Chapter 3 Chapter two

When I was a graduate student, my father said, one spring evening, I sat alone in a small private room in the school library and studied by myself. It was very late, surrounded by shelves of books.Suddenly, I realized someone had put a book in my textbook. I don't recall seeing this book, either on the shelf in front of me, or anywhere else.I turned to the middle of the book with a random flip, and there was a woodcut giant dragon lying on the left and right pages. It stretched its wings, and its long tail was bent into a circle. , is a Gothic font: Dracula. I recognized the name immediately: Bella Lugers (aka Dracula).But the spelling of the name was weird, and the book looked old.Additionally, I am an academic with a keen interest in European history.The name Dracula actually comes from a Latin root meaning "dragon" or "devil", which was an honorary title for Vlad Tebes - "The Piercer" of Wallachia.He was the ruler of a domain in the Carpathians, known for torturing his subjects and prisoners of war.I was studying the trade of seventeenth-century Amsterdam, and I couldn't understand how such a book was included in my collection.What surprised me even more was that the ivory tissue paper was blank.There is not even a title page in the whole book, and certainly no date and place of publication, no map, no blank front or end pages, or any other illustrations, nor any other markings.

I looked at it for a few more minutes, put it on the table, and went to the library category on the first floor, where there was indeed a theme card, "Vlad III (Thebes) of Wallachia, 1431-1476— — see Wallachia, Transylvania and Dracula" I thought, I should look at the map first. Soon, I discovered that Wallachia and Transylvania are two ancient places located in what is today Romania.In a pile of catalog cards, I found what seemed to be the only first-hand information on the subject in the library, a strange little book in English from some 1890s book about vampires. Translated from Racula's brochure.The original text was published in Nuremberg in the 1570s and 1580s.The mention of Nuremberg gave me a chill.There, just a few years earlier, I had closely followed the trials of the Nazi leaders.The title page of the pamphlet contained a rough woodcut of the head and shoulders of a man, a man with a thick neck, dark eyes over bushy eyebrows, a long beard, and a hat with a feather.Despite primitive production techniques, the entire painting is still lifelike.

I knew I should get on with my work, but I couldn't help but read the beginning of one of the pamphlets, which listed the various crimes Dracula had committed against his subjects and others.I snapped the little book shut and went back to my little cell. The seventeenth century fascinated me, and I read until midnight. I have class the next morning.Staying up late at night makes people feel tired.After class, I drank two cups of coffee before going to the library to continue my research.That ancient book is still on my desk, only now it's turned to the page where the dragon hovers.

When I saw it, I was astonished as I said in the previous novel.I flipped through the book again, much more carefully this time.The dragon in the middle is undoubtedly a woodcut, perhaps in a medieval style, and the book is very well done.I suppose it's worth a lot of money, and perhaps of great personal value to a scholar, since it's clearly not a library book.I went to the front desk and handed the book to the librarian. At eight o'clock the next morning, I dragged myself to the library, and the book was still on my desk.I'm a little annoyed - the admin may have misunderstood me.I hastily put the book on the shelf and went about my business.Later in the afternoon, when I was packing my papers, I took the weird book down and put it with the article.I didn't want the book, but Professor Rossi loves occult histories.

I went to Professor Rossi and reported to him about my studies in the past few weeks. Rossi poured the best coffee into a porcelain cup and served it. I suddenly remembered the ancient book I brought with me. "I've brought you an antique, Rosie. Someone's mistakenly left a horrible book on my seat in the library for two days. I thought you'd like to look at it." "Take it here and have a look." He put down the exquisite coffee cup, and reached out to take the book I handed over.Something on the spine of the book made his usually clear face pucker up. "Open it up," I urged him.

His face suddenly became very solemn - a dead face, not at all familiar to me.Like me, he flipped through the entire book back and forth, but the seriousness on his face did not turn into surprise. "Yes, it's blank." He put the book on the table, "No words at all." "Strange, isn't it?" I asked, my coffee getting cold. "And it's old. It's not blank because the book isn't finished, but it's left this dreadful blank on purpose to accentuate the dragon in the middle." "Yes, yes. It's like the dragon in the middle devours everything around it." I spoke rashly, but finally slowed down.

Rosie couldn't seem to take his eyes off the dragon in front of him.Finally, he closed the book forcefully and stirred the coffee, but did not drink it. "Where did you get this book?" “Like I just told you, someone accidentally left it on my library seat two days ago. I know I should send it to the Rare Book Room right away, but I really feel like it’s a private collection, So it wasn't sent." "Oh, indeed." Rosie said, staring at me. "It is indeed someone's private property." "Do you know whose it is?" "I know, it's yours."

"No, I mean I just found this book, in my—" Seeing the look on his face, I stopped.With the light coming in through the gray windows, he looked ten years older. "What do you mean it's mine?" Rossi got up slowly, walked to the corner of the study behind his desk, climbed up the two-level library step stool, and took down a small black book.He stood there staring for a moment, seemingly reluctantly handing it into my hands.Then he handed it over and said, "How about you look at this?" A little book, bound in old brown velvet, like an old missal or Nikkei, with nothing written on the spine and front, I don't know what it is.There is a copper-colored button on it, which can be untied with a little effort.The book opens itself to the middle at once.Stretching there is mine—I said mine—the dragon.This time, its image covered the edge of the page, with protruding claws and grinning teeth, and the header was still in the same Gothic font, written on the same small banner.

"Of course," Rossi's words sounded in my ears, "I have time, and I have found documents to prove the provenance of this picture. It is designed in Central Europe and published around 1512—so you see it is completely It can be moved freely according to the content, if there is content." I carefully flipped through the delicate pages.There are no titles on the front pages—yes, I already knew that. "What a strange coincidence! The back of the book has sea-soaked marks, perhaps from a trip to the Black Sea. Even the Smithsonian couldn't tell me what happened on the trip. You see, I still It took the trouble to get someone to do a chemical analysis. It cost me a solid three hundred dollars to learn that this thing was in some rocky and dusty environment, probably seventeen hundred years ago. I even Traveled thousands of miles to Istanbul to find out where it came from. But the strangest thing is how I got the book."

He held out his hand, and I gladly returned him the old, fragile book. "Where did you buy it?" "I found it on my desk in grad school." I trembled. "At your desk?" "On a desk in a single room in my library, to be exact." "Where are you—where did it come from? Was it a gift for you?" "Maybe." Rosie smiled strangely.He looked like he was trying to control some emotion. "Another cup of coffee?" "Well. Now that I've found a companion for your book, and you know better where it should be, they can't be unrelated."

