From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 19th of January 1880
11:01 p.m.
Upon returning home, Florence was both confused and amused that I was wearing clothes out of date and too small for me. “There is a story here, surely,” she said.
I told her of our vampire encounter, leaving out some of the more unsavoury elements of the story. She was very concerned for my safety and it made me feel closer to her again. We held each other and kissed tenderly. As we did, my thoughts drifted to Ellen and the kiss we shared. Was it just yesterday? I remembered how she felt in my arms and pulled Florence closer, kissed her more passionately. When I opened my eyes, I was almost surprised to see it was Florence in my embrace. She nuzzled my neck, whispered a reminder that she has not yet fully recovered from childbirth and regretfully pulled away. How can I think of another woman with my wife in my arms and our infant son in the next room?
Dr. Hesselius is staying with us. Fortunately, Florence’s mother has returned to Ireland, freeing up the spare room. Florence is happy to have the company and seems to be in better spirits now that her mother has departed.
I invited Oscar to dine with us, at Florence’s suggestion, to reinforce our newfound collaboration. Florence retired after supper and Oscar, Dr. Hesselius and I retreated to my study for brandy and cigars.
Oscar and Hesselius conversed in Latin and German for a bit and laughed at some bawdy joke Oscar told in French of which I understood only ‘priest’ and ‘prostitute’.
“I never bothered studying Dutch, I’m afraid,” Oscar said. “Although I once accidentally bought a horse in Amsterdam merely by clearing my throat. It seems a country that small shouldn’t have its own language, especially one that requires one to cough up a lung.” Fortunately, Dr. Hesselius did not take offence to this slight of his native tongue.
The good doctor told us of his travels and the many vampires he has hunted and killed. His hatred of the creatures was spurred by the death of his beloved niece at the hands of one.
“I was a country doctor at the time,” he said. “I could not believe in vampires, so I did not see. I did not see my niece’s life being drained away.” There was much sadness in his eyes and anger in his voice. “She returned to life right before my eyes, a snarling, horrible creature – you saw the same, Bram, with the tragic Miss Mayhew. I vas unable to kill my niece, not that I even knew at the time how to do so. She fled into the night and killed innocent children, all because I did not stop her. I never did track her down. She could be out there still.”
(With a sick feeling in my stomach, I thought of the three female vampires at Carfax. Had one of them had a Dutch accent? Surely not.)
He then related another remarkable story. He later gave it to me in writing, which I’ve transcribed here. I’ve cleaned up the English, but the story remains the same.
Dr. Hesselius’s Account of Meeting the Vampire King
I was in a remote village in the Carpathian Mountains leading a hunting party. All legends had a common thread running through them: there was a vampire who was the first, a former king who lived in that region.
We were on our way to an abandoned castle on foot, for the terrain was too rocky for horses. We felt brave, for we had a large party of men with guns, torches and wooden stakes.
It was early spring and the weather changed on us abruptly, bringing a terrible blizzard. I soon found myself alone; I must have blundered off track thinking the group was just ahead of me.
For hours I fought against the blinding snow, but it was too much and I collapsed. It was a relief to lie there, to give up the struggle and let the storm rage around me. Soon I wasn’t even cold anymore and waited peacefully for death to take me.
To my surprise, I awoke later in front of a roaring fire, wrapped in wolf fur.
I got to my feet and surveyed the room. I was in the banquet hall of a castle. A dining table in front of me was laid out with food and wine. A note written in German said, Please, help yourself to supper.
After I ate, a man appeared in the doorway. I stood to greet him.
He was tall and had a full head of white hair and a thick white moustache. He was dressed in silks adorned with jewels and looked as though he were a prince stepping out of a fairy tale book.
“Welcome. I am your host,” he said in perfect German. “Please, sit down and have a drink with me.”
He sat and poured me some wine, but none for himself, saying, “I never drink…wine.”
I thanked him for saving my life and introduced myself.
“I know who you are, Doctor. Surely you know who I am,” he said, his piercing eyes fixed on mine.
A chill ran down my spine. This, of course, was him, the vampire king I had been hunting. My hands began to tremble as I set down my wineglass.
“Why do you hunt me?” His voice was calm, but why shouldn’t it be? I was unarmed; he had no reason to fear me. He could afford to toy with me for as long as he liked, or at least until the dawn approached.
“Vampires are an abomination. One killed someone I loved.”
“One of my kind may have killed the one you loved; I did not. Some mortal men also commit murder. Do you then hold all men accountable for the actions of a few?”
“I see your point,” I said. “But vampires are monsters and killing them is doing them a favour. It releases the soul.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Maybe killing you would release your soul.”
“I am sure it would,” I said, trying not to show my intense fear.
He laughed at this, then said, “I don’t care if you kill the others – most vampires are blundering oafs and there are far too many these days anyway. But you won’t be killing me tonight.”
“That would be rude of me after you’ve shown such hospitality,” I said. I felt if I could keep him talking I could learn much about my foes, and even if the knowledge would shortly die with me I really had nothing to lose. So I asked, “How…how did you come to be a vampire?”
He laughed again. “In hundreds of years and thousands of conversations, no one has ever asked me that.”
“Let me be the first then,” I said.
“Very well.” He grew silent for a moment, reaching back for his thoughts. “I was once a powerful ruler, but not a good or just one. In fact, I was a vicious, godless monster whose only enjoyment was torture. To me, the suffering of others was like drinking wine. The smell of blood intoxicated me and I revelled in inventing new forms of depravity. Soon, however, I became numb to all but the most outrageous horrors. I felt empty, my life meaningless. The greater my wealth and power, the unhappier I became.
“Then one day, my forces were destroying a village. I entered a Christian church and found a priest on his knees praying at the altar. I strode up to him, sword drawn, intending not just to kill him but to ensure he beheld me first in all my terrible glory so that he would die in fear. He turned his head slightly to look at me and smiled. No one who saw me coming at them with sword drawn had ever smiled before. It enraged me, and without a moment’s hesitation or thought I lopped off his head with my sword. The head rolled to my feet but the body did not drop, it just remained there praying, blood gushing out of the severed neck.
“I looked into the face at my feet. A smile was still upon it and there was a peaceful light in his eyes. He was happy, even as he saw death coming for him. I decided I wanted to feel that. I converted to Christianity the next day and pledged my kingdom and army to the Holy Father. They were happy to have me, for though the Church preaches peace, it knows that strength and brutality have their uses.
“It was a dark time, then. The Turks were very powerful and angered by the Crusades. Their armies pushed into the eastern parts of the Empire and all seemed lost. Desperate for anything to help us win, the Vatican scoured their vast library for something that would help, even turning to the forbidden books. Books of spell
s and dark magic. One told of a way to bring forth dragons from another realm. Once they had that knowledge, how could they resist using it for their ‘righteous’ cause?
“The Order of the Golden Dawn was formed,” he continued. “My ruthless past made me, shall we say, ideally suited for their purpose. I would be their weapon, my talent for death channelled for what they deemed the greater good. They summoned a dragon from the pits of hell and gave me the power to wield it. Fearsome, it was, and magnificent. An enormous beast, its wingspan broader than the Danube, with talons the size of gravediggers’ spades and steel-grey scales armouring it from head to tail. Its golden eyes missed nothing and it could blow a plume of fire twenty yards long. It was enraged at being plucked from its world, but I controlled it and turned that fury to my ends. You should have seen the fear in my enemies’ eyes when I came down from the sky riding a beast from hell!
“With every victory, I became more powerful and a greater hero to the Empire. But as you know, pride goeth before a fall and I was perhaps not so changed as I liked to think. The ancient books had told that there was power in the dragon’s blood, and so I decided I would perform my own sacrament. I cut the beast – no easy task with a dragon, as you may imagine – and collected some of its blood. Then I knelt before God and my soldiers and I drank the dragon’s blood in place of sacramental wine. I still remember the taste – sour and metallic. That single act of arrogance forever cursed me to drink blood and live in darkness.
“The thing that contaminated the dragon’s blood took up residence inside me. It had an unquenchable thirst and compelled me to make other vampires, who went on to sire more vampires. It became apparent to me that vampires would soon outnumber the human population if left unchecked – and then what would we all eat? I learned to control my nature. To be selective about who I turned and who I did not. But just like any parent, I cannot control all my children. So, have at them as you will if they are so bold as to make themselves known.”
He stood and I feared the worst.
“I have prepared you a bed and, in the morning, you are free to leave. I will give you a map and compass and food for your journey.”
He was true to his word. The storm had passed and in the morning I left and by afternoon had located my hunting party. I convinced them we should turn back and search elsewhere.
I do not know why he let me go. Perhaps he wanted me to tell his story. Perhaps he really did want me to keep the vampire population under control. If that is the case, I have done my best to accommodate his wish. I have not encountered him since.
Letter from Bram Stoker to Dr. (William) Thornley Stoker, 25th of January 1880
Dear Thornley,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Florence and Noel are well, as am I. Florence continues to fight melancholy, which I have been assured by Mother is normal after a first birth.
Once again, thank you for your instruction regarding blood transfusions for Lucy Mayhew. Although her ailments were too great, the procedure did bring her comfort, and I think extended her life.
I find myself increasingly fascinated by your work in this new medical technique. A friend and I the other day were discussing its application in surgery.
I suppose it would behoove a patient to have a relative standing by for a transfusion should something go wrong during an operation. However, I was wondering if it would be possible to stockpile one’s own blood the day or even weeks before?
I thought not, as it would spoil quickly outside of the body. Is this, in fact, true?
Bram
Letter from Dr. (William) Thornley Stoker to Bram Stoker, 2nd of February 1880
Dear Bram,
It’s not like you to take an interest in medicine, especially blood, as I seem to remember you fainting at the sight of it as a child. Has this interest been set off by Florrie’s difficult childbirth? I am so glad to hear she is doing well.
