better understand.» I said I was sure of this, and then he went
on:
«We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England.
Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many
strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your ex-
periences already, you know something of what strange things
there may be.»
This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he
wanted to talk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many ques-
tions regarding things that had already happened to me or come
within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned
the conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally
he answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on,
and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the
strange things of the preceding night, as, for instance, why the
coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames.
He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on
a certain night of the year last night, in fact, when all evil
spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway a blue flame is
seen over any place where treasure has been concealed. «That
treasure has been hidden,“ he went on, „in the region through
which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it
was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian,
the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in
all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men,
patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when
the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the
patriots went out to meet them men and women, the aged and
the children too and waited their coming on the rocks above
the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with
Jonathan Marker’s Journal 21
their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he
found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the
friendly soil.»
«But how,» said I, «can it have remained so long undis-
covered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the
trouble to look? "The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over
his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely;
he answered:
«Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those
flames only appear on one night; and on that night no man of
this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear
sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the
peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame
would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work.
Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places
again?»
«There you are right,» I said. «I know no more than the dead
where even to look for them.» Then we drifted into other mat-
ters.
«Come, ' he said at last, «tell me of London and 01 the house
which you have procured for me.» With an apology for my re-
missness, I went into my own room to get the papers from my
bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of
china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through, no-
ticed that the table had been, cleared and the lamp lit, for it was
by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit in the
study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa, read-
ing, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw’s Guide.
When I came in he cleared the books and papers from the table;
and with him I went into plans and deeds and figures of all
sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad
questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had
studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neigh-
bourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than
I did. When I remarked this, he answered:
«Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When
I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan
nay, pardon me, I fall into my country’s habit of putting your
patronymic first my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by
my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away,
probably working at papers of the law with my other friend,
Peter Hawkins. So!»
We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the
22 Dracula
estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his
signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with
them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I
had come across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which
I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here :
«At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as
seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated
notice that the place was for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall,
of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been
repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of
heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.
«The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old
Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the car-
dinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres,
quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned.
There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and
there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed
t> y some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-
sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I
should say, to mediaeval times, for one part is of stone im-
mensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily
barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old
chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the
door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak
views of it from various points. The house has been added to,
but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount
of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few
houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently
added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not,
however, visible from the grounds.»
When I had finished, he said:
«I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family,
and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made
habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up
a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We
Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie
amongst the common dead. I» seek not gaiety nor mirth, not
the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling
waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young;
and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead,
is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are
broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold
through the broken battlements and casements. I love the
Jonathan Marker’s Journal 23
shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts
when I may.» Somehow his words and his look did not seem to
accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile look
malignant and saturnine.
Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asidng me to put all my
papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to
look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which
I found opened naturally at England, as if that map had been
much used. On looking at it I found in certain places little rings
marked, and on examining these I noticed that one was near
London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was
situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the York-
shire coast.
It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned.
«Aha!» he said; «still at your books? Good! But you must not
work always. Come; I am informed that your supper is ready.»