Musings of My Journey

From the Diary of Eduardo Cavalieri

12 November

The weather in this country is abominable.

Scarcely had our ship pulled into harbor than a feeling of oppression swept over me, and little wonder. If this is where Giovanni was sent, we none of us should be surprised to have heard nothing from him. I can scarcely move my pen across the page, so strong is this feeling of adagio�

No, I must correct myself: this journal is to be kept entirely in English, lest I lose what slight grasp I have on the language. It seems to be only tongue I can use to communicate with my hostess, and I would do well to improve it.

It is not only the insufferably cold weather that dampens my spirits, but this intense feeling of isolation. It is so different from my native Italy�the land as well as its inhabitants.  I almost cease to know myself as I strive to adapt to their queer customs.

But let me stop myself before I follow that train of ideas. My host and his amiable lady have done more than can be expected of them; it is unjust of me to speak ill of their nation. I would not be here were it not for their generosity.

Would it not also be correct to say�I would not be here were it not for a curious tragedy?

I keep returning to the casement in this room to stare out at the frosty landscape below. Time, which I now have in abundance, is a strange luxury I am not entirely used to. I must resist the urge to rush downstairs and ask again what is being done to locate my poor brother, yet it would be most thoughtless of me. The count is, no doubt, a highly occupied personage. Strangely, I see no negotiations being conducted, no foreign diplomats in the lower chambers. Still, there is a flow of energy in the very air; one I would be loathe and very foolish indeed to disrupt.

If I am to keep any order at all in this journal, I ought first to document my arrival here. Reaching the barren shores was nothing to speak of, save the remarkable lack of hospitality. Attempting to locate any carriages traveling beyond Bistritz was a near impossibility as if I had been trying to travel to the moon! Clearly, modern transport has little to do here in this frozen territory. Well then, if I could not secure a carriage, could I at least have a horse saddled and prepared? This query proved to bring only minor success. Weary glances were directed at me as incoherent negations and acquiesces (I could not tell which) passed back and forth. When at last I was granted the reigns, I was told to keep to the Borgo Pass and not deviate from it. It was all very well, their evident concern for the horse (certainly no good will was intended for me, when I had received their scorn only moments earlier!), but it was somewhere off the Borgo Pass that Giovannis carriage had been discovered. It was there I went, hoping to discover even the meanest of clues to direct my path.

The stars were countless in number that chilled night, for not even the densely lush forest could obscure their light. Something in the forest seemed to shudder and sigh, an unspoken urgency that hurried me along my path, even compelling the horse to gain speed without my prompting. I searched eagerly for a clearing, a precipice, anything that would point to the evils that befall late travelers on a deserted road. The whole of the forest was quiet, undisturbed by the frustrated anxiety pounding as wildly as my heart.  

The first sight visible to my despairing gaze rose up vicariously�a castle that was both welcome and repulsive to my exhausted state. It seemed ageless, impossible to identify how long it had stood out against the wood, yet painfully evident was the nervous condition of my horse, who could not stir another step without tossing its head back defiantly. I stroked him with one hand in order to soothe him; the other was firmly clamped around my rosary as I recited tonelessly the words I knew by heart.

Ave Maria, gratia plena,

Dominus tecum, vigo serena

Animals are aware of those things we, as humans, are not; and far from disregarding his kindly meant defiance, I urged him on. This was clearly the only residence along the Pass, and if my brother had been sent to attend a foreigner, he must have stopped here. The poor beast had no choice but to obey, as it was the only option for both of us.

My knock was timid at first, nearly apologetic, then louder as minutes passed and I was still left standing in the dark. When at last the door opened, I could see no one but heard a harsh, sibilant whisper in a tongue I did not understand. I started, and in my confusion, lapsed into Italian.

�Scusate, signor?�

At that, the door opened widely, and a dark form became visible. Shadowy at first, an inner light revealed a distinguished looking gentleman who offered no encouragement, but instead smiled at me curiously. It was by far the warmest reception I had yet seen, and without even waiting to be asked, I impetuously stepped inside and allowed the door to be shut behind me, murmuring a heartfelt grazie.

�Mille milione di benvenuti,� said the shadow softly, and I turned quickly to locate the source of the voice. The gentleman stood at the end of the foyer, and bowed diplomatically.  So relieved was I to locate an outlet for my concerns, I thoughtlessly proceeded in a flood of Italian to pour out a summary of my journey. I paused only once for breath, and the sound of musical laughter interrupted the flow of my thoughts and puzzled me exceedingly.

�Perdonami, signor,� came the voice, switching to English seamlessly. �You are much too excited; I cannot understand you if you continue in this fashion. Allow me to provide you with refreshment, signor�?�

�Cavalieri,� I finished for him, �Eduardo Cavalieri.�

�Ah. Finalmente. Che diletto straordinario.�

Before I could ponder the meaning of his statement, a new presence in the room caused me to look up. At the gentleman�s side stood an exquisitely beautiful woman, her fine features turned in my direction emotionlessly. She said nothing, but the dark eyes continued to appraise me, a stranger in her home, as she had every right to do. I was taken aback by my rudeness in returning her stare, recovering my manners just as that seamless voice broke the silence with �Do allow me to introduce you, Signor Cavalieri�la sposa mia, the countess, a most kindhearted benefactress to our village below.�

�Piacere,� I said meekly, accepting the fair hand offered to me but not quite touching it with my lips.  The dark eyes regarded me kindly now.

�My husband has many visitors and matters to attend to, Signor Cavalieri; it is my deepest pleasure to ensure that each receives the careful attention that is quite deserving.�

�Forgive me, Countess,� I began, hoping desperately my English sounded as dignified as hers, �I am foreign to this land, and regrettably unfamiliar with its nobles.�

�My husband, the count,� answered she, her gaze sweeping in his direction, �In whose house you now stand, presides over this territory.�

�This house,� I echoed thoughtlessly, momentarily forgetting both my host and hostess, �This castle he spoke of�� 

�Castle Dracula,� supplied my host. �I am Vladislaus Dracula, and bid you welcome.�

�Yes!� I exclaimed, rushing forward. �My journey has not been in vain. You must have word of my brother, Count�Giovanni Cavalieri? He is a representative of the bank of Orsini and Rosenburg, located in Rome. He was sent here to conduct business with a Transylvanian nobleman months ago�just at the start of the summer. Surely he would have arrived by now�?�

The blank expression on my host�s countenance was maddening�truly maddening.  I had not come all this way to be disappointed!  It was not possible for Giovanni to be so long detained elsewhere.  If the count could not�or would not�offer any word of my brother, certainly no one else would.

At length a smile crossed his features once more. �Oh! Yes�yes, I see. Your brother, the banker. If his business was with me, I can�t say that it was ever conducted. However, it is very likely he may have stopped by the village of Bistritz on his journey. Perhaps the innkeeper would have heard word of him.�

I would not lose hope, not yet. �But, Count, how could that be? It was to the Borgo Pass he was due. Surely there is not another castle he could have arrived at? Please, do try to understand�we have not heard from him for months.�

�My good sir, I understand you perfectly. Your attachment to your brother is admirable. It is my sincerest regret that news of him is not in my possession. Inquiries in the village would not be amiss, I am certain. There are so many possibilities that may befall travelers unused to this area.�

I must have looked crestfallen, for he added quickly, �Do not be alarmed; I have no intention of causing you pain. I merely speak the truth. Will you take something, signor? You have traveled very far, and it would grieve me indeed to send you away with no news, no refreshment, no common civility. Where are you staying?�

�I have no arrangements; I would return to the ship.�

�Not at this hour, I fear,� said the count, looking out toward the darkened forest. �You would not make it before dawn, and it is unwise to put Providence to the test. I will see to it that a room is prepared for you.�

He turned and left before I could offer any response, leaving me in the foyer with the countess, and I must confess feeling not a little intimidated in her presence.  Her head was raised regally and she stared at the small flames of one of the candelabras, her gaze both passive and relentless.  I could not understand what it was she was looking at, or what her thoughts were, so I uttered apologetically that I hoped I would not prove too great an inconvenience.

�It is no inconvenience,� she replied.  I would have liked to add to that my fervent thanks, but, intimidated as I was, I fear the English I had familiarized myself with had quite abandoned me.  And, as the countess appeared to speak no Italian, I was obliged to content myself with looking at the corridor through which my host departed, furtively glancing back at my radiant hostess.

I had expected a servant would return, or perhaps my host, but at length the countess led me to the staircase and the rooms beyond, where one chamber was well-lit, warm and inviting.  I entered it without question, immediately gravitating to the casement where I could see the forest below, the strip of the Pass running through it as a pale ribbon.

A hand unexpectedly touched my shoulder; I turned abruptly, startled, but noted with relief the unmistakable smile of my host.

�I trust this is sufficient, signor?�

I could only nod in agreement, for my voice was frozen and my heartbeat had yet to return to its usual pace.

�Excellent. I bid you good night, then.�

I would not have noticed as the count and countess withdrew, had not the sounds of a language very familiar to me softly stirred the silence.

�?Qui va a hacer? ?Y por qui no su hermano?�

It was the voice of the countess, undeniably.  I spun around with a joyful exclamation silent on my lips, for my Spanish was by far better than my English, but was not permitted the opportunity to express this.  The count answered the query with a sibilant whisper very similar to the one I had heard at the threshold of the castle, and as incoherent as before.  

Suddenly the door closed firmly, and I was left alone with my questions, and only my own unintelligible thoughts for answers.

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