The Vampire Countess by Paul Féval

Paul Féval was a frighteningly prolific French author of roman-feuilletons, novels published in serial form which enjoyed enormous popularity in the 19th century. Most of Féval’s work could perhaps best be classified as crime melodrama but he dabbled in the gothic as well, with books like the amazingly strange The Vampire Countess, published around 1855.

Féval’s plots defy any attempts at providing brief synopses, partly because they’re so but mostly because he made them up as he went along so they tend towards incoherence. In a big way. But that’s part of their charm. Also part of their offbeat charm is the way the author mixes melodrama and comedy. I’m not sure the mix really works but the effect is odd enough to be fascinating.

There is a vampire countess in this tale. But whether she’s really a vampire or not is a moot point. As translator Brian Stableford points out in his afterword even when it appears that Féval has resolved the ambiguity about her true nature he hasn’t really resolved it at all. Stableford’s theory is that 19th century French writers felt uncomfortable writing about supernatural subjects if they didn’t actual believe in such things themselves.

This was true to a lesser extent of late 18th and early 19th century British gothic writers who also had a habit of writing apparently supernatural tales that turn out to have completely non-supernatural although still amazingly unlikely explanations. Féval preferred not to commit himself entirely either way. Although it may be an old-fashioned attitude it does give the book an oddly modern feel with its unresolved ambiguities.

The plot involving the vampire intersects with another plot involving royalist conspiracies to assassinate the First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte (the book is set in the period before Bonaparte crowned himself emperor). There’s also a twisted kind of love story.

It was originally intended to be part of a series of novels dealing with bodies that end up in the Paris Morgue. Each story would relate the events that led to the person’s untimely demise. As a result one of the key characters is the superintendent of the Morgue who also moonlights as an amateur crime-fighter.

Stableford also makes the point that while most vampire stories use vampirism as a metaphor, this particular one is unusual in using it as a metaphor for a whole series of things - sexual, political and social.

It’s a ramshackle novel that still manages to remain entertaining. Féval’s concept of vampirism is quite different, and fascinatingly so, from that with which most modern readers have been familiar since Bram Stoker’s day.

Recommended for anyone who likes 19th century weird fiction with extra added weirdness.

The Vampire and the Devil’s Son, by Ponson du Terrail

Pierre-Alexis Ponson du Terrail enjoyed immense popularity in mid-19th century France. This was the great age of the romans feuilletons, potboilers published in serial form. Rocambole was his best-known work. The Vampire and the Devil’s Son (La Baronne trépassée) which appeared in book form in 1852 is of exceptional interest.

The romans feuilletons followed a definite formula, combining melodrama, sensation and romance. Plot coherence or realism were not essential and these were qualities that Ponson largely ignored. As long as they provided thrills and entertainment no-one was going to complain that the stories made little sense.

The Vampire and the Devil’s Son follows the misadventures of the Baron de Nossac. He is a typical nobleman of his time - brave, dissolute, feckless and charming. And in 1723, as this tale commences, more than a little financially embarrassed. He is awaiting confirmation of his appointment as governor of Brittany, but as that seems likely to fall though he decides it might be wise to find himself a rich wife. The daughter of a wealthy tax-farmer seems a suitable choice. To his surprise he finds that she’s not only rich but also rather charming, the sort of woman with whom he could easily fall in love. As we soon discover, de Nossac has a remarkable propensity for falling in love

There is however a complication. The Baron’s mistress has extracted from an unusual promise, and being a gentleman he must keep this promise. He must agree to be her slave for a period of 24 hours, at any time of her choosing. It is particularly unfortunate that the time she does choose is his wedding night. Very unfortunate indeed - his bride is so upset she leaves his chateau in the middle of the night, catches a chill and dies.

The Baron’s adventures now take a very strange turn indeed. He encounters the mysterious Black Huntsman, who claims to be nothing less than the son of the Devil himself. And he encounters Gretchen, a woman who resembles his dead wife to an uncanny degree, and who proves to be a vampire. But there are many many plot twists still to come, his late wife proves to have more than one double, many of the characters he encounters are not at all who they appear to be, and de Nossac begins to seriously doubt his own sanity.

The reader is also left wondering about the reality of the events described, or at least wondering about their true nature.

Ponson du Terrail was very much influenced by the gothic fictions of Ann Radcliffe but this is gothic with added weird hallucinatory qualities.

Translator Brian Stableford proves both an introduction and an afterword to the Black Coat Press edition and makes some extremely interesting observations in this odd novel. He points out that the author was to some degree constrained by the conventions of the gothic as well as the more general literary convention of his day, and suggests that a modern reader might well interpret the story quite differently as compared to a reader in 1852. Stableford sees the author as being on the verge of several innovative breakthroughs, but being unable to carry them through in a complete manner.

A strange but highly diverting little tale, with some genuinely macabre moments. One of the many forgotten treasures of 19th century French gothic. Highly recommended.