It was drawing near the darkest hour in the dead of night. Though the city still hummed with vibrant activity, people going about their various Friday evening frolics, this particular corner of London Town was still and silent. Nothing stirred in St Pancras but those creatures of the darkness, dwelling in the shadows, waiting for their prey. Tonight we briskly cut through the hidden dangers of the narrow lamp lit streets in the crisp evening air to attend a fascinating lecture by some of the foremost experts in their field.
The topic of tonight’s tantalising discussion, Vampires!
The lecture was being conducted at that bastion of enlightened academia and fortress of knowledge, The British Library, and the main topic of the bloodthirsty theme was the genre-busting nineteenth century publication, The Vampyre, written by the unfortunate physician, John Polidori.
We alighted the train at Kings Cross Station, its beautiful and instantly recognisable double crescent brick entrance loomed as we exited towards the Library. Magical platforms and ancient warrior Queen burials are bound in the mythology of this Victorian wonder. The area is thought to have emerged around the crossing point of the Fleet River. It is whispered that the final battle between Queen Boudicca and the Romans occurred in the valley here between Kings Cross and St Pancras, an area that would become known as Battle Bridge. Built on the site of a smallpox and fever hospital, Kings Cross Station was once the largest in train station in Britain.
Immediately next door is its sibling masterpiece, St Pancras station. One of the most exquisite buildings in London, St Pancras is a masterpiece of Victorian gothic architecture and a wonder of Victorian engineering. Designed by William Henry Barlow it was constructed over an old slum site called Agar Town, an area of low quality housing for poverty stricken Victorian Londoners. You could never imagine it as such now, its glamour and decadence stretching into the night sky with spire crested towers, stunning decorative statues and epic haunting architecture.
It was the ultimate backdrop for gothic horror literature, as though we had become a part of the very story we aimed to learn more about. A low mist hung in the air; these two magnificent buildings dominated the landscape, tight streets of guilty pleasures disappearing into the mist around them, the eerie calm of the evening only added to the anxious dread as we made our way through the connecting streets towards the Library.
Unfortunate victims of the cruel life sucking city litter the avenues of this place, a curious mirror of the decadence and depravity of Vampire lore. Following some of the ancient alleys on a curious tangent, we explored nearby St Pancras old church. The church is said to be one of the most ancient sites of Christian worship in Europe, possibly dating as far back as the fourth century. Indeed, it is named after the fourth century Christian boy martyr, Pancras of Rome, whose relics were thought to have been brought to the island to help conversions to the Christian faith. During archaeological survey work, Roman tiles were discovered in the fabric of the medieval tower. This is reuse of materials rather than contemporary Roman construction, but over the years, the legends have grown and offered significant intriguing foundation myths to the little building. Updated throughout the medieval, Tudor and Victorian periods, the church has seen countless transformations, yet retains a unique and ancient character.
Its main fascination lies without and not within the hallowed walls. The graveyard of St Pancras old church is not only the final resting place for the offspring of Johann Sebastian Bach and Benjamin Franklin. The fascinating underworld figure, Jonathon Wild, lies under the earth here, as does the composer Carl Friedrich Abel and a good deal of other aristocratic figures. It was also the burial place of philosophy great and forefather of the anarchist movement William Godwin and feminine philosopher and literary hero, Mary Wollstonecraft, whose daughter Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley frequented the site with husband Percy Bysshe Shelley. Mary Shelley would go on to write one of the most famous gothic horror stories of all time whilst travelling with the very artist and physician we came to learn about, John Polidori, whose remains coincidentally also reside in this spectacular churchyard.
On such an evening, surrounded by the silence of the dead, eerie imagination is heightened to levels of utter horrifying exaggeration. In all directions lie the stone symbols of death and decay, ancient guards of spiritual sanctums. Here the building blocks of literary terror are laid out in nerve jangling fashion. Charles Dickens immortalised the churchyard in a tale of two cities, associating it with creepy tales of body snatching. The spread of illicit trade in body parts and grotesque upheaval of the dead would become significant contributors to the gothic sensibilities and the Vampire legends, particularly in London where the situation was all too real. All of these ghastly sights and confused collections would paint the perfect backdrop for gothic literature authors of the 19th century, inspiring writers from Shelley to Stoker to create their demonic villains and vile creatures of the night. It certainly had an effect on John Polidori and we could not wait to learn more about this unlikeliest of authors.
We reached the Library building and made our way to the bar to mingle before heading towards the lecture. The auditorium was brimming with excited academics and elated enthusiasts, desperately seeking advanced knowledge of this taboo topic. Not only in the origins of this gothic masterpiece, but of the genuine beginnings of the vampire cult.
The experts in the field were Nick Groom, professor of English Literature at the University of Exeter, author of multiple publications on the history of Vampire belief, including associations with enlightenment era science and Eastern European folklore. Alex Clark, a journalist and broadcaster, writing for the Guardian, Observer, Spectator and Times. Emma McEvoy, a senior lecturer at the University of Westminster and author of publications on Gothic tourism and understandings, and Kim Newman, a fiction author, journalist and film critic with many works focusing on the cult of Vampires.
The evening began with introductions and explanations of the novel in question, John Polidori’s The Vampyre. The tale had a curious chronology. During the now infamous year without a summer, 1816, John Polidori, along with a dream team of literary legends including Mary Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Claire Clairmont and Lord Byron found themselves trapped indoors at the Villa Diodati. Outside activities were abandoned due to the constant cold and ravenous rain of the volcanic winter. Forced to find alternate entertainment, with melancholic madness in the air, the company decided to unnerve each other with popular ghost stories. It was Byron who apparently instigated a challenge for each to write a horror story of their own. The most famous product of this creative challenge was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or the modern day Prometheus. A lesser-known classic was created during this haunting house party, almost a century before Bram Stoker published the now world famous Dracula, John Polidori offered up his own spin on the Vampire legend, The Vampyre.
Lord Byron began the tale, with his manuscript, fragment of a novel, in which he drafted one of the earliest Vampire tales written in the English language. Polidori would use this plot as his inspiration for The Vampyre. For a long time, the vampire legend had been associated with peasants, mysterious travellers and lower societal figures slinking in dark corners to conduct their brutal deviant atrocities. Polidori, Byron and others of the age would ultimately alter the image of the Vampire, imagining an aristocratic predator, suave and sophisticated with a lethal lust for blood. Polidori’s tale is thought to be laced with his own thinly veiled lust and devastating disappointment with Lord Byron and unrequited attentions.
Intriguing discussions followed challenging the very beginnings of Vampirism and the many aspects of Victorian society, which inspired the dark disturbing themes of the evolving gentrified genre. Industrialism, aristocracy, body snatching and the influence of science. Indeed, the intriguing discussion turned to the contemporary emergence of blood transfusions. An early exponent of this experimentation had been the successful transfusion of dog’s blood into a human, and further doctors self-experiment with lamb’s blood, which he claimed altered his very humanity. This must have been absolutely astounding at a time when medical understanding was rapidly expanding.
When the story was first published, due to character associations and the infamy of the protagonist, authorship was attributed to Lord Byron instead of Polidori. It seems this was horrifying to both men, but for the publishers, who prioritised in profit, Byron’s famous name was far more enticing a prospect and he continued to be credited for some time afterwards.
Comical musings continued with a look at the modern caricature image of the vampire and the enormous industry now built around this once fearsome fictional fiend. From its folklore beginnings, with genuine belief attached to the legends, to the Hollywood momentum of sparkling vampires and broody teen icons, the character is, if nothing else, enduring.
The evening complete, and a substantial reading list accrued, we applauded our panel and made our way back to the busy bar for a nightcap before making for home. The mist had risen slightly but the evening crept closer towards that menacing midnight black of night. Our thoughts, now so attuned to the creeping creatures of the shadows, we could not help but step a little faster through the city streets to the station. Hungry eyes appeared to be everywhere, stalking shadows and strange silhouettes in every avenue and alluring alleyway. Eventually, it was a relief to find the comfort of the night train. It was quiet tonight, curiously quiet, and there was still a long way home. We sat a little closer in our seats, clasping hands for some surreal sense of protective power. The train was almost entirely deserted… but who was that suave suited pale looking figure sitting silently at the front of the carriage?... and what was that on its lips, was it… blood?...