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Pub One Info - Bram Stoker

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90 pages

English

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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 To his original list of stories in this book, I have added an hitherto unpublished episode from Dracula.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

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Short story

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819920137
Langue	English

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Dedication
To
MY SON
PREFACE
A few months before the lamented death of my husband—I might sayeven as the shadow of death was over him—he planned three series ofshort stories for publication, and the present volume is one ofthem. To his original list of stories in this book, I have added anhitherto unpublished episode from Dracula . It wasoriginally excised owing to the length of the book, and may proveof interest to the many readers of what is considered my husband'smost remarkable work. The other stories have already been publishedin English and American periodicals. Had my husband lived longer,he might have seen fit to revise this work, which is mainly fromthe earlier years of his strenuous life. But, as fate has entrustedto me the issuing of it, I consider it fitting and proper to let itgo forth practically as it was left by him.
FLORENCE BRAM STOKER
Dracula's Guest
When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly onMunich, and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer.Just as we were about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d'hôtelof the Quatre Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded,to the carriage and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to thecoachman, still holding his hand on the handle of the carriagedoor:
'Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright butthere is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a suddenstorm. But I am sure you will not be late.' Here he smiled, andadded, 'for you know what night it is.'
Johann answered with an emphatic, 'Ja, mein Herr,' and, touchinghis 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 Germansilver thing as big as a turnip, and looked at it, with hiseyebrows gathered together and a little impatient shrug of hisshoulders. I realised that this was his way of respectfullyprotesting against the unnecessary delay, and sank back in thecarriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly,as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horsesseemed to throw up their heads and sniffed the air suspiciously. Onsuch occasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was prettybleak, for we were traversing a sort of high, wind–swept plateau.As we drove, I saw a road that looked but little used, and whichseemed to dip through a little, winding valley. It looked soinviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I called Johannto stop—and when he had pulled up, I told him I would like to drivedown that road. He made all sorts of excuses, and frequentlycrossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, soI asked him various questions. He answered fencingly, andrepeatedly looked at his watch in protest. Finally I said:
'Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask youto come unless you like; but tell me why you do not like to go,that is all I ask.' For answer he seemed to throw himself off thebox, so quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out hishands appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was justenough of English mixed with the German for me to understand thedrift of his talk. He seemed always just about to tell mesomething—the very idea of which evidently frightened him; but eachtime he pulled himself up, saying, as he crossed himself:'Walpurgis–Nacht!'
I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with aman when I did not know his language. The advantage certainlyrested with him, for although he began to speak in English, of avery crude and broken kind, he always got excited and broke intohis native tongue—and every time he did so, he looked at his watch.Then the horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this hegrew very pale, and, looking around in a frightened way, hesuddenly jumped forward, took them by the bridles and led them onsome twenty feet. I followed, and asked why he had done this. Foranswer he crossed himself, pointed to the spot we had left and drewhis carriage in the direction of the other road, indicating across, and said, first in German, then in English: 'Buried him—himwhat killed themselves.'
I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at cross–roads:'Ah! I see, a suicide. How interesting!' But for the life of me Icould not make out why the horses were frightened.
Whilst we were talking, we heard a sort of sound between a yelpand a bark. It was far away; but the horses got very restless, andit took Johann all his time to quiet them. He was pale, and said,'It sounds like a wolf—but yet there are no wolves here now.'