To answer your question, yes, it is true blood does spoil quickly; one only has to visit the local butcher’s shop to see that. However, should the blood be put into airtight, sterilised glass jars and stored in an icebox, it can keep for several months without spoiling.
So, in theory, one could stockpile enough blood for several transfusions. The problem is the blood tends to clot in only a few minutes outside of the body. Efforts to strain the blood through cheesecloth and the like seem to be ineffective. Until this problem can be solved, only blood coming directly from a donor can be used in transfusions.
Please write again should you have further questions about blood or other bodily fluids.
All the best,
Thornley
From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 10th of March 1880
1:15 p.m.
It seems my life is marked by neglect. I neglect my duties as husband and father and am in turn neglected by Florence. I cannot blame her. I am preoccupied by work and the troubles of the world. Distracted by my cursed second sight and the terrible knowledge it brings. And, if I am honest, distracted by other things as well.
For weeks now, I have been preoccupied with the search for Oscar’s friend Derrick Pigeon and the gathering vampire threat that has taken him. Robert and Oscar have been scouring the countryside seeking word or evidence of vampiric activity. Striving to maintain an illusion of normalcy at work and at home, I help them strategise and, if a lead seems promising, go out with them to see what may be seen with my strange vision. We have had no success and I grow discouraged.
My only moments of dutifulness and concentration are when I gaze into Ellen’s eyes. There I find peace and a joy I have never known. But it is only for a moment. I must look away before I fall into them.
I find myself thinking of the kiss we shared in her sitting room and fantasise about doing it again. In the fantasies, the kisses grow more insistent, our hands grope at one another, clothing is torn away and skin meets skin. I dreamt of her one night, and in the dream I had the strength and vigour I felt while channelling the werewolf in Greystones. She matched my passion, but in the midst of our coupling, my dream self felt darker urges. Thankfully, I awoke before I could act upon them. But the next day at the theatre, I could barely face her.
I must not give in to temptation, not now when I know for certain my soul would be in jeopardy. I must focus on my duties, even those I did not ask for.
I wish I could be more like Ellen. She takes vampire slaying all in stride as if it is just another part she is to play. No sweat upon her brow, no tears in her eyes for the simple world now lost to us. She sees every moment of life as an adventure and this is just one more.
I, on the other hand, struggle with my new destiny. Oh, how I wish I were a petty sessions clerk again and Florence, Noel and I were living little lives in a little cottage by a little stream. But that is not to be.
I fear the creatures know I am hunting them and in turn are hunting me. Twice now I have sensed their presence, once as I walked home for the evening. I ducked into pubs and shops and eventually lost them.
Once I saw one watching my home from across the street! I fetched a wooden stake, but the creature fled as soon as I opened the door.
It simply is not safe for Florence and Noel to stay in London, and so I have made a decision for the safety of my family. Mrs. Burton has kindly offered to take Florence and Noel into her home in Hertfordshire until the vampire threat is over.
Florence and I fought about it this morning. She refused to leave her home to stay with Mrs. Burton. I had to be firm with her and it led to my shouting and using words I now regret.
I am sure now she regrets her marriage to me. I have infected her life, and the life of our child, with my curse.
This battle may cost me my marriage, but by God, it will not cost my wife and child their lives.
From the Journal of Florence Stoker, 17th of April 1880
I fear I have lost Bram’s love and kno
w not how to get it back. He loves another. When we were still in London, I would see his eyes brighten when she entered a room. Now that I have been exiled to the country, I have no doubt that she has many times entered rooms that are rightfully mine.
The worst part is I have no one to confide in now that Lucy is dead. Ellen would be the person whose shoulder I would cry on now. How she would love that! Playing the secret confidant, all the while having a secret of her own.
I have half a mind to put her in that position. Play stupid and blind and ask her advice. “Oh, whatever am I to do, Ellen? I fear Bram has been finding comfort with prostitutes and harlots. How can I win him back? You are an older woman of the world, surely you must know the art of love. You have played the part of the whore on stage, surely you can teach me how they tempt men away from their wives and children?”
To think, I fret about being a good wife and mother, all the while she steals husbands and abandons her own children. I will no longer fret. It is time to step aside or to fight. Now I have only to decide which it will be.
I am learning much from Mrs. Burton, who has had to endure such things herself in her long years of marriage.
She has given me a book, one she translated herself, the Kama Sutra. The drawings are very interesting, to say the least. I should be shocked, and am shocked that I am not.
I daresay I could give Ellen a run for her money with the instructions I have here.
From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 18th of April 1880
9:17 a.m.
Robert sent word from Salisbury that several girls have gone missing in the area. This is the only lead we have had in weeks and we shall follow it. I fear there is little hope left for rescuing Oscar’s friend, and believe we must act now or face far graver losses.
Stoker's Wilde Page 26
