I should
have taken it, instead of prosecuting
that unknown night journey. The
carriage went at a hard pace
straight along, then we made
a complete turn and went along
another straight road. It seemed
to me that we were simply going
over and over the same ground
again, and so I took note of
some salient point, and found
that this was so. I would have
liked to have asked the driver
what this all meant, but I really
feared to do so, for I thought
that, placed as I was, any protest
would have had no effect in case
there had been an intention to
delay.
By-and-by, however, as I was
curious to know how time was
passing, I struck a match, and
by its flame looked at my watch.
It was within a few minutes of
midnight. This gave me a sort
of shock, for I suppose the general
superstition about midnight was
increased by my recent experiences.
I waited with a sick feeling
of suspense.
Then a dog began to howl somewhere
in a farmhouse far down the road,
a long, agonized wailing, as
if from fear. The sound was taken
up by another dog, and then another
and another, till, borne on the
wind which now sighed softly
through the Pass, a wild howling
began, which seemed to come from
all over the country, as far
as the imagination could grasp
it through the gloom of the night.
At the first howl the horses
began to strain and rear, but
the driver spoke to them soothingly,
and they quieted down, but shivered
and sweated as though after a
runaway from sudden fright. Then,
far off in the distance, from
the mountains on each side of
us began a louder and a sharper
howling, that of wolves, which
affected both the horses and
myself in the same way. For I
was minded to jump from the caleche
and run, whilst they reared again
and plunged madly, so that the
driver had to use all his great
strength to keep them from bolting.
In a few minutes, however, my
own ears got accustomed to the
sound, and the horses so far
became quiet that the driver
was able to descend and to stand
before them.
He petted and soothed them,
and whispered something in their
ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers
doing, and with extraordinary
effect, for under his caresses
they became quite manageable
again, though they still trembled.
The driver again took his seat,
and shaking his reins, started
off at a great pace. This time,
after going to the far side or
the Pass, he suddenly turned
down a narrow roadway which ran
sharply to the right.
Soon we were hemmed in with
trees, which in places arched
right over the roadway till we
passed as through a tunnel. And
again great frowning rocks guarded
us boldly on either side. Though
we were in shelter, we could
hear the rising wind, for it
moaned and whistled through the
rocks, and the branches of the
trees crashed together as we
swept along. It grew colder and
colder still, and fine, powdery
snow began to fall, so that soon
we and all around us were covered
with a white blanket. The keen
wind still carried the howling
of the dogs, though this grew
fainter as we went on our way.
The baying of the wolves sounded
nearer and nearer, as though
they were closing round on us
from every side. I grew dreadfully
afraid, and the horses shared
my fear. The driver, however,
was not in the least disturbed.
He kept turning his head to left
and right, but I could not see
anything through the darkness.
Suddenly, away on our left
I saw a fain flickering blue
flame. The driver saw it at the
same moment. He at once checked
the horses, and, jumping to the
ground, disappeared into the
darkness. I did not know what
to do, the less as the howling
of the wolves grew closer. But
while I wondered, the driver
suddenly appeared again, and
without a word took his seat,
and we resumed our journey. I
think I must have fallen asleep
and kept dreaming of the incident,
for it seemed to be repeated
endlessly, and now looking back,
it is like a sort of awful nightmare.
Once the flame appeared so near
the road, that even in the darkness
around us I could watch the driver's
motions. He went rapidly to where
the blue flame arose, it must
have been very faint, for it
did not seem to illumine the
place around it at all, and gathering
a few stones, formed them into
some device.
Once there appeared a strange
optical effect. When he stood
between me and the flame he did
not obstruct it, for I could
see its ghostly flicker all the
same. This startled me, but as
the effect was only momentary,
I took it that my eyes deceived
me straining through the darkness.
Then for a time there were no
blue flames, and we sped onwards
through the gloom, with the howling
of the wolves around us, as though
they were following in a moving
circle.
At last there came a time when
the driver went further afield
than he had yet gone, and during
his absence, the horses began
to tremble worse than ever and
to snort and scream with fright.
I could not see any cause for
it, for the howling of the wolves
had ceased altogether. But just
then the moon, sailing through
the black clouds, appeared behind
the jagged crest of a beetling,
pine-clad rock, and by its light
I saw around us a ring of wolves,
with white teeth and lolling
red tongues, with long, sinewy
limbs and shaggy hair. They were
a hundred times more terrible
in the grim silence which held
them than even when they howled.
For myself, I felt a sort of
paralysis of fear. It is only
when a man feels himself face
to face with such horrors that
he can understand their true
import.
All at once the wolves began
to howl as though the moonlight
had had some peculiar effect
on them. The horses jumped about
and reared, and looked helplessly
round with eyes that rolled in
a way painful to see. But the
living ring of terror encompassed
them on every side, and they
had perforce to remain within
it. I called to the coachman
to come, for it seemed to me
that our only chance was to try
to break out through the ring
and to aid his approach, I shouted
and beat the side of the caleche,
hoping by the noise to scare
the wolves from the side, so
as to give him a chance of reaching
the trap. How he came there,
I know not, but I heard his voice
raised in a tone of imperious
command, and looking towards
the sound, saw him stand in the
roadway. As he swept his long
arms, as though brushing aside
some impalpable obstacle, the
wolves fell back and back further
still. Just then a heavy cloud
passed across the face of the
moon, so that we were again in
darkness.
When I could see again the
driver was climbing into the
caleche, and the wolves disappeared.
This was all so strange and uncanny
that a dreadful fear came upon
me, and I was afraid to speak
or move. The time seemed interminable
as we swept on our way, now in
almost complete darkness, for
the rolling clouds obscured the
moon.
We kept on ascending, with
occasional periods of quick descent,
but in the main always ascending.
Suddenly, I became conscious
of the fact that the driver was
in the act of pulling up the
horses in the courtyard of a
vast ruined castle, from whose
tall black windows came no ray
of light, and whose broken battlements
showed a jagged line against
the sky. |