"There can be no relationship between them." Even with the aroma of freshly ground coffee wafting in the air, the voice sounded so hollow. "What about your research? Chemical analysis alone is not enough. You said you tried to learn more about—?" "I'm trying to learn more." He sat down, holding a coffee mug in his small but solid-looking hands. "I guess I owe you more than a story," he said quietly. "Have you ever heard of Vlad Terbis—the Impaler?" "Yes, Dracula. Ruler of a territory in the Carpathians, also called Bella Lugers." "Yes—one of them, arguably. They were an old family before the most annoying family member of them all came to power. Did you check his profile when you went to the library? Did you?" Bad omen. When I saw the strange book that afternoon, I looked up the word—the name, and Transylvania, Wallachia, and the Carpathians. Immediately Fascinated. Let's talk about the Carpathians. It has always been an area of ​​mystery to historians. Of course, the basic story about Dracula has been teased out so many times that there isn't much to unearth Yes. He was the king of Wallachia, ruler of the fifteenth century, hated by the Ottoman Empire and his own people. He should be regarded as the worst of all tyrants in the Middle Ages. Dracula means Des Son of Rakul - or Dragon, so to speak. Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund appointed his father head of the 'Dragon Command' - an organization that defended the Holy Roman Empire against the Ottoman Turks .In fact, there is evidence that Dracula's father handed young Dracula hostage to the Turks during a political negotiation, and that Dracula, who witnessed Ottoman's torture, became brutal as well, This is part of the reason. " Rossi shook her head. "Anyway, Vlad was killed in a battle with the Turks, perhaps by mistake by one of his own men, and buried on an island in Lake Snagov. His memory became a kind of Legendary, superstitious peasants passed it down from generation to generation. By the end of the nineteenth century, a hyperbolic writer—Abraham Stoker—was influenced by it to put the name Dracula on a man who was completely himself. An imaginary character, the head of a vampire. Vlad Tebes is horrifyingly cruel, but he is certainly not a vampire. Stoker's book does not mention Vlad at all, although his Dracula Talk about the glorious history of his family fighting against the Turks." Rossi sighed. "Stoker collects some of the vampire legends in the book - and also about Transylvania, although he never went there - in fact, Vlad Dracula is a vampire. And Wallachia borders Transylvania. In the twentieth century, Hollywood continued to revive and perpetuate the vampire myth. By the way, that’s about all I know.” I was dumbfounded, and he sighed, as if unwilling to continue. "You see, Vlad Dracula has been studied in great archives in central and eastern Europe, and maybe his homeland. But he started out by killing Turks. I find that no one has yet The history of the Ottoman Empire to investigate the legend of Dracula. So I decided to go to Istanbul as a sneak break from my early Greek economic research. Oh, I published all the results of Greek research, somewhat revenge sex." For a while he didn't speak, staring out the window. "I think I'll be honest with you about my discovery in Istanbul, so I won't think about it in the future. Speaking of which, you've got one of these beautiful books too." He placed his hand solemnly on the stacked on two books. "If I don't tell you, you may repeat the same mistakes I made, and perhaps encounter greater danger." He smiled grimly at the top of the desk and said, "I also saved you a lot of trouble writing funding applications." I can't laugh.What is his intention?It occurred to me that I had underestimated my mentor's unique sense of humor.Maybe it was an elaborate prank—he had two of these dangerous ancient books, and he kept one on my desk, knowing I'd bring it to him, and I, like a fool, really did. Done.But I saw his suddenly gray face under the light, his beard hadn't been shaved all day, his eyes were empty, completely without the luster and humor of the past. I leaned over to him and asked, "What do you want to tell me?" "Dracula—" He paused. "Dracula—Vlad Terbis—is alive." "Jesus," my father said with a sudden glance at his watch. "Why didn't you remind me? It's almost seven o'clock." I slipped my cool hands into the pockets of my navy blue coat. "I don't know," I said. "Go on, don't stop at this juncture." I felt that my father's face seemed unreal for a while.It never occurred to me that my father could be—I don't know how, insane?Was he out of control for a few minutes because of that story? "It's too late, the story is long." The father picked up the teacup and put it down again.I saw his hands were shaking. "Tell me more," I said. "If we don't go, they're coming to chase us away." Night had already fallen—a cold, foggy, wet Eastern European night.The streets are deserted and there are almost no pedestrians. "Put on a hat," my father reminded me, always wearing a hat himself. We were about to walk under the little rain-washed fig tree when he stopped suddenly and put his arms outstretched to shield me behind him, as if a car had just sped past us.But there were no cars, and under the yellow street lights, the streets were quiet, as if in the countryside.My father watched cautiously from side to side.I don't think there's anyone in front of me at all, but my long hat brim blocks the view a bit.He stopped, turned his head and listened carefully, without moving a muscle. Then he breathed heavily, and we walked on, discussing what we should have for dinner when we got to the Yunyou Hotel. During that trip, I never heard Dracula's story again.I quickly grasped the pattern my father feared: he told stories briefly and quickly a little at a time, not to achieve some dramatic effect, but to protect something—his power?His sanity?