Dracula’s Guest, Part One

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - Episode 363  - Dracula’s Guest, Part One

Finally - this podcast is beginning a series of episodes about Bram Stoker’s Dracula. First, I am going to delve into - at some detail - what is often felt to be the first chapter of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and was first published as "Dracula's Guest” in the short story collection Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Stories (1914). Again, It was believed to have been intended as the first chapter for novel Dracula, but was deleted prior to publication as the original publishers felt it was superfluous to the story.  I will start with some commentary about Dracula’s Guest, the first part of the story, and then finish the story - or chapter - or whatever it is - in the following episode.

In the preface to the original edition of Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Stories, Stoker's widow Florence wrote, "To his original list of stories in this book, I have added an hitherto unpublished episode from Dracula.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."

Thank you for experiencing Celebrate Poe.

Transcript

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - Episode 363  - Dracula’s Guest, Part One

Finally - this podcast is beginning a series of episodes about Bram Stoker’s Dracula. First, I am going to delve into - at some detail - what is often felt to be the first chapter of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and was first published as "Dracula's Guest” in the short story collection Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Stories (1914). Again, It was believed to have been intended as the first chapter for novel Dracula, but was deleted prior to publication as the original publishers felt it was superfluous to the story.  I will start with some commentary about Dracula’s Guest, the first part of the story, and then finish the story - or chapter - or whatever it is - in the following episode.

In the preface to the original edition of Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Stories, Stoker's widow Florence wrote, "To his original list of stories in this book, I have added an hitherto unpublished episode from Dracula.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."

Leslie S. Klinger, who had access to Stoker's original Dracula manuscript while researching his 2008 book The New Annotated Dracula, saw evidence of "Dracula's Guest" having been deleted from the manuscript, such as a deleted sentence of Harker commenting that his throat is "still sore from the licking of the gray wolf's file-like tongue.””ii"
Klinger ultimately concludes with the following:

However, Without the name "Dracula" appearing in the title and [Dracula's] message [sent to the narrator], there would be very little to connect this traveler's tale with [the novel Dracula]. The style is completely different; the narrator shares few characteristics with Jonathan Harker; and the action somehow fails to connect the story set forth in [Dracula]. However, there are numerous references in the [Dracula] Manuscript to some version of the tale eventually published as "Dracula's Guest.”

So this podcast episode will start out with some commentary regarding Dracula’s Guest, and then the entire chapter - wish I could read the entire novel in this podcast, but Dracula is just too long.


Now Bram Stoker's Dracula's Guest (published posthumously in 1914) serves as a tantalizing prelude to Dracula, though its relationship to the novel remains ambiguous. Originally conceived as part of Dracula's opening chapters before being excised, the story offers a standalone Gothic vignette rich in atmosphere but diverges tonally from the novel's subtler dread.

The tale follows an unnamed Englishman (likely Jonathan Harker) whose defiance of warnings leads him into a blizzard-ravaged graveyard, where he encounters a desecrated tomb, a lightning-struck vampire, and a wolf with ambiguous motives. Stoker employs visceral descriptions of the storm and the ruined sepulchre to create a sense of primal terror, while the cryptic telegram from Count Dracula underscores the protagonist’s role as a pawn in something unseen and supernatural.

Critics note the story’s rapid pacing and surreal horror—qualities that clash with Dracula’s slow-burn suspense. The lightning-strike climax and the wolf’s eerie rescue feel more abrupt compared to the novel’s layered tension. However, the vignette excels in restraint regarding Dracula himself: the Count’s presence is implied through indirect means (a distant figure, a telegram, a wolf’s intervention), preserving mystique.

While Dracula’s Guest lacks the novel’s narrative depth, it showcases Stoker’s mastery of Gothic tropes: the "unholy" abandoned village, the predatory yet protective wolf, and the violated tomb of Countess Dolingen evoke themes of liminality and forbidden desire later expanded in Dracula. Its excision likely strengthened the novel’s pacing, but as a standalone piece, it remains a compelling artifact of Stoker’s imaginative process.

It is believed tht "Dracula's Guest" was excised from the original Dracula manuscript primarily due to publisher concerns about the novel's length. Stoker's publisher sought a more concise narrative, and the chapter—while atmospheric—was deemed non-essential to the main plot.

There were several reasons for its removal -

Pacing: The standalone vignette’s rapid, surreal horror (featuring a lightning-struck vampire and a wolf attack) clashed with the novel’s slow-moving suspense

Plot redundancy: The episode does not advance Jonathan Harker’s journey to Transylvania or establish key characters like Dracula directly.

