Tiganiada - The Camp Of The Gypsies, a Romanian Epic Poem.

An English translation of one of Romania's epic poems. Published in 1800 the Tiganiada looks back on a Romanian hero and his struggle with the Ottoman Turks. At the time of publication Romania was being pulled this way and that by Russians, Austro-Hungarians and the Ottomans, after a series of revolutions Romania finally became a recognised country in 1859, although Transylvania still remained part of Hungary, and would do until 1918, Moldavia and Wallachia were united.

During the years of upheaval Romania looked for a national identity, homegrown heroes such as Mircea the Old, Stephen the Great and Michael the Brave were once again lauded, as was an almost forgotten Viovode, Vlad the Impaler. Tiganiada is set during that long hot summer of 1462 with the Ottoman army set to invade, and the only warrior to oppose them, Vlad Tepes and his army of Gypsies.

                          TIGANIADA - THE GYPSIAD
                         or The Camp Of The Gypsies.
                               by Ion Budai-Deleanu

The Argument

"For Vlad Voivode arms the gypsies,
The Fury goads Satan upon them,
Who wishes them evil.
In this way, taking bread for their journey,
From Hungry mirthfully leave
The Gypsy folk straight towards full hearted.

1

Muse! who once to Homer
Sang the Vatrachomyomachia [sic] (Battle Of The Frogs)
Be a bit kind, sing to me, too,
When Vlad Voivode gave theme liberty,
Arms and at length, a farmstead,
Of all the things the gypsy kind did do.

2

[Sing] how the gypsies wished to choose
A Voivode in their country and a helm;
How, forgetting the good life,
They bravely took up arms.
Not only this, but at last dared even to do battle
With the pagan (Ottoman) coltish rabble.


Vlad Viovode

3

How then, by means of a bitter squabble
(Fore they wouldn’t have picked up the bad habit all at once),
They all took flight, each whereto,
Leaving behind country, Voivode, and crown.
But all these things were done
By means of that devilish stupor.

4

For, tho’ he without likeness,
The worst spirit of all, Satan,
Has his dwelling everlastingly in hell
As sustenance for the unextinguished fire,
Yet, furtively, at times, still
Overturning the world, he delects himself.

5

And this particular time, he was goaded
By the cursed Fury (as I say),
Who seeing our gypsy kind
Armed with scythes and bars,
Decided to ruin them by all and any means,
Bringing enmity and strife amongst them.

6

Oh! You, much patient paper, (as paper is always patient)
That on your back, with much good will,
All the wisdom found under the sun
And all the madness carry jointly,
Carry these mine verses, too,
As I give them to you, good and bad.



7

Then let those who know say what they will,
I, along with proud Solomon will say:
Everything is vanity and madness!
For only he of that kind is happy
Who begins to know himself
And the nature of things he perceives.

8

From the northmost bound further out,
High up, in the darkening vault,
There is a place (as it is written)
That the philosophers call chaos,
Where the perpetual battle
Makes elements out of the wild waste.

9

A wicked faerie rules that land,
Who will stand no good thing,
But everything ruins and divides,
Everything shatters, pulverizes that
Which she comes upon, and Fury she is called,
Wicked offspring of father and mother.


A Wicked Fury

10

From thence, looking askance at all,
The Fury sees the villainous
Mob of gypsies armed
With hatchets, hammers, and bars.
Perceiving then what was to happen,
Well-nigh she faints with anger!

The Fury descends to Hell and speaks to Satan, her Father. She tells him that the Gypsies have abandoned their wandering ways and have settled in Wallachia to help Vlad Dracula, to whom they have pledged their allegiance.

Thanking his daughter Satan then ascends from Hell and assumes the guise of a raven. He then pledges his support to the invading Ottomans (pagans).

29

There, from all of the country,
Had gathered the gypsies, big and small,
Abandoning their wandering life
And committing to new circumstances:
No longer to walk from country to country,
Nor to be subject to others’ abasement.

30

For, with this covenant, Vlad Voivode
Had given them land for domains,
So that from this day forward they, too, may be
Like other men and live in order;
And they long counseled among themselves
How these things best should be settled.




31

This time, as well, it was a day of counsel,
The sum of their most learned boyars (irony)
Had gathered all together,
Speaking much words and noisily.
At last, Drăghici made plain the cause
And addressed the gathering in this manner:

32

“Good men! Having lived in this here world,
Much has befallen me, both bad and good,
Much I have seen and done, on purpose and as jokes,
But (I tell you truly) of all those there things,
A thing like this, done either on purpose or for fun,
I have never seen in my whole life.

33

To have a little country! Us, the gypsies . . .
Where we would’a be only us with us!
To have villages, houses, gardens, and fields
And then to have plenty of everything, like others have?
Truly! Beholding things as rare as this,
It’s though I dreamt while wakin’ . . .

34

Well, and what more do we really need
To have us a happy life?
Truly, nothing! Only how much it eats at me
Oh, the thought! Meaning the notion
Of that little moment, the last in my life,
For it would’a woe to die now!

35

I fear only that I’ll never come
To see the gypsies put to order.
Oh! The sweet and dear spring
Of my days, how has it set!
Now would’a be the time to live in that world
As you best please, as your nature invites you!

36

You, youths, take heed
What Old Man Drăghici tells you now:
Make yourself good settlements
And dwell together here;
Be always of one mind and will,
More heartily in time of need.

