aussie.zoneDracula, 3 May 2025 - Aussie ZoneBram Stoker’s Dracula is an epistolary novel, made up from diary entries,
newspaper clippings, and letters recorded, in the metanarrative, by the
characters within the story. Events take place over a few months, with each one
dated. So what better way to enjoy it than to read it day-by-day, in real time?
Inspired by Dracula Daily [https://draculadaily.substack.com/archive?sort=new],
I thought we at !vampire@lemmy.zip [/c/vampire@lemmy.zip] could do the same
together. *** # Dracula *** ## Chapter 1 ### JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL (Kept in
shorthand.) 3 May. Bistritz.—Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at
Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour
late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it
from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go
very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the
correct time as possible. The impression I had was that we were leaving the West
and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube,
which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish
rule. We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh.
Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or rather
supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but
thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was
called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to
get it anywhere along the Carpathians. I found my smattering of German very
useful here; indeed, I don’t know how I should be able to get on without it.
Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British
Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding
Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could
hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.
I find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the country, just on
the borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst
of the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of
Europe. I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of
the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with
our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by
Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my
notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina. In
the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in
the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the
Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going
among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may
be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they
found the Huns settled in it. I read that every known superstition in the world
is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of
some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting.
(Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.) 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.”
