Dracula / Дракула. Брэм Стокер

was so beautiful that I soon forgot ghostly fears. But if I had known the language which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I would not have forgotten them so easily.

      The road was rough, but we almost flew over it with a feverish speed. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but it seemed that the driver was not going to lose any time on the road to Borgo Pass.

      By the roadside were many crosses, and as we flew by, my companions all crossed themselves. Now and again we passed peasant's carts with groups of home-coming peasants sitting on them. As the evening fell, it began to get very cold, and in the growing dusk various trees merged into one dark mistiness. But in the deep valleys the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wanted to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver said that it was dangerous to walk here. “The dogs are too fierce,” he said. Then he added, “And you may have enough of such things before you go to sleep.” He evidently meant it as a grim joke, for he looked round to see the approving smile of the rest. He only stopped for a moment to light his lamps.

      When it grew dark, the passengers, one after the other, spoke to the driver in some excitement, as though asking him to go faster. He flogged the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and encouraged them to go faster with wild cries. The coach rocked and swayed like a boat on a stormy sea. Then the road grew more even, and it seemed that we flew along. The mountains were on each side of the road. We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts. It was impossible to refuse them because they were given in simple good faith, with a kind word, and that strange mixture of 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, too, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was expected. At last we saw the Pass before us. There were dark 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 transport which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the light of lamps through the blackness, but all was dark. The only light was the light of our own lamps, in which the steam from our tired horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the white sandy road before us, but there was no sign of a carriage on it. I was disappointed, but the passengers seemed glad that there was no carriage. I was already thinking what to do best, when the driver looked at his watch and said something in a very low voice. I thought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then he turned to me and said 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 to-morrow or the next day; better the next day.” While he was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and jerk wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then, among a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a carriage, with four horses, drove up and stopped beside our coach. The horses were coal-black and splendid animals. The driver was a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which hid 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 our driver: “You are early to-night, 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 told 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 hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharplooking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my fellow-travellers 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 smile. The passenger turned his face away and crossed himself.

      “Give me the Herr's luggage,” said the driver.

      My bags were swiftly taken out and put in the carriage. Then I got off the coach, and the driver helped me into the carriage with a hand that caught my arm in a grab of steel. Without a word he took his reins, the horses turned, he cracked his whip and called to his horses, and we swept into the darkness of the Pass on the way to Bukovina. I felt a strange cold, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was put over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German: “The night is chilly, mein Herr, and my master the Count asked me to take good care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should want it.” I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there. I felt a little strangely, and not a little frightened. I think that if there had been any alternative I would have taken it, instead of taking that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a great speed 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. So I remembered some noticeable point, and found that this was so. But I feared to ask the driver what this all meant. But I wanted to know how time was passing; I struck a match and looked at my watch; it was almost midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the collective superstition about midnight and the recent events influenced me. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

      Then a dog began to howl as if from fear somewhere far in a farmhouse. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till a wild howling began; it seemed that it came from all over the country. At the first howl the horses began jerk, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but still shivered. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us, a louder and a sharper howling – that of wolves—began. I wanted to jump from the carriage and run; the horses reared up again and jerked 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 became quiet enough, so that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them. He stroked them and whispered something in their ears; they became quite manageable again, though they still shivered. The driver again took his seat and started off at a great speed.

      Soon we passed through a tunnel formed by trees that arched right over the roadway, and great rocks guarded us on either side. It grew colder and colder still; the snow began to fall, and soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The cold wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The howling of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I grew terribly afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least worried; he turned his head to left and right all the time, but I could not see anything through the darkness.

      Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The driver saw it too; he at once stopped the horses, jumped to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. I did not know what to do. The howling of the wolves grew closer. The driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat, and we continued our journey. The same thing repeated many times. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness I could watch the driver's movements. He went to where the blue flame arose, gathered a few stones, and 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 gleam all the same. This frightened me, but as the effect was only momentary, I decided that my eyes deceived me in the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we went on through the darkness, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.

      When