Stylistic differences: Written as a conventional first-person narrative rather than diary entries, it diverged from the novel’s epistolary structure.

Despite its removal, elements from the deleted chapter—such as the line “The dead travel fast”—were incorporated into the final novel. Scholars debate whether it was a discarded opening chapter or an early draft reworked as a standalone story, but most agree its excision sharpened Dracula’s focus.

"Dracula's Guest" enhances Dracula's horror themes by introducing key atmospheric and narrative elements that amplify the novel’s Gothic tension and supernatural ambiguity. While excised from the final manuscript, the story enriches the broader mythos through:

1. Dracula’s enigmatic presence
The Count’s indirect manifestation—through a cryptic telegram, a distant figure, and a wolf’s intervention—builds mystique. This restraint contrasts with later confrontations in the novel, creating a layered fear of the unseen.

2. Structural foreshadowing
The protagonist’s reckless curiosity and vulnerability to supernatural manipulation prefigure Jonathan Harker’s story. The story’s abrupt, unresolved horror (e.g., the neck wound inflicted by the wolf) hints at lingering corruption -  expanded in the novel through Lucy’s transformation.

3. Thematic groundwork
The Countess Dolingen’s unrestrained vampiric fury contrasts with Dracula’s calculated menace, showcasing Stoker’s range in depicting horror.
By preserving Dracula’s mystique and amplifying existential dread through environment and implication, the story serves as a thematic prelude to the novel’s more complex horrors.

The story’s relationship to Dracula remains hotly debated: it has been interpreted as a deleted chapter, revised draft, prequel, or standalone tale.. Manuscript evidence shows deleted Dracula passages referencing events like Harker’s wolf encounter and Walpurgis Night tomb visit, suggesting Stoker initially intended stronger ties.

Written as a conventional first-person narrative rather than Dracula’s epistolary format, its tone clashes with the novel’s layered suspense. Critics argue whether this reflects an early draft’s roughness or intentional atmospheric experimentation.

Dracula appears only through oblique symbols (telegram, wolf, distant figure), contrasting with his physical dominance in the novel. This abstract treatment fuels debates about Stoker’s evolving vision of the Count.

The wolf’s tongue-induced neck wound and Countess Dolingen’s unrestrained vampirism imply non-gendered predation, lacking Dracula’s explicit focus on female sexual corruption.

The story’s posthumous publication (1914) obscures Stoker’s intent. While likely cut for pacing, its survival as a polished tale suggests Stoker may have repurposed it independently.

These elements—straddling draft, spin-off, and thematic outlier—render the story a litmus test for interpreting Stoker’s Gothic vision.

Now The discovery of Bram Stoker’s working notes significantly reshaped the interpretation of “Dracula’s Guest” by clarifying its ambiguous relationship to Dracula and illuminating Stoker’s creative process:

The notes revealed that Stoker initially intended the protagonist (later Harker) to lack German fluency, contrasting with the unnamed narrator’s competence in “Dracula’s Guest.” This discrepancy suggested the story was reworked independently after Dracula’s setting shifted from Styria (German-speaking) to Transylvania.

While Dracula adopted an epistolary format, the notes showed Stoker experimented with conventional narration in early drafts. This explained the story’s first-person style as a vestige of abandoned structural choices.

The notes for the book mention a werewolf subplot and Harker’s neck wound linked “Dracula’s Guest” to discarded novel elements, emphasizing its role as a thematic prototype for the novel’s exploration of ambiguous supernatural threats.

The notes’ deleted chapter numbers and reordered pagination confirmed publisher-driven cuts for length, supporting the theory that “Dracula’s Guest” was excised for pacing rather than narrative incompatibility.

By anchoring the story to Stoker’s documented creative decisions, the notes transformed it from a curious outlier to a key artifact of Dracula’s evolution, bridging early Gothic tropes and the novel’s refined horror.

In any case - here is Dracula’s Guest:

When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich, and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. 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: “Walpurgis nacht.” 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 not ask you to 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 the box, so quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was just enough of English mixed with the German for me to understand the drift of his talk. He seemed always just about to tell me something—the very idea of which evidently frightened him; but each time he pulled himself up, saying, as he crossed himself: “Walpurgis-Nacht!”

I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with him, for although he began to speak in English, of a very crude and broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native tongue—and every time he did so, he looked at his watch. Then the horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale, and, looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward, took them by the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I followed, and asked why he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, pointed to the spot we had left and drew his carriage in the direction of the other road, indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in English: “Buried him—him what 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 I could not make out why the horses were frightened.