'No?' I said, questioning him; 'isn't it long since the wolveswere so near the city?'
'Long, long,' he answered, 'in the spring and summer; but withthe snow the wolves have been here not so long.'
Whilst he was petting the horses and trying to quiet them, darkclouds drifted rapidly across the sky. The sunshine passed away,and a breath of cold wind seemed to drift past us. It was only abreath, however, and more in the nature of a warning than a fact,for the sun came out brightly again. Johann looked under his liftedhand at the horizon and said:
'The storm of snow, he comes before long time.' Then he lookedat his watch again, and, straightway holding his reins firmly—forthe horses were still pawing the ground restlessly and shakingtheir heads—he climbed to his box as though the time had come forproceeding on our journey.
I felt a little obstinate and did not at once get into thecarriage.
'Tell me,' I said, 'about this place where the road leads,' andI pointed down.
Again he crossed himself and mumbled a prayer, before heanswered, 'It is unholy.'
'What is unholy?' I enquired.
'The village.'
'Then there is a village?'
'No, no. No one lives there hundreds of years.' My curiosity waspiqued, 'But you said there was a village.'
'There was.'
'Where is it now?'
Whereupon he burst out into a long story in German and English,so mixed up that I could not quite understand exactly what he said,but roughly I gathered that long ago, hundreds of years, men haddied there and been buried in their graves; and sounds were heardunder the clay, and when the graves were opened, men and women werefound rosy with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, inhaste to save their lives (aye, and their souls!—and here hecrossed himself) those who were left fled away to other places,where the living lived, and the dead were dead and not—notsomething. He was evidently afraid to speak the last words. As heproceeded with his narration, he grew more and more excited. Itseemed as if his imagination had got hold of him, and he ended in aperfect paroxysm of fear—white–faced, perspiring, trembling andlooking round him, as if expecting that some dreadful presencewould manifest itself there in the bright sunshine on the openplain. Finally, in an agony of desperation, he cried:
'Walpurgis nacht!' and pointed to the carriage for me to get in.All my English blood rose at this, and, standing back, I said:
'You are afraid, Johann—you are afraid. Go home; I shall returnalone; the walk will do me good.' The carriage door was open. Itook from the seat my oak walking–stick—which I always carry on myholiday excursions—and closed the door, pointing back to Munich,and said, 'Go home, Johann—Walpurgis–nacht doesn't concernEnglishmen.'
The horses were now more restive than ever, and Johann wastrying to hold them in, while excitedly imploring me not to doanything so foolish. I pitied the poor fellow, he was deeply inearnest; but all the same I could not help laughing. His Englishwas quite gone now. In his anxiety he had forgotten that his onlymeans of making me understand was to talk my language, so hejabbered away in his native German. It began to be a littletedious. After giving the direction, 'Home!' I turned to go downthe cross–road into the valley.
With a despairing gesture, Johann turned his horses towardsMunich. I leaned on my stick and looked after him. He went slowlyalong the road for a while: then there came over the crest of thehill a man tall and thin. I could see so much in the distance. Whenhe drew near the horses, they began to jump and kick about, then toscream with terror. Johann could not hold them in; they bolted downthe road, running away madly. I watched them out of sight, thenlooked for the stranger, but I found that he, too, was gone.
With a light heart I turned down the side road through thedeepening valley to which Johann had objected. There was not theslightest reason, that I could see, for his objection; and Idaresay I tramped for a couple of hours without thinking of time ordistance, and certainly without seeing a person or a house. So faras the place was concerned, it was desolation itself. But I did notnotice this particularly till, on turning a bend in the road, Icame upon a scattered fringe of wood; then I recognised that I hadbeen impressed unconsciously by the desolation of the regionthrough which I had passed.
I sat down to rest myself, and began to look around. It struckme that it was considerably colder than it had been at thecommencement of my walk—a sort of sighing sound seemed to be aroundme, with, now and then, high overhead, a sort of muffled roar.Looking upwards I noticed that great thick clouds were driftingrapidly across the sky from North to South at a great height. Therewere signs of coming storm in some lofty stratum of the air. I wasa little chilly, and, thinking that it was the sitting still afterthe exercise of walking, I resumed my journey.
The ground I passed over was now much more picturesque. Therewere no striking objects that the eye might single out; but in allthere was a charm of beauty. I took little heed of time and it wasonly when the deepening twilight forced itself upon me that I beganto think of how I should find my way home. The brightness of theday had g