37

For, if you do not join up hands,
Loving to cleave and come together,
A foreign tongue will soon oppress you,
And you will’a be lost without deliverance.
Nore will you make a folk for yourselves in that world,
But you will be without a country and name.

38

Not only this, but you’ll a be as you was,
As are the cursed Jews, behold! . . .
Who have no country, but live on th’road…
Be the country as poor as it may,
It is sweet when someone can say:
This is my county, I’m from ‘ere! . . .”

I owe a huge debt of thanks to Asymptote and their translation by Carla Baricz.

An Interview With Hamilton Deane - The Definition of Terror in the Theatre.

This interview is taken from The Era theatrical newspaper of the 19th February 1930, at this time Deane's stage play version of Frankenstein was playing at the Little Theatre Club in Garrick Yard, London.

Hamilton Deane as Frankenstein's Monster.

I cannot understand the attitude of those who regard as lamentable the public's fondness for horrors in the theatre. Would these super sensitive folk like to scatter the crowds of wide-eyed children who collect in front of Punch and Judy booths?

For, remember, these youthful playgoers are probably enjoying the thrill of seeing Punch beat Judy, throw the baby out of the window, and suffer an ignominious and protracted hanging in retribution.

And do our squeamish friends want to go round at Christmas time breaking up the happily trembling groups who gather at the fireside for the purpose of frightening eachother with ghost stories?

Specialists In The Macabre.

To me, a taste for having one's hair raised and one's blood curdled seems perfectly natural and innocent. Last year I had long talks with two specialists in the macabre, Mr Russell Thorndike (author of the Dr Syn novels) and Mr Todd Slaughter, and I can assure you that there was nothing sinister or unhealthy about them.

Hamilton Deane

Then the other day I met Mr Hamilton Deane, whose speciality for the last three years has been the presentation of a play depicting the peculiar habits of Count Dracula, and who now is spreading consternation every night among audiences at the Little Theatre with his haunting portrayal of the monster in Frankenstein.

He told me that his favourite forms of recreation were camping out in the open air and going to see musical comedies. He laughed at the idea that purveyors  of horror must necessarily be the processors of morbid minds.

"Why, look at Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula!" he said to me, "He was an Irishman like myself, and as big and breezy and bluff a man as you'd meet anywhere."

The Desire to be Horrified.

Mr Hamilton Deane also dismissed the notion that thrillers in the theatre are harmful and degrading. 

"Deep down in everybody's consciousness," he said "is a strange desire to be horrified. This is perhaps stronger today than it has ever been before, for the majority of us lead sheltered, unexciting lives in which nothing occurs to awaken the primordial emotion of terror.

And if one supplies this stimulent in an artificial form, I fail to see that the result is to be deplored. The after effects of a good genuine horrific play cannot possibly be as pernicious as those of a highly salacious French farce."

Deane as Sherlock Holmes

The Art of Staging Thrillers.

"Where did you study the technique of the thriller?" I asked Mr Deane.

"What first got me interested in the manufacture of stage shockers was the Grand Guignol in New York. When I was over there I was a constant visitor at the theatre where it was given. There they put over some of the most amazing thrills I have ever seen. By studying their methods, and particularly those of Mr Holbrook Blinn - well known over here for his work with Martin Harvey - I learned a fair amount about the craft of staging thrillers.

The subtler points of a thriller may not always be appreciated by professional critics; but believe me, the general public responds to them extraordinarily quickly. As an experienced purveyor of 'shockers,' I think I can say emphatically that it is the public which can be best left to produce plays of this type

In touring the provinces and presenting pieces in different towns I have discovered that audiences everywhere react to the same emotions, and that the same patches fail to appeal to their imagination. These, I realise, have no practical value, and they are weeded out."

The Process of Suggestion.

"Members of the audience infect each other with fear and so help to build up the necessary atmosphere for a thriller, don't they?" I asked.

"Exactly. And the best way to get this leaven of terror working in an audience is through a process of suggestion. In Dracula we did nothing actually scarifying on the stage; we merely suggested something horrible, and that suggestion, once it had soaked into the minds of the audience, caused a bigger reaction than the placing of a mechanical thrill before them could have done.

At the beginning of Frankenstein the preparation of the audience for the shock we wish to give them has to be effected gradually. If the inert figure of the monster came to life a few moments after the rise of the curtain, the proper 'punch' would be lacking.

But by using a few of the legitimate tricks of the theatre, of which the chief one is suspense, we manage, I think, to build up that atmosphere in which it is possible to create the maximum sensation."

Deane as Dracula

Cumulative Effects.

I confessed to Mr Hamilton Deane that after two vague forebodings and suspicions of the earlier part of Frankenstein had taken tangible shape in the monster, I expected to lose most of my interest in the play. 

That I had not done so was due, I told him, to his own wonderful acting as the creature which gradually, before our eyes, takes on the more rudimentary human attributes.

He smiled the compliment away and said; "Naturally, you have to sustain your effect once you have reached it. If you lose it for a moment, you would have to begin all over again and prepare for a number of lesser shocks, each one of which would be less startling than the last.

The whole of Frankenstein works up cumulatively to the end of the last act where Henry is killed. That is the climax of the play, and when it comes it is not unexpected. It is very wrong to attempt to fool your audience. If you lead them to expect a certain climax, you must give it to them."

The Thriller of the Future.

"Is it possible to fashion a thrill play out of suggestion alone?" I asked.

