1820 "The Vampire: A Tragedy in 5 Acts"

The British Library holds treasure for individuals lucky enough to tread its halls. One of the treasures is the short five act play by John Dorset, "The Vampire: A Tragedy in 5 Acts." In short, in a true piece of Victorian scatter-shot, it blames everyone for their own lack of morals. 

The preface, from the Examiner, states:

"There are vampires who waste the heart and happiness of those they are connected with, vampires of avarice, vampires of spleen, vampires of debauchery, vampires in all the shapes of selfishness and domestic tyranny. What is the seducer and abandon-er of a trusting young girl but a vampire not sufficiently alive to his own cruelty? What is a husband who marries for money, and then tramples on his wife but a Vampire? What is the "poisonous bosom snake of Milton but a female vampire, wearing a man's heart out by holding him without loving him?"

The author has set the play in the "obscurity" of the Egyptian annals" during the 10th C.  And in many, many ways it is a Romeo and Juliette retelling, with the faithless Abdella (Romeo character)  playing the part of the immoral vampire because he loves (seduces) a young innocent gal (Astarte) and abandons her for the power and authority of the Alexandrian queen (Nouroyan). Unlike Romeo and Juliet, Nouroyan is quite attracted to the invading Persian, Abdella, and when she agrees to the betrothal, she has no idea whatsoever that he is already affianced to Astarte.

In a very classic tragedy ending, all the main characters are dead at the end, either killed by conspirators seeking the throne for themselves, or killed by a sea-god upset with the unethical behavior of the protagonists. 

Note that I am pretty sure the London audience would have loved this play due to its bow to morality even while it allowed partially dressed actors to parade across the state. And again, the embracing metaphor of the vampire as anyone who places their own needs above those of society writ-large allows for a wide brush to paint pretty much anyone.

Vampire Paparazzi entry 1

 The life of a vampire paparazzi is a dangerous one. What you read here is the first of an occasional series of entries discussing my experiences as a vampire hunter; one armed not with stakes and holy-items, but with a camera. I am not quite certain which my target would prefer, being permanently ended, or being outed to the whole world.

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Sometimes I just can't catch a break. Standing in the cold on a dark night in a lonely cemetery when I could be sitting in the pub tossing a few back with mates, is time I'll never get back. The only thing it does is keep my boss off my neck while I risk my own.

Yes, I knew, or so I thought, what I was getting into when I hired onto this gig. It looked like wine, women, and song -- easy money. I figured what with vampires all over the media they must also be all over the place. I figured all I'd have to do was park outside the blood-bank to catch one making a withdrawal. A point and click moment.

Instead, I spend my nights standing in the doorways of crumbing low-rent crypts waiting to catch a break, and praying to see sunrise.

16 May 2014

byline: L. Ormandy (AKA SweetGoth)
The UnNatural Enquirer

The Grave

Highgate Cemetery London

One of the most fascinating things I've noted in the years I've been researching, photographing, writing about, and teaching about vampires is the way different people react totally differently when the topic of death and what happens to the person after death comes up. Today's post is a short dialogue taken from the book ELOCUTION AND ORATORY (yes, all caps). The antique book arrived on my shelf with no cover, and the first twenty-four pages missing.

It does speak rather eloquently of the two approaches to the topic. One sees it is a true negative, the other sees the bright-light. 

"First Voice: How frightful the grave!  how deserted and drear!
                     With the howls of the storm-wind -- the creaks of the bier,
                      And the white bones all clattering together!
"Second Voice: How peaceful the grave! its quite how deep;
                       Its zephyres breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
                         And flowerets perfume it with ether.

author: unknown since all attribution is just missing in this text -- a very Victorian approach to intellectual property.

Alcoholism as a Vampire: "The Vampyre by the Wife of a Medical Man" 1858

The Traitor's Gate, London.

When I was in London summer of 2013, I was able to spend a fair amount of time reading in the British Library (one of the most magical places on Earth). Given my interest in early usages of the term "Vampire" for a human who metaphorically sucks the life from its victim, the 1858 anonymous booklet, The Vampyre by the Wife of a Medical Man,was a wonderful read.

In short, the author uses the metaphor of the vampire to describe the drunken life -- it is about temperance and the abstainer's pledge and the lure of drink which proves more alluring than keeping ones word. (At this time, temperance referred to abstinence from drinking.)

"She" (the anonymous author states) "Listen to me, whilst I describe to you some of the horrors of a drunkard's home, and some of the privations of the drunkard's wife and children"(2). 

She then goes on to tell the story of a young man, the son of a drunkard father who cannot stand the fact that his son, "Herbert" will not join him in his sodden ways. In spite of his father's beatings and declaration that he will cut his son out of his inheritance, Herbert takes the "Abstainer's Pledge." Not a drop of liquor is to pass his lips. He makes a fair attempt to keep his pledge and to be as good as his word, but his choice of bad companions undercuts his willpower.

At first Herbert is able to disguise the fact that he has broken his pledge from his poor, long-suffering mother, and his  increasingly pushy father, but not for long. Soon his personality changes and he becomes as abusive to his mother and the house-staff as his father has been to himself.

The young man enjoys accompanying his companions to "Mrs. Grasp-the-Air's shop, The Vampyre Inn, where Tommy, the husband serves an increasing amount of liquor to the weak-willed Herbert. Tommy and Mrs. Grasp-the-Air quite enjoy their roles in this story as devil's advocate since it brings their business increased income.

Eventually, Herbert kills one of the "friends" who attempts to talk him into changing his ways, and he is taken to the gallows while his poor mother weeps.

Like any good morality tale, the story ends, "Drink, Strong Drink! had it not, like a vampyre sucked the blood out of his father and grandfather! and finally, expinguish[ed] life itself?"

I will leave it to my reader to question if indeed the giving in to one of the many temptations of life and allowing it to have control over ones thought and deeds is indeed allowing a vampire to entirely suck life out of one.

Works Cited
"The Vampyre by the Wife of a Medical Man." London: A W Bennett, 1858. Print.

"The Haunted Place" Poe

(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 

Shall dawn upon him desolate!)

And round about his home

 the glory

That blushed and bloomed,

Is but dim-

remembered 

story

Of the old time entombed.

-- Edgar Allan Poe, "The Haunted Palace." 

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" - - and for most of us (apart from those of the vampiric persuasion), only dim memories of names and times reflected in sepia images remain. 

Vampire Hunter pt. 2

Lone Star Pioneer Cemetery, Portland, Oregon.

Part one is the last post:

It was seriously eerie, and I could almost hear the shrouded ghosts tittering as I stood with a bull’s-eye on my chest, heart dead center of it waiting to be tapped.

Then I realized that the sounds I had heard could possibly be caused by the breeze rustling the overhanging leaves and branches against the windows of the more economically up-scale mausoleums. Or perhaps the noise was simply a neighborhood cat chasing its prey through the bushes lining the pathway. It did not have to be caused by the stealthy opening of the metal gates by the vampire said to sleep in the nearby crypt.

I wished I was elsewhere with a reasonable job, but how many positions could an English major minoring in photography fill? And I wished I was outside a nightclub in a well lit area trying for a picture of one of the sparkling, vegetarian sort. Damn vampire, as metaphor, boss anyway. He had it in for me, and this assignment really showed it. “It would serve him right if I got bit and came back as a vampire,” I muttered under my breath, sotto-voice, not wanting to make too much noise, but wanting something recognizably human to break up the silence.

“Five more minutes, and I’m out of here,” I muttered a bit more loudly, then cringed as a crow perched among the moss nearby spoke to me. I would swear it murmured “nevermore,” but that was probably my overly active imagination.

My cell phone found its way into my hand, path beaten from long use, and I checked my Twitter account hoping for an update. But it was all promo by the big biz who saw Twitter as a purely marketing tool.

I was by now really uncomfortable, sincerely regretting the double shot venti latte I’d had since there were no public restrooms in the cemetery, even had I been willing to leave my post to find one.

Then I saw something emerging from the crypt across the aisle from me. There were two; no one had mentioned that there would be two! And boy-oh-boy they weren’t sparkly. They barely looked human. They weren’t the sort my boss would plaster across the front page; too creepy.

And then I realized they were looking at me…

I had only the presence of mind to snap one quick photo as I fled, hoping they would not give chase, hoping I could run faster than them. Hoping to see one more dawn. To live.

copyright Leslie Ormandy, all rights reserved.

Vampire Hunter pt. 1

I crept into the cemetery after dark through a narrow opening between the fence and the bushes. It was creepy, but my rent was due and my landlord was not too fond of people of my persuasion; vampire photographers.

I stumbled over the rough ground past tombstones which glowed pale under the strobe of the moonlight filtering though the threatening clouds. It was a bad night to be entering such a place, but I'd heard rumors through the Twitterverse that vampires frequented this particular mausoleum. And if they were there, I needed to immortalize them in digital to pay my rent. The tabloids paid well for "authentic" vampire pictures, even if the vampire was not the hunky sort.

The skull partially buried in mulch but still managing to grin at me gave me pause; and I wondered if this was the right profession for me. But in my biz, it was produce or perish, right? So I crept on as stealthily as possible between the decaying gravestones while trying to find my location on the little map of the cemetery the kind lady at the desk had given me that morning. I kicked myself now for not having taken the time to figure out the right spot in daylight, but the map had made it look deceptively easy.

I almost died when I heard the eerie moaning sound of squeaking metal. I froze in place unwilling to alert any listeners to my presence, even while knowing that if it were the vampire I sought, my heart-beat would be a loud pounding bass drum in the otherwise deserted area.

Tune in again for the next segment.later this week.. (copyright Leslie Ormandy)