Dracula Dreaming

Vlad Tepes always makes me feel better.

Weird, I know. Drawing comfort not only from a man who died centuries before I was born, but a man who killed thousands. How messed up must I be to have such affection for a man who was the historical basis for the Dracula that we all now? How horribly twisted must my soul be to feel for such a monster?

I'll tell you, if you care to read through my whole explanation.

Vlad's father inducted him into the Order of the Dragon when he was just a boy. His father, Dracul, so named for his own place in the Order, had no issues with turning his loyalty to the most favorable outcome. He stooped so low as to offer his two youngest sons, Vlad and his younger brother Radu, to the sultan as a show of good faith. Vlad was no older than fourteen years old.

It's pretty murky as to how Vlad was treated under the Sultan's rule. It is unclear as to whether he was treated like the prince he was or if he was treated like a lowly harem boy. His brother, however, was clearly one of the sultan's favorite boys, growing up to be one of Sultan Mehmed's favorite lovers.

Vlad spent more time in prison than he did on the throne, but the brief years that he spent ruling, he purged the country of thieves and murderers and rapists and the like, encouraging honesty. This didn't come without a price, though. He killed nearly as many of his own people as he did in his crusades against the Ottoman empire. He was betrayed by his father, his brother, and his cousin Stephen in Moldavia. His first wife flung herself from a tower window to keep from being taken captive by the Turks. He spent years in a political prison due to a forged letter that said in presumably his own hand that he swore allegiance to the Ottoman Empire and he humbled himself before the Sultan. These letters were forgeries and the most devoted historians have shown that they were not written by Vlad. His life was story of endless betrayal that ended in a swamp somewhere in Transylvania.

His story reminds me that just because you've suffered, or think you're suffering, you have no excuse to give up and take it. You have to fight, no matter who or what you're up against.

This isn't meant to be one of those posts where I make you feel good or lift your spirit. I'm trying to explain to myself my affection for a man that I have never known and who can scarcely be considered a role model. After all, this is the same man who ordered thousands of men, women, and children impaled, skinned, cooked alive, tied out in the wilderness for the animals to kill and maim, and nailed turbans to the heads of men who refused to show him the courtesy of removing their hats in the presence of the Prince of the land.

This is the same man who allegedly ate the cooked flesh of his enemies and dipped his bread in their blood. The man who is said to be the son of the devil.

In spite of it all, I still respect him and can only hope that I can develop the strength of character that he had.

I guess it's about time to go back to the movie now, huh? Thanks for sticking around for another chapter.