"Brian Stoker - Dracula" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stoker Bram)

There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom--
apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could see
the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals.
In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here
the "Mittel Land" ran the road, losing itself as it swept
round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling
ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down
the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged,
but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste.
I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the driver
was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund.
I was told that this road is in summertime excellent,
but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter snows.
In this respect it is different from the general run of roads
in the Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they
are not to be kept in too good order. Of old the Hospadars
would not repair them, lest the Turk should think that they
were preparing to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten
the war which was always really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes
of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves.
Right and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling
full upon them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this
beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks,
green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless
perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were
themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly.
Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which,
as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the white gleam
of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as we swept
round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak
of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way,
to be right before us.

"Look! Isten szek!"--"God's seat!"--and he crossed himself reverently.

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower
behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us.
This was emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still
held the sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink.
Here and there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire,
but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were
many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves.
Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did
not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender
of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world.
There were many things new to me. For instance, hay-ricks in the trees,
and here and there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white
stems shining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves.