DRACULA BY BRAM STOKER [DOWNLOAD] PDF

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 I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had

all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my

window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been

the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still

thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous

knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then. I

had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour

which they said was “mamaliga,” and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a

very excellent dish, which they call “impletata.” (Mem., get recipe for this

also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or

rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station at 7:30 I had

to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to move. It

seems to me that the further east you go the more unpunctual are the

trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of

beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top

of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers

and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side of

them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, and running

strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At every station there

were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some

of them were just like the peasants at home or those I saw coming through

France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats and home-made

trousers; but others were very picturesque. The women looked pretty,

except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy about the

waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of

them had big belts with a lot of strips of something fluttering from them

like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there were petticoats under them.

The strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more barbarian

than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers,

white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide,

all studded over with brass nails. They wore high boots, with their trousers

tucked into them, and had long black hair and heavy black moustaches.

They are very picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage

they would be set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands.

They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural

self-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a

very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier—for the Borgo

Pass leads from it into Bukovina—it has had a very stormy existence, and

it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires took

place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occasions. At the very

beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks

and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by

famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which

I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course

I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was evidently

expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly

woman in the usual peasant dress—white undergarment with long double

apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for

modesty. When I came close she bowed and said, “The Herr Englishman?”

“Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.” She smiled, and gave some message to an

elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door. He

went, but immediately returned with a letter:—

“My Friend.—Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting

you. Sleep well to-night. At three to-morrow the diligence will start for

Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will

await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London

has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful

land.

“Your friend,

“DRACULA.”

4 May.—I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count,

directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making

inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he

could not understand my German. This could not be true, because up to

then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions

exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old lady who had received me,

looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the

money had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked

him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle,

both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew

nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of

starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very

mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in

a very hysterical way:

“Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?”.....