"The thriller of the future will be entirely on the mental plain I think." said Mr Deane. "The public taste is for subtler methods.

In the best Grand Guignol, the horror always comes from the minds of the audience, and very seldom from actual happenings on the stage. Scenes of torture, imitation blood, and other clap trap of the Parisian Grand Guignol don't thrill the average intelligent playgoer; they are more inclined to make him laugh.

But get at his imagination, set it working along certain lines, and you stand a better chance of awakening terror within him."

The literature of Fear.

"Have you made a study of the literature of fear?"

"I have always been interested in it. I carried Dracula round with me for twenty years before I made a play of it. And ever since my dramatisation was produced, books of the same type have come pouring in on me from everywhere. Thus I think I must have read every scrap of morbid literature that had ever been written."

During the greater part of this conversation with him - which occured in his dressing room - Mr Deane was making up, with his back to me. When at last he turned round, I nearly jumped out of my seat. Visitors to the Little Theatre will know why.

W.E Holloway - An Australian Count Dracula.

Background.

William Edwyn Crowther Holloway was born in Adelaide, South Australia on the 18th September 1885. 

W.E Holloway.

His parents were famous thespians W. J Holloway and Emily Jennings (stage name Kate Arden).

His father had emigrated from England to Australia with his family in 1856, he became a boilermaker by trade, but in 1862 he began to pursue an acting career. He married Maria McKewen in 1863, they would have three children, but she would sadly die in 1876. 

He married Emily Jennings in 1877, Emily was the widow of a Dr Jennings, she had a daughter from this marriage who would also become a famous actor, Essie Jenyns. Her first professional appearance would be at the Academy Of Music in Launceston, Tasmania, in 1886.

They would also have a son, William Edwyn.

Returning to England with his family in the autumn of 1888, his father joined the ranks of Henry Irving and Ellen Terry at the Lyceum Theatre, his father was so well thought of and talented that he was chosen to be one of Irving's understudies. Through this posting he would also become an acquaintance of Bram Stoker, the famous author mentions him in his book Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving (1906).

By 1910 W.E Holloway was an actor manager with the actor Matheson Lang, with their troupe they toured the provinces extensively, and took Shakespeare to South Africa, India, Burmah and the Philippines.

On the 7th April 1913 his father, W. J, died.

Dracula.

Hamilton Deane

In 1923 actor and playwright Hamilton Deane was granted permission from Bram Stoker's widow Florence, to rewrite the famous novel into a stage production. The play opened on the 15th May 1924 at the Grand Theatre in Derby, and so successful was this play that it toured around the world. It toured the USA in October 1927 with a rewrite by John L. Balderston, and with Bela Lugosi as the Count, that version would be filmed by Universal Studios and released in 1931.

Bela Lugosi as Dracula, 1927.

Talking about the international performances of Dracula, Holloway told a reporter of the Leicester Chronicle; 

"I was taken round the Chinese theatres in Shanghai, and a delightful moment occurred when a very courteous gentleman spoke to my Chinese guide. 'Do you know who that was?' my guide asked me afterwards, to which I replied 'no,' 'That is the chief of the Pickpockets Guild,' I was told."

Holloway began performing the part of Count Dracula in 1927 opposite Hamilton Deane as Professor Van Helsing. Holloway would also direct the play on this 1927 - 1928 season.

As a marketing ploy, a ploy which would extend for decades, a nurse was alleged to be in attendance at performances to tend the patrons of a nervous disposition, as the Oxford Journal humorously put it;

"The power of suggestion knows no limitation. Stories were told of theatre goers who fainted during performances of 'Dracula' in London, and of hospital nurses in attendance. Such stories were repeated at the New Theatre on Monday night, but having sat through the show the audience came to the conclusion that the terrors of the play had been overestimated."

The supernatural strain, while giving it interest, does prevent it from being too nerve wracking, since vampires do not exist, but the fight against such evil powers is full of interest."

As the months and years passed by the cast changed bit by bit, Van Helsing was now played by Serge de Kazarine to great reviews, the Perthshire Advertiser Sept 1929;

Serge de Kazarine.

".....a drama of this kind with a plot and incidents, which are already familiar to the majority of playgoers, depends wholly for its success on the 'persuasiveness' of it's actors....

The heaviest work of all falls to M. Serge de Kazarine as the Dutch scientist, Professor Van Helsing. He throws himself wholly into the part, and the combined force and lucidity with which he expounds his theories temporarily convinces even the most sceptical that they are more than merely plausible.

M. de Kazarine's command of English is perfect, and his accent adds greatly to the artistic distinction of his personation.

Mr W.E Holloway is an admirably sinister and repellent Count Dracula; and Mr A. Edward Spronston shows decided power as the lunatic Renfield. Miss Nan Braunton skillfully differentiates the various stages in the illness of the vampire's victim, Mrs Harker, and impresses by her strong acting in the principle and most thrilling of scenes.

A. Edward Spronston as Renfield.

The Hull Daily Mail;

"Throughout the performance the audience were kept up to a high pitch, and so tense was the atmosphere set up that one felt that it was a pity that there had to be any change in the scenery.

As it always the case with such plays there are scenes which are left entirely to the imagination of the audience, and these are presented in such a vivid fashion as to lend an eerie, and very near terrifying atmosphere to the whole thing.

W.E Holloway, as the vampire Dracula played a remarkably real part. Mr A. Edward Spronston, the lunatic Renfield in the power of the Count, displayed wonderful aptitude and we saw only too little of him.

W.E Holloway as Count Dracula.

The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal;

"Dracula, with all its horror and superstition, is a very good play, which stands high and alone on the pedestal of sensationalism. Mr Deane himself was as satisfactory as ever in the role of Van Helsing, whilst Dora Mary Patrick retained her part of the pale and listless victim of the vampire. 

The Count Dracula of W.E Holloway secured the acme of effect, and A. Edward Spronston gave a powerful study of the supposed madman, Renfield."

A Press Photo of Holloway as Dracula.

There were many actors that played Count Dracula in the Hamilton Deane Company over the years, Holloway was but one. While Bela Lugosi was treading the boards in the American version of the play, Holloway was doing the same in Britain, by the time the Universal Dracula was released in 1931 Holloway had already hung up his cloak. He would go on to appear in 29 movies and TV movies in his long career, sadly for posterity, none of them was Dracula.

W.E Holloway died at the age of 66 on 30th June 1952.

The Vampire by Sydney Horler - from "John Bull" 20th April 1929.

 

Sydney Horler was born in Leytonstone, London, on the 18th July 1888. He was a prolific author of crime and mystery, he amassed a back catalogue of some 158 novels. This story, which is not to be confused with his 1935 novel The Vampire, was published in the magazine John Bull on the 20th April 1929.

At this point stories about Vampires were quite popular, actor and playwright Hamilton Deane had adapted Dracula for the stage in 1924 and was still touring the play in 1929 to rave reviews. Deane's stage version of Dracula would eventually tour America, rewritten by John L. Balderston and with Bela Lugosi as the Count, this is the version that would be made into the hollywood movie of 1931.

In John Bull it is stated;

"We contacted with Sydney Horler to write us a 'Truth is Stranger than Fiction' story. He believes that every word of Father Harrigan's eerie thriller is absolutely true. We make no comment. We leave it to our readers to decide whether they, too, believe in vampires."

"The Vampire by Sydney Horler;

Until his death, quite recently, I used to visit at least once a week a Roman Catholic priest. The fact that I am a Protestant did nothing to shake our friendship.

Father Harrigan was one of the finest characters I have ever known; he was capable of the finest sympathies, and was, in the best sense of that frequently abused term, 'a man of the world.'

The story I am about to relate occured about eighteen months ago - ten months before his fatal illness. I was then writing my novel, 'The Curse of Doone.' In this story I made the villain take advantage of a ghastly legend attached to an old manor house in Devonshire, and use it for his own ends.

Father Harrigan listened while I outlined the plot I had in mind, and then said, to my great surprise: 'Certain people may scoff because they will not allow themselves to believe that there is any credence in the vampire tradition.'

'Yes, that is so,' I parried; 'but all the same, Bram Stoker caught the public imagination with his Dracula - one of the most horrible and yet fascinating books ever written - and I am hoping that my public will extend to me the customary 'author's license.'

My friend nodded.

'Quite,' he replied; 'as a matter of fact,' he went on to say, 'I myself believe in vampires.'

'You do?' I felt the hair on the back of my neck commence to irritate. It is one thing to write about a horror, but quite another to begin to see it assume definite shape.

'Yes,' he went on. 'I am forced to believe in vampires for the very good but terrible reason that I have met one!'

I half rose from my chair. There could be no questioning Harrigan's word, and yet - 

'That, no doubt, my dear fellow, may appear as an extraordinary statement to have made, and yet I assure you it is the truth. It happened many years ago and in another part of the country - exactly where I do not think I had better tell you.'

'But this is amazing - you say you actually met a vampire face to face?'

'And I talked to him. Until now I have never mentioned the matter to a living soul apart from a brother priest and the medical man who shared my horrible secret at the time.'

It was clearly an invitation to listen; I crammed tobacco into my pipe and leaned back in the chair on the opposite side of the crackling fire.

I heard that truth was said to be stranger than fiction - but here I was about to have, it seemed, the strange experience of listening to my own most sensational imagining being hopelessly outdone by FACT!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The small town which I will call Lulsgate is in the West of England (said Father Harrigan), and was inhabited by a good many people of superior means.There was a large city seventy five miles away and business men, when they retired, often came to Lulsgate to wind up their lives. I was young and very happy there in my work until - . But I am a little previous.

I was on very friendly terms with a local doctor; he often used to come in and have a chat when he could spare the time. We used to try to thresh out many problems which later experience has convinced me are insoluble - in this world at least.

One night, he looked at me rather curiously, I thought. 'What do you think of that man Farington?' he asked.

Now, it was a curious fact that he should have made that enquiry at that exact moment, for by some subconscious means I happened to be thinking of this very person myself.

The man who called himself Joseph Farington was a stranger who had recently come to settle in Lulsgate.

That circumstance alone would have caused some comment, but when I say that he had bought the largest house on the hill overlooking the town on the south side (representing the best residential quarter) and had had it furnished apparently regardless of cost by one of the famous London houses, interest in the man went much deeper.

Yet, although he sought to entertain a great deal, no one seemed anxious to go twice to 'The Gables.' There was 'something funny' about Farington, it was whispered.

I knew this, of course - the smallest fragment of gossip comes to a priest's ears - and so I hesitated before replying to the doctors direct question.

'Confess now, Father,' said my companion, 'you are like all the rest of us - you don't like the man! He has made me his medical attendant , but I wish to goodness he had chosen someone else. There's 'something funny' about him.'

'Something funny' - there it was again. As the doctor's words sounded in my ears I remembered Farington as I had last seen him walking up the main street with every other eye half turned in his direction. He was a big framed man, the essence of masculinity.

He looked so robust that the amazing thought came instinctively; This man will never die! He had a florid complexion; he walked with the elasticity of youth and his hair was jet black. Yet from remarks he had made, the impression in Lulsgate was that Farington must be at least sixty years of age.

'Well, there's one thing, Sanders,' I replied; 'if appearances are anything to go by, Farington will not be giving you much trouble. The fellow looks as strong as an ox.'

'You haven't answered my question,' persisted the doctor; 'forget your cloth, Father, and tell me exactly what you think of Joseph Farington. Don't you agree that he is a man to give you the shudders?'

'You - a doctor - talking about getting the shudders!' I gently scoffed because I did not want to give my real opinion of Joseph Farington.

'I can't help it - I have an instinctive horror of the fellow. This afternoon I was called up to The Gables. Farington, like so many of his ox like kind, is really a bit of a hypochondriac. He thought there was something wrong with his heart,'

'And was there?'

'The man ought to live to a hundred! But, I tell you, Father, I hated having to be so near to the fellow; there's something uncanny about him. I felt frightened - yes, frightened - all the time I was in the house. I had to talk to someone about it, and as you are the safest person in Lulsgate I dropped in......You haven't said anything yourself, I notice.'

'I prefer to wait,' I replied. It seemed the safest answer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two months after that conversation with Sanders, not only Lulsgate, but the whole of the country, was startled and horrified by a terrible crime.

A girl of eighteen, the belle of the district, was found dead in a field. Her face, in life so beautiful, was revolting in death because of the expression of dreadful horror it held. The poor girl had been murdered - but in a manner which sent shudders of fear racing up and down people's spines......There was a great hole in the throat, as though a beast of the jungle had attacked her.....

It is not difficult to say how suspicion for this fiendish crime first started to fasten itself on Joseph Farington, preposterous as the statement may seem. Although he had gone out of his way to become sociable, the man had made no real friends.

Sanders, although a clever doctor, was not the most tactful of men, and there is no doubt that his refusal to visit Farington professionally - he had hinted as much on the night of his visit to me, you will remember - got noised about.

In any case, public opinion was strongly roused; without a shred of direct evidence to go upon, people began to talk of Farington as being the actual murderer. There was some talk among the wild young spirits of setting fire to The Gables one night, and burning Farington in his bed.

It was while this feeling was at its height that, very unwillingly, as you may imagine. I was brought into the affair. I received a note from Farington asking me to dine with him one night.

'I have something on my mind which I wish to talk over with you, so please do not fail me.'

These were the concluding words of the letter. Such an appeal could not be ignored by a man of religion, and so I replied, accepting.

Farington was a good host; the food was excellent; on the surface there was nothing wrong. But - and here is the curious part - from the moment I faced the man I knew there was something wrong.

I had the same feeling as Sanders, the doctor; I felt afraid. The man had an aura of evil; he was possessed of some devilish force or quality which chilled me to the marrow.

I did my best to hide my discomfiture, but when, after dinner, Farington began to speak about the murder of that poor, innocent girl this feeling increased. And at once the terrible truth leaped into my mind; I knew it was Farington who had done this crime; the man was a monster!

'You wished to see me tonight for the purpose of easing your soul of a terrible burden,' I said; 'you cannot deny that it was you who killed that unfortunate girl.'

'Yes,' he replied slowly, 'that is the truth. I killed the girl. The demon which possesses me forced me to do it. But you, as a priest, must hold this confession sacred - you must preserve it as a secret. Give me a few hours; then I will decide myself what to do.'

I left shortly afterwards. The man would not admit anything more.

'Give me a few hours,' he repeated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That night I had a horrible dream. I felt I was suffocating. Scarcely able to breathe, I rushed to the window, pulled it open - and then fell senseless to the floor. The next thing I remember was Dr Sanders - who had been summoned by my faithful housekeeper - bending over me.

'What happened?' he asked, 'you had a look on your face as though you had been staring into hell.'

'So I had,' I replied.

'Had it anything to do with Farington?' he asked bluntly.

'Sanders,' and I clutched him by the arm in the intensity of my feeling, 'does such a monstrosity as a vampire exist nowadays? Tell me, I implore you!'

He forced me to take another nip of brandy before he would reply. Then he put a question himself.

'Why do you think that?' he said.

'It sounds incredible - and I hope I really dreamed it - but I fainted tonight because I saw - or imagined I saw - the man Farington flying past the window that I had just opened.'

'I am not surprised,' he nodded; 'ever since I examined the mutilated body of that poor girl I came to the conclusion that she had come to her death through some terrible abnormality.

Although we hear practically nothing about vampirism nowadays,' he continued, 'that is not to say that ghoulish spirits do not still take up their abode in a living man or woman, thus conferring upon them supernatural powers. What form was the shape you thought you saw?'

'It was like a huge bat,' I replied shuddering.

'Tomorrow,' said Sanders determinedly, 'I'm going to London to see Scotland Yard. They may laugh at me at first, but ---.'

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Scotland Yard did not laugh. But criminals with supernatural powers were rather out of their loine, and, besides, as they told Sanders, they had to have proof before they could convict Farington.

Even my testimony - had I dared to break my priestly pledge, which, of course, I couldn't in any circumstances do - would not have been sufficient.

Farington solved the terrible problem by committing suicide. He was found in bed with a bullet wound in his head. But, according to Sanders, only the body is dead - the vile spirit is roaming free, looking for another human habitation.

God help its luckless victim!"

Sydney Horler

The Vampire was included in this 2010 anthology.

Vlad The Impaler and the Saxon Wars 1458 - 1460.

Brasov, the Black Church.

Prelude.

Tensions had been building ever since Vlad Dracula had ascended the Wallachian throne in 1456, this was mainly over economic issues centered around customs revenue, and there were plenty other claimants to the throne who would be more receptive to Transylvanian demands.

In response Dracula's first attack came in the form of tariffs, taking all merchant protection away from the Transylvanian Saxons, for example, the Saxons now received extra attention at the border crossings and when entering Wallachian cities, where they had to empty their carts to customs officers. They had to sell at almost wholesale prices to Wallachian buyers making any profit almost nonexistent, and he gave favourable tariffs to Wallachian and Italian merchants making Transylvanian good prohibitively expensive. 

The old border between Wallachia and Transylvania at Bran

The Saxon merchants of Transylvania began to dodge Wallachian customs officials on a regular basis, they had also been conspiring to replace Dracula with his half brother, Vlad The Monk, raising funds and military forces from Boyars fleeing Dracula's court.

To add insult to injury, Dracula's cousin and rival Dan III of the Danesti clan had been receiving material support and shelter from the city Burghers of Brasov, Dan's brother Basarab Laiota was also waiting in the wings, and in 1457 the Saxons of Bistritz revolted against Michael Szilagyi* for imposing high customs revenues. Szilagyi then called upon Vlad Dracula for help, this came in swift and deadly fashion, the defences of Bistritz were quickly breached and the town was burned and looted. Those held responsible for the revolt fled to Brasov and Sibiu.

Now that Dracula was flexing his muscles in Transylvania, the German cities started to band together, when the Governor of Transylvania, Count Oswald Rozgonyi, threw his lot in with the Germans, war looked inevitable.

At this time trade with the Ottomans and the Balkan states was still carrying on favourably, Vlad Dracula still needed peace on his southern border so that he could give full attention to the north, and to consolidating his grip on power.

1458.

Dracula singled out the city of Brasov for all this turmoil, there were rumours emanating from Brasov that Dracula was in the pocket of Mehemmed II, something Dracula strenuously denied. In fact, Dracula had stopped paying the annual tribute to the Ottoman Sultan, this would cause many problems in coming years.

In the spring of 1458 Dracula attacked with a force of cavalry, his target was Brasov. Invading through the Turnu Rosu Pass south of Sibiu, the Wallachians laid waste to Talmaciu and slaughtered the population. Several more villages were attacked on the way over the mountains, when they reached the town of Bod it was raised to the ground, the population were mostly killed there, but many were taken back to Targoviste to be impaled.

The Palace and Chindia Tower, Targoviste

Later that year Michael Sizlagyi, on Dracula's behalf, laid siege to Subiu, but the attack failed. However, with Sizlagyi sitting at Sighisoara with a sizable amount of men, and Dracula slaughtering his way around the countryside, a peace treaty was finally negotiated in the November.

This treaty was never going to work, among others the main demands were that Dan III was to be handed over to the tender mercies of Vlad Dracula and 10,000 florins were to be payed to Michael Sizlagyi, for this Brasov would regain full mercantile rights and privileges.

Unfortunately Sizlagyi was soon to be imprisoned by the Hungarian King Matthias Corvinus, with him gone the Burghers of Brasov reneged on the treaty, and the horror continued.

It is interesting at this point to look back on the Merchant's Tale, said to be a cautionary story about theft, but it also could be a story directed at the merchants of Brasov, a morality tale with a bitter twist.

The story goes that a merchant arrives at Targoviste and asks where he can store his cart overnight, as all of his wares are onboard and also all of his money. Vlad tells him his cart will be safe in the street outside, no one would touch it.

Outside the Palace Walls, Targoviste.

The next morning the merchant checks his cart and 160 ducats are missing, he tells Vlad of the theft and Vlad in customary fashion threatens the city with destruction if the thief is not found.

In the meantime Vlad hands over the stolen amount from his own pocket, the merchant thanks him and leaves. Reaching his cart he counts the money, he is one ducat over, he counts it again, same result.

The merchant reenters the palace and explains to Vlad that he has given him one too many, Vlad thanks him for his honesty, and confesses that he knew that to be the case. He goes on to inform the merchant that if he had kept the coin he would be guilty of theft himself and would be impaled next to the original thief.

The moral of this story can be simply 'do not steal', or in light of the situation with the Transylvanian merchants, a thief can rob a merchant, but a merchant dare not rob a Prince.

1459.

Early in the year Dracula attacked, heading north from Targoviste his army laid waste the Prahova district, burning crops and villages, killing and rounding up the populace. His army soon reached into the suburbs of Brasov, Dan III was already gone, with all of his loyal Boyars, ready to fight another day.

A View of Brasov and the City Walls From Tampa Hill

Outside the city walls the chapel of St. Jacob on Tampa Hill (sometimes Timpa Hill or Quimpa Hill) was utterly destroyed, he also had the church of St. Bartholomew burned and looted, unlike St. Jacobs St. Bartholomews still exists. He even attempted a raid into Brasov to burn the famous Black Church, but this effort failed.

On Tampa Hill Dracula was to perform a horrific act that would see his name become infamous, the mass impalement of the people he had captured on his way to Brasov.

Tampa Hill

Michael Beheim, a wandering German meistersinger elaborated even further on the atrocities Dracula performed on Tampa Hill, in his epic song The Story Of A Violent Madman Called Voivode Dracula Of Wallachia, first performed in 1463, he states;

"It was his pleasure and gave him courage

 To see human blood flow

 And it was his custom

 To wash his hands in it 

 As it was brought to his table

 While he was taking his meal."

According to the collection of horror stories published anonymously in 1488, the Dracole Waida, it is said;

"As the day came in, in early morning, he had women and men, young and old, impaled near the chapel and around the hill, and he sat amidst them, and ate his morning meal with joy."

Also, "he sent one of his captains to burn a village named Seiding (Codlea). But this captain was not able to burn it on account of resistance from the villagers. Then he came back to Dracula and said 'I wasn't able to carry out what you ordered me to do.' He immediately had the captain impaled."

1460.

The three pretenders to the Wallachian throne were still very much at large, these were Dracula's half brother Vlad The Monk, who was located at Amlas, the Danesti claimants Dan III, the champion of Brasov, and his brother Basarab Laiota, who resided at Sighisoara.

Of these men only Dan III was in any position to challenge Vlad Dracula, his opportunity came in April, with his followers he crossed the border into Wallachia from the Bran Pass and moved towards Rucar in order to bring Dracula to battle.

On the approach to Rucar

The battle was short, brutal and entirely in Dracula's favour. Dan and many of his followers were captured, his followers were impaled, Dan was forced to dig his own grave and was then beheaded by Dracula himself. In revenge for this Dracula once again attacked Brasov, some sources say he massacred up to 30,000 people.

After this catastrophe the the league of German cities in Transylvania appealed to King Matthias of Hungary to negotiate a peace agreement with Dracula, this worked, the Germans were granted pre 1456 terms and conditions on trade, the northern borders were now safe, it was now the turn of the Ottomans, 1461 would bring fear and horror to Wallachia's southern border. 

Postscript.

Basarab Laiota

Of the other claimants Basarab Laiota would ascend to the throne of Wallachia in the 1470's while Dracula was imprisoned by King Matthias Corvinus, he vied for the throne with the other Dracula brother Radu The Handsome throughout that decade. 

In November 1476 he would be forced to flee to the Ottoman Sultan as Vlad Dracula had been freed and came back for his throne, however, Dracula was killed in December 1476 and Laiota retook the throne dying in 1480. 

Vlad The Monk came to the throne as Vlad IV The Monk in 1481, and ruled on and off until 1495.

*Michael Szilagyi was married to Margit Bathory and had a daughter Llona who would become the second wife of Vlad Dracula. Szilagyi's sister Erzsebet was married to the Hungarian hero Janos Hunyadi who had died of plague in 1456.

Information sourced from,

1. Dracula's Wars by James Waterson

2. Dracula; Prince Of Many Faces by Radu R. Florescu and Raymond T. McNally

3. Dracole Waida - Macabre Observer Blog Dracole Waida

4. Wikipedia.

The Bank Of England Mystery - The Legend of Jon Smiff.

The story concerning an illiterate man called Jon Smiff finding his way through the sewers and into the vault of the Bank of England has been doing the rounds since the late nineteenth century. Apparently this story comes from the year 1836, but the earliest telling of this tale that I can find comes from The Stroud News and Gloucestershire Advertiser on Friday 23rd October 1891.

It all began with a letter, which read;

"Two Gentlemin off Bank of England: Yee think yow is all safe hand your Bank is safe, butt i knows better.  i bin hinside the Bank the last 2 nite hand yow nose nuffin abowt it.

But i um nott a theaf, so hif yeo will mete mee in the gret squar rom, werh arl the moneiys, at twelf 2 nite Ile ixplain orl to yoew. let only 1, her 2 cum alown, and say nuffin 2 nobody. - Jon Smiff."

The letter caused some consternation amongst the directors of the bank, some thought it a hoax. Armed with the letter the directors all agreed it would be better in the hands of police, and detectives were duly sent for. The detectives took the letter very seriously indeed, there seemed to be a plot here and it needed investigating. I'll leave it up to the The Stroud News and Gloucestershire Advertiser to take up the story.

"The detectives looked grave, and with their usual penetration they penetrated the deepest depths of the iniquity.

There is a very large room underground, where the huge wealth of the bank is deposited - millions and millions of English sovereigns, bars of gold, and hundredweights of silver, with myriads of notes. The detectives, of course, knew that this room must be the place which the writer of the letter had designated as 'the gret squar rom.' It is full of treasure. It's floor is a solid stone pavement, and it's walls, roof, and door are of wrought iron and steel.

All night long the detectives were secreted in the room, but they saw nothing and heard nothing, with the exception that some say they heard, about one or two o'clock, a strange noise they could not account for. The next night was the same, and the next, and the next; and when the board day of the bank came round the whole of the directors would have treated the affair as an idle attempt to frighten them had not their attention been more strongly called to the subject by the following incident.

A heavy chest had been forwarded addressed to the 'Directors of the Bank of England.' The chest was of course opened before them at once - such a thing being very unusual - and found to contain a large packet of most valuable papers and securities which had been safely deposited in the vault. With them was the following letter:

'To the Directors of the Bank of England.

Gentlemen, 

My husband, who is an honest man, wrote to you last week, and told you that he had found a way - which he believes is only known to himself - of getting into your strong room, and offered, if you would meet him there at night, to explain the whole matter.

He had never taken anything from that room except the enclosed box. You set detectives on him, and he took the box to show that he could go there, if he chose, whoever might watch.

He gives you another chance. Let a few gentlemen be in the room alone, guard the door, and make everything secure, and my husband will meet you there at midnight.

Yours respectfully,

Ellen Smith.'

This letter was more mysterious than the last. The only thing that was evident was that the writer, 'Ellen Smith' was a better scholar than her husband, who styled himself 'Jon Smiff.'

The detectives were shown the letter, and acted accordingly. Of course they saw through 'the dodge.' The cleverest men were posted in the room. In the morning they told a strange story. They said they saw a light come from a dark lantern; but directly they ran to the spot whence the light proceeded, it went out and the strictest search had discovered nothing.

The bank officials became alarmed. They, however, agreed to do what perhaps would have been wiser if done at first - viz, to depute a few of their number to visit the vault alone. So it was arranged that three gentlemen should remain in the strong room all night, and that no one else should be with them.

Every suitable precaution was taken when night came. The sentinel paced up and down outside; the detectives were not far off; and after the most rigorous search had been instituted, the gentlemen were locked in.

At last one of them, who paced the floor rather impatiently, beginning to think that perhaps after all it was only a clever trick, cried out: 'You ghost, you secret visitor, you midnight thief, come out! There is no one here but two gentlemen and myself. If you are afraid, I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that the police are not here. Come out, I say!'

It was more in jest than in earnest that Major C, for he was a military man, shouted out the absurd speech, for, as we have said, he had begun to suspect that after all some practical joke was being adroitly carried on, such having more than once before been perpetrated, and he did not much like being victimised himself.

His astonishment, however, was great when, in reply, he heard a strange voice saying 'If you have kept your word, I will keep mine. Put out your light, for I've one, and then I'll come.'

The Major and his fellow directors did not much like putting out the light, but they were not cowards, and after some demur, it was done. Where the voice came from was, however, a mystery, for there were no hiding places in the room, every side being of thick, many plated iron and steel; the ceiling was also of the same material.

When the light was out they waited in silence, while the Major grasped firmly in one hand a revolver, and in the other held the lantern and a few matches. For a little while a low, grating sound was heard, and then a voice, evidently that of someone in the room, said; 'Are you three alone, sure?'

The Major, who cared for nothing in bodily forms, struck a match, and instantly a crash was heard, and a low, smothering laugh. When the match was lighted, nothing could be detected - no one was there. Again the Major called upon the mysterious somebody to come forth, and again a voice was heard saying, 'How can I trust you now.'

The Major was angry, and his companions alarmed, and after trying in vain to trace the point whence the voice proceeded, he exclaimed: 'Well, we'll put out the light again; only come quickly, and make an end to this bother.' So saying, he put out the light again.

A moment or two after, the same grating sound was heard, then the falling of some heavy body, and the next instant a man was visible standing in the middle of the vault with a dark lantern in his hand. Of course he had come from somewhere, but the puzzle was - how? A ghost could not have entered more mysteriously.

The man soon spoke for himself; and the directors, who were a little at a loss to explain his presence there, listened in astonishment. It appeared that he was a poor man, and obtained a precarious living in a strange way. When the tide was low, it is the custom of a certain class of people, unknown to refined society, to enter the sewers to search for any articles of value which may have been washed down into them. It is a very dangerous task, and, of course, revolting in the extreme, but they not infrequently find very precious things hidden in the filth. This man was one of those strange adventurers.

One night he discovered an opening leading to some place above. There was a large square stone, which he found could be easily raised. He listened for some time, and, finding all was silent, lifted up the stone without much difficulty, and found, after some little investigation by the light of his lantern, that he was in the strong room of the bank.

These men, like miners, can readily determine the exact spot of ground under which they are; and he soon had a clue to the whole mystery. He told his wife, who was a woman of superior education to his own, of the whole affair; and then she wrote, as we have seen, to the directors.

Down in the sewer he was able to hear all their movements as well as above ground, and thus was not only able to know their plans, but to frustrate them, and of course could watch his time to remove the small but valuable box, to leave the letters on the table, and to appear so mysteriously.

No one had thought of looking to the stone pavement, which was supposed to be solid and immovable, as it was known that there were no vaults below, although the iron walls and doors had been carefully tested. The mystery was now cleared up, and the man was well rewarded."

So there it is, the Bank of England mystery. If this all sounds rather familiar, you would be right, in the August of 1891 Strand Magazine published The Red Headed League by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

In a nutshell, this story is about a red headed shopkeeper who is chosen from many other red headed men to copy out the Encyclopedia Brittanica for a tidy sum. While he is thus engaged his new (and a bit dodgy) shop assistant is busy tunnelling from the shop cellar to a nearby bank vault, where there is a huge deposit of gold to be had.

Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson get involved and the whole case is brought to a climactic close in the bank vault.

Two months later we have a rather similar story, albeit concerning an honest man with good intentions. Jon Smiff, I declare, is a story made up by "an enterprising journalist" (as the police said of the Dear Boss letter during the Ripper murders of 1888) who had read and was inspired by The Red Headed League.