Who Was Dracula? by Jim Steinmeyer Page B

years they conducted themselves offstage with propriety, as devoted friends. They spent their days off together and shared vacations. Each had Jack Russell terriers, fat and spoiled; hers was Drummie and his was Fussie.
    Edward Gordon Craig, Terry’s son, later described his mother as one of those women who continually think they are “wretchedly weak,” but who are always stronger than the men around them. Irving often boasted of her pathos, which he claimed was “nature helped by genius.” He knew that she made him better; she softened his performances onstage and made him bearable to others offstage. Stoker’s prose seemed unable to analyze her. Instead, he massed his compliments with superlatives—they elbow their way into the sentences and then spill over the page. She was, in Stoker’s telling, more than a woman: “The natural style does not admit of falsity or grossness. . . . In her, womanhood is paramount. She has to the full in her nature whatever quality it is that corresponds to what we call ‘virility’ in a man.”
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    In December 1879, a year into the new Lyceum management, Irving Noel Thornley Stoker was born to Florence and Bram. He was their only child, named for Bram’s surgeon brother Thornley and, of course, Henry Irving. Irving also served as godfather—which was remarkable, since he had not attended the christening of his own second son. The family favored the name Noel. When he was older, he explained that he’d always avoided the name Irving because he resented the man who had monopolized his father’s life.
    It’s easy to describe Florence Stoker as the long-suffering wife, and, indeed, the sheer mathematics of Bram’s schedule demonstrates that he spent very little time at home. Stoker’s biographer and great-nephew, Daniel Farson, went one step further, speculating about an unhappy marriage, a vain, frigid wife, and a faithless husband. But it’s mere speculation, and memories of Florence, as well as her surviving correspondence, show an engaging, insightful personality who delighted at being included in the social whirl, proudly attended Lyceum openings and special dinners, and enjoyed parties with her husband—like Bram, she was a bit of a snob when it came to celebrities.
    When Bram was otherwise occupied, Florence sometimes attended social events with W. S. Gilbert, the acerbic playwright and librettist who was half of the team of Gilbert and Sullivan. Gilbert had already developed a strong distaste for Henry Irving, critical of his bombastic productions. Bram Stoker received these comments with diplomatic silence. He and Florence were happy to socialize with Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, and Gilbert was always willing to chaperone the neglected Mrs. Stoker.
    Another friend from their Dublin days had moved to London by 1880. Oscar Wilde was sharing a house with the artist Frank Miles, crafting his methodical assault on London society—witty afternoon teas with the very best people, long dinner parties filled with indulgent conversation, bright sparkling poems offered freely. His formula included evenings at the theater, of course. At that time Wilde was besotted with Lillie Langtry, the beautiful “Jersey Lily” who was starting an acting career. Lillie had real gravitational pull; she was the toast of society, celebrated by artists, and the mistress to the Prince of Wales. Wilde was then a mere satellite—a colorful, aspiring Irish playwright.
    Wilde was drawn to the Lyceum’s glorious productions and the concentration of desirable society that filled the boxes. He also found Ellen Terry, whom he christened “Our Lady of the Lyceum.” This was the start of a long, sincere friendship. He was her fan. She was a fascinated friend, who became his fan. Wilde grandly offered his first play,
Vera; or, The Nihilists
, to Terry and Irving, sending them copies bound in red leather. Terry