The White Devil

dracula

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
tonight, 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 evi-
dent 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 wait-
ing 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 tra-
ditions 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 goodbye. 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 Bis-

tritz, 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 Lon-
don 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 poly-
glot 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 learn-
ing that I was English, he explained that it was a charm or