Dracula's Guest E-Book

Bram Stoker

• Herausgeber: Renard Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 38

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Dracula, Bram Stoker's 1897 Gothic vampire story, needs no introduction – a perennial on syllabuses and screens alike, generations have been enchanted and enthralled by the Count from Transylvania. But few of Dracula's fans have heard of Dracula's Guest, a short story following – it is thought – Jonathan Harker, as he makes his way to Transylvania, and falls prey to Walpurgis Nacht terrors when he stops off in Munich. Unpublished until after Stoker's death, when it was collected in a volume of short stories by his widow Florence, who revealed that Stoker had intended for it to be the opening section of his great work, Dracula's Guest is the missing chapter that will captivate all fans of Stoker's 'dangers from snow and wolves and night'.

Leseprobe

Dracula’s Guest

bram stoker

With a Preface byFlorence Stoker

renard press

Renard Press Ltd

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Dracula’s Guest first published in the collection Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories in 1914.

Dracula first published in1897.

This edition first published by Renard Press Ltd in 2020

Edited text © Renard Press Ltd, 2020

Extra Material © Renard Press Ltd, 2020

Cover design by Will Dady

Renard Press is proud to be a climate positive publisher, removing more carbon from the air than we emit and planting a small forest. For more information see renardpress.com/eco.

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preface

From the first edition of Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories

A few months before the lamented death of my husband – I might say even as the shadow of death was over him – he planned three series of short stories for publication, and the present volume is one of them.

To his original list of stories in this book I have added a hitherto unpublished episode from Dracula. It was originally excised owing to the length of the book, and may prove of interest to the many readers of what is considered my husband’s most remarkable work. The other stories have already been published in English and American periodicals.

Had my husband lived longer, he might have seen fit to revise this work, which is mainly from the earlier years of his strenuous life. But, as fate has entrusted to me the issuing of it, I consider it fitting and proper to let it go forth practically as it was left by him.

– florence stoker

26 St George’s SquareLondon, S.W.

dracula’s guest

Whenwe started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich, and the air was full of the joyousnessofearlysummer.Just as we were about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d’hôtel of the Quatre Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriage and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:

‘Remember, you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright, but there is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I am sure you will not be late.’ Here he smiled, and added, ‘For you know what night it is.’

Johann answered with an emphatic ‘Ja, mein herr,’ and, touching his hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town I said, after signalling to him to stop:

‘Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?’

He crossed himself as he answered, laconically, ‘Walpurgisnacht.’ Then he took out his watch – a great old-fashioned German silver thing, as big as a turnip – and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders.

I realised that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay, and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and sniffed the air suspiciously. On such occasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of high, wind-swept plateau. As we drove, I saw a road that looked but little used, and which seemed to dip through a little winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I called Johann to stop, and when he had pulled up, I told him I would like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses, and frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly, and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest. Finally I said:

‘Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall n