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Choose ONE of the two topics. Essays should be roughly 4-5 pages.You DO need to have a clearly stated thesis that you demonstrate using a coherent argument supported by quoted evidence, as you would in any analytical paper.1. In both Dracula and Jekyll and Hyde, there is a preoccupation with architectural boundaries — windows, doors, enclosed boxes, drawers, and closets. This architectural focus is typical of gothic literature, in which fear stems primarily from the invasion of private spaces. But in Jekyll and Hyde it is the “good” character, Utterson, not the monstrous Hyde, who breaks through boundaries and invades privacy. Compare the two works and explain why the invasion of privacy is associated with evil in Dracula and good in Jekyll and Hyde. 2. Compare the dangers of sexual desire as they are portrayed in Jane Eyre and in Dracula. Please hight your thesis statement. and quotes


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by Bram Stoker
How these papers have been placed in sequence will be made manifest in the reading of them.
All needless matters have been eliminated, so that a history almost at variance with the
possibilities of latter-day belief may stand forth as simple fact. There is throughout no statement
of past things wherein memory may err, for all the records chosen are exactly contemporary,
given from the standpoints and within the range of knowledge of those who made them.
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
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 a 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 shirtsleeves, 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 tonight. At
three tomorrow 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,
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 anyone 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 hysterical way: “Must
you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?” She was in such an excited state that she seemed to
have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which
I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that
I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:
“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as
she said again:
“Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?”
On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:
“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight,
all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what
you are going to?” She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect.
Finally, she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two
before starting.
It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business to be done,
and I could allow nothing to interfere with it.
I tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was
imperative, and that I must go.
She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me.
I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such
things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady
meaning so well and in such a state of mind.
She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round my neck and said, “For
your mother’s sake,” and went out of the room.
I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late;
and the crucifix is still round my neck.
Whether it is the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself,
I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.
If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my goodbye. Here comes the coach!
5 May. The Castle.–The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant
horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big
things and little are mixed.
I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes.
There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well
before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.
I dined on what they called “robber steak”–bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red
pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple style of the London cat’s meat!
The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however,
not disagreeable.
I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.
When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking to the landlady.
They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they looked at me, and some of the
people who were sitting on the bench outside the door–came and listened, and then looked at
me, most of them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there
were many nationalities in the crowd, so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and
looked them out.
I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were “Ordog”–Satan, “Pokol”–hell,
“stregoica”–witch, “vrolok” and “vlkoslak”–both mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the
other Servian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count
about these superstitions.)
When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time swelled to a considerable
size, all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me.
With some difficulty, I got a fellow passenger to tell me what they meant. He would not answer
at first, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against the
evil eye.
This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man.
But everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but
be touched.
I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn yard and its crowd of picturesque
figures, all crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of
rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the centre of the yard.
Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the boxseat,–“gotza” they
call them–cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on
our journey.
I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the scene as we drove along,
although had I known the language, or rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were
speaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping
land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or
with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. 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 mountaintop 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.
Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon–the ordinary peasants’s cart–with its long, snakelike
vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a
group of homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their coloured
sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening
fell it began to get very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness
the gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the
spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and there against
the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods that
seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness which here and
there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the
thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into
strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly
through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite our driver’s haste, the horses
could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver
would not hear of it. “No, no,” he said. “You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce.” And
then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry–for he looked round to catch
the approving smile of the rest–“And you may have enough of such matters before you go to
sleep.” The only stop he would make was a moment’s pause to light his lamps.
When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the passengers, and they kept
speaking to him, one after the other, as though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses
unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on to further
exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us, as
though there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater. The crazy
coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to
hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the mountains seemed to
come nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us. We were entering on the Borgo Pass.
One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed upon me with an
earnestness which would take no denial. These were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but
each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that same strange
mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz–the sign of
the cross and the guard against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward,
and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the
darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either happening or expected, but
though I asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest explanation. This state of
excitement …
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