Whilst we were talking, we heard a sort of sound between a yelp and a bark. It was far away; but the horses got very restless, and it 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 wolves were so near the city?”

“Long, long,” he answered, “in the spring and summer; but with the snow the wolves have been here not so long.”

Whilst he was petting the horses and trying to quiet them, dark clouds drifted rapidly across the sky. The sunshine passed away, and a breath of cold wind seemed to drift past us. It was only a breath, however, and more in the nature of a warning than a fact, for the sun came out brightly again. Johann looked under his lifted hand at the horizon and said:

“The storm of snow, he comes before long time.” Then he looked at his watch again, and, straightway holding his reins firmly—for the horses were still pawing the ground restlessly and shaking their heads—he climbed to his box as though the time had come for proceeding on our journey.

I felt a little obstinate and did not at once get into the carriage.

“Tell me,” I said, “about this place where the road leads,” and I pointed down.

Again he crossed himself and mumbled a prayer, before he answered, “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 was piqued, “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 had died there and been buried in their graves; and sounds were heard under the clay, and when the graves were opened, men and women were found rosy with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, in haste to save their lives (aye, and their souls!—and here he crossed himself) those who were left fled away to other places, where the living lived, and the dead were dead and not—not something. He was evidently afraid to speak the last words. As he proceeded with his narration, he grew more and more excited. It seemed as if his imagination had got hold of him, and he ended in a perfect paroxysm of fear—white-faced, perspiring, trembling and looking round him, as if expecting that some dreadful presence would manifest itself there in the bright sunshine on the open plain. 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 return alone; the walk will do me good.” The carriage door was open. I took from the seat my oak walking-stick—which I always carry on my holiday excursions—and closed the door, pointing back to Munich, and said, “Go home, Johann—Walpurgis-nacht doesn’t concern Englishmen.”

The horses were now more restive than ever, and Johann was trying to hold them in, while excitedly imploring me not to do anything so foolish. I pitied the poor fellow, he was deeply in earnest; but all the same I could not help laughing. His English was quite gone now. In his anxiety he had forgotten that his only means of making me understand was to talk my language, so he jabbered away in his native German. It began to be a little tedious. After giving the direction, “Home!” I turned to go down the cross-road into the valley.

With a despairing gesture, Johann turned his horses towards Munich. I leaned on my stick and looked after him. He went slowly along the road for a while: then there came over the crest of the hill a man tall and thin. I could see so much in the distance. When he drew near the horses, they began to jump and kick about, then to scream with terror. Johann could not hold them in; they bolted down the road, running away madly. I watched them out of sight, then looked for the stranger, but I found that he, too, was gone.

With a light heart I turned down the side road through the deepening valley to which Johann had objected. There was not the slightest reason, that I could see, for his objection; and I daresay I tramped for a couple of hours without thinking of time or distance, and certainly without seeing a person or a house. So far as the place was concerned, it was desolation itself. But I did not notice this particularly till, on turning a bend in the road, I came upon a scattered fringe of wood; then I recognised that I had been impressed unconsciously by the desolation of the region through which I had passed.

I sat down to rest myself, and began to look around. It struck me that it was considerably colder than it had been at the commencement of my walk—a sort of sighing sound seemed to be around me, with, now and then, high overhead, a sort of muffled roar. Looking upwards I noticed that great thick clouds were drifting rapidly across the sky from North to South at a great height. There were signs of coming storm in some lofty stratum of the air. I was a little chilly, and, thinking that it was the sitting still after the exercise of walking, I resumed my journey.

The ground I passed over was now much more picturesque. There were no striking objects that the eye might single out; but in all there was a charm of beauty. I took little heed of time and it was only when the deepening twilight forced itself upon me that I began to think of how I should find my way home. The brightness of the day had gone. The air was cold, and the drifting of clouds high overhead was more marked. They were accompanied by a sort of far-away rushing sound, through which seemed to come at intervals that mysterious cry which the driver had said came from a wolf. For a while I hesitated. I had said I would see the deserted village, so on I went, and presently came on a wide stretch of open country, shut in by hills all around. Their sides were covered with trees which spread down to the plain, dotting, in clumps, the gentler slopes and hollows which showed here and there. I followed with my eye the winding of the road, and saw that it curved close to one of the densest of these clumps and was lost behind it.

Join Celebrate Poe for Episode 364 - Dracula’s Guest, Part Two for the conclusion of our tale.

Sources include: Dracula by Bram Stoker

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe.