u as in put
Ü, ü
u as in nude
-ey
a as in make
PREFACE
This gruesome and terribly strange adventure, which I have decided to disclose to the world, fell into my hands in the form of a great pile of papers as though it had rained down from the sky. As such, I have not contributed to its writing or editing.
It was an autumn night. I had boarded one of the last ferries from Göztepe to Haydarpasa. It was very crowded. When we arrived at Haydarpasa Pier, everyone gathered at the side of the ferry to disembark. I was a little slow because I had been absorbed in my paper. When I stood up from the bench there was no one else around me, but I spied a pile of documents wrapped in old newspaper and picked it up. I wanted to move quickly to deliver it to its owner, but everyone began to rush to the bridge and it was every man for himself. The few people I asked said that the papers did not belong to them. So in the end, the bundle came home with me. The next day I put a public notice in the newspaper with my address. Fifteen days passed, but no one answered. Finally I opened the parcel, which consisted of papers written in several different hands, and read through them. I found myself in a growing state of curiosity and excitement. I would have said that it was a novel, but the pages had been plucked from journals of various shapes and sizes and appeared to have been written by both men and women. All of this added an eerie sense of reality to the adventure.
It appears that the pieces of this adventure had been taken from the diaries of the people involved, and then put into chronological order along with some letters. Did these terrible events, which are the frightening continuation and conclusion of those begun centuries ago, really occur in those desolate, mysterious corners of Istanbul? If not, then what is the meaning of the documents I hold? Those who doubt what I have said may come and see these papers for themselves.
CHAPTER I
FROM THE DIARY OF AZMI BEY, A YOUNG ISTANBUL ATTORNEY
3 May. (Town of Bistriç - Transylvania.)—I arrived in Vienna on the second of May. I only briefly glimpsed Budapest from the station, but my impression was that it is built like a gateway from east to west and west to east. Crossing the Danube River, babbling like a living testament to the glorious past of the Turkish nation, my great and famous race, the train carried me to places closely connected with Turkish history. Deep inside me the bitter, sweet, but above all proud and noble feelings fluttered and thrilled me. I felt a great sense of national pride. What a miracle of the soul these feelings are! The sweet, endless immortality of human societies!
Before leaving Istanbul I read with great interest about Transylvania, historically called “Erdel” in Turkish, which saw many bloody war campaigns in our own history and during the recent conflicts in Europe. Not only did it make this unexpected trip more productive and enjoyable, but it may also ease the business of meeting with a Transylvanian noble.
I gathered from my reading that the district this nobleman specified is in the eerie region of the Carpathian Mountains, standing at the easternmost end of Transylvania, on the borders of Moldavia and Bukovina. As I understand from books and maps, this is one of the least known areas of the European continent.
I was not able to find a map indicating Castle Dracula, but the town of Bistriç, which was described by Count Dracula as the postal and communication hub of the region, is indeed a well-known and lively place.
The landscapes I have encountered in this unfamiliar country are such a pleasant addition to my trip. Everywhere I look, I am reminded of Güzin; but it is not as though I ever forgot her in the first place! Ah, dear Güzin… If you were here with me in this wild, ancient land of mountains, amid these odd-looking people with their strange habits; if we could travel, talking together on these lonely roads, how happy and joyous we would be! This is just the life you wanted. In this foreign country, I would feel that you completely belonged to me.
Her curiosity and passionate love of history—especially Turkish history, brimming with epic stories and heroism—would have made this trip invaluable to her. Also, was it not my dear Güzin who, in Istanbul, first drew my attention to the familiar name of Dracula?
Güzin knows better than I do the bloody, horrible, blood-curdling acts that Voivode Dracula committed during the reign of Mehmed II in the history of the Turkish Empire. She has spoken, eyes glistening with tears of rage and excitement, of the tortures of this violent, cruel tormentor.
Güzin! As I sleep in this small hotel in the Transylvanian town of Bistriç, there are two points of lights shimmering near the horizon in the direction of Istanbul. Can they be your affectionate eyes?
Now I will make some notes, for I have not forgotten your interest in history:
The people of Transylvania are made up of four distinct nationalities. In the south there are the Saxons, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are apparently the descendants of old Dacians. In the west there are the Hungarians, and in the north the Czechs. Of these I am visiting the Czechs, who claim they are the descendants of the Turkish hero Attila and the Huns who shook the world. And that is very possible, for in the 7th century when Hungarians came to these lands, they found the Huns already occupying them. According to some of the books I have read, all the primitive beliefs of the world are gathered together in this horseshoe of the Carpathian Mountains. As if this place is at the very center of a supernatural vortex. If so, the time I spend here should be very interesting. I must learn more about this from Count Dracula
.
Even though my bed was quite comfortable, I still could not manage to sleep. A dog kept howling under my window all night, which may have had something to do with it. Early in the morning I arose and caught the train.
All day we traveled through a land rich with every kind of natural beauty. Sometimes we came across little towns built on steep rocks like those we see in old paintings. At every station I saw people dressed in different fashions. Some of them looked like European peasants, but some had very strange clothes. Sometimes the villagers wore absurdly wide belts with many nails—I think these are some kind of ornament. The Slovaks are the strangest-looking; they are the most primitive of the lot. It is as though they are caught between civilization and barbarism. These people pull their pants on over their long boots, let their black hair grow to their shoulders, and grow bushy moustaches. They resemble the brigands of the stage. But some of the travelers I spoke to tell me that the Slovaks are harmless folk.
The town of Bistriç is almost on the Transylvanian border. Nearby is the route to Bukovina through the mountain pass of Burgo.
In his letter, Count Dracula wrote that when I came to see him I should stop at the Golden Hotel in Bistriç. When I arrived, a stout woman in an apron, looking like a character out of a novel, appeared before me with a warm, cheery smile.
“Turk Effendi from Istanbul?” she asked.
I affirmed with a nod and sat down upon one of the sofas in the parlor downstairs. A moment later the owner of the hotel—and as far as I could tell, the husband of the stout woman—came to my side and gave me a letter. It read as follows:
“My friend!
“Welcome to the Carpathian Mountains! I have been eagerly awaiting you. Sleep well tonight at this hotel. Tomorrow afternoon at three the mail coach will leave for Bukovina. A seat has been reserved for you. At the Burgo Pass my private coach shall be waiting to bring you to me. I hope you have had a pleasant journey from Istanbul and will enjoy your stay in my beautiful country.