Literary Vampire

Baudelaire et la Président Sabatier (Charles Baudelaire and Apollonie Sabatier)

by Thomas Couture (1815 – 1879)

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau, Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée; Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau De démons, vins, folle et parée,

De mon esprit humilié Faire ton lit et ton domaine; — Infâme à qui je suis lié Comme le forçat à la chaîne,

Comme au jeu le joueur têtu, Comme à la bouteille l’ivrogne, Comme aux vermines la charogne — Maudite, maudite sois-tu!

J’ai prié le glaive rapide De conquérir ma liberté, Et j’ai dit au poison perfide De secourir ma lâcheté.

Hélas! le poison et le glaive M’ont pris en dédain et m’ont dit: «Tu n’es pas digne qu’on t’enlève À ton esclavage maudit,

Imbécile! — de son empire Si nos efforts te délivraient, Tes baisers ressusciteraient Le cadavre de ton vampire!»

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Thou who abruptly as a knife Didst come into my heart; thou who, A demon horde into my life, Didst enter, wildly dancing, through

The doorways of my sense unlatched To make my spirit thy domain — Harlot to whom I am attached As convicts to the ball and chain,

As gamblers to the wheel’s bright spell, As drunkards to their raging thirst, As corpses to their worms — accurst Be thou! Oh, be thou damned to hell!

I have entreated the swift sword To strike, that I at once be freed; The poisoned phial I have implored To plot with me a ruthless deed.

Alas! the phial and the blade Do cry aloud and laugh at me: “Thou art not worthy of our aid; Thou art not worthy to be free.

1 I found a corpse, with golden hair, Of a maiden seven months dead. But the face, with the death in it, still was fair, And the lips with their love were red. Rose leaves on a snow-drift shed, Blood-drops by Adonis bled, Doubtless were not so red.

2 I combed her hair into curls of gold, And I kissed her lips till her lips were warm, And I bathed her body in moonlight cold, ‘Till she grew to a living form: Till she stood up bold to a magic of old, And walked to a muttered charm – Lifelike, without alarm.

3  And she walks by me, and she talks by me, Evermore, night and day; For she loves me so, that, wherever I go, She follows me all the way – This corpse – you would almost say There pined a soul in the clay.

4 Her eyes are so bright at the dead of night That they keep me wake with dread: And my life-blood fails in my veins, and pales At the sight of her lips so red: For her face is as white as the pillow by night Where she kisses me on my bed: All her gold hair outspread – Neither alive nor dead.

5. I would that this woman’s head Were less golden about the hair: I would her lips were less red, And her face less deadly fair. For this is the worst to bear – How came that redness there?

6 ‘Tis my heart, be sure, she eats for her food; And it makes one’s whole flesh creep To think that she drinks and drains my blood Unawares, when I am asleep. How could those red lips Their redness so damson-deep?

7 There’s a thought like a serpent, slips Ever into my head, — There are plenty of women, alive and human One might woo, if one wished, and wed – Women with hearts, and brains, — ay – and lips Not so terribly red.

8  But to house with a corpse – and she so fair, With that dim, unearthly, golden hair, And those sad, serene, blue eyes, With their looks from who knows where, With the grave’s own secret there – It is more than I can bear!

9 It were better for me, ere I cam nigh her, This corpse – ere I looked upon her, Had they burned my body in flame and fire With a sorcerer’s dishonor. For when the Devil hath made his lair, And lurks in the eyes of a fair young woman (To grieve a man’s soul with her golden hair, And break his heart, if his heart be human), Would not a saint despair To be saved by fast or prayer From perdition made so fair?

10 She is unkind, unkind! On the windy hill, to-day, I sat in the sound of the wind. I know what the wind would say. It said…or seemed to my mind… “The flowers are falling away. The summer,”… it said… “will not stay. And Love with be left behind.”

11 The swallows were swinging themselves In the leaden-gray air aloft; Flitting by tens and twelves, And returning oft and oft; Like the thousand thoughts in me, That went, and came, and went, Not letting me even be Alone with my discontent.

12 The hard-vext weary vane Rattled, and moaned and was still, In the convent over the plain, By the side of the windy hill. It was sad to hear it complain, So fretful, and weak, and shrill, Again, and again, and in vain, While the wind was changing his will.

13 I thought of our walks last summer By the convent-walls so green; Of the firs tkiss stolen from her, With no one near to be seen. I thought (as we wandered on, Each of us waiting to speak) How the daylight left us alone, And left his last night on her cheek.

14 The plain was as cold and gray (With its villas like gleaming shells) As some north-ocean bay. All dumb in the church were the bells. In the mist, half a league away, Lay the little white house where she dwells.

15 I thought of her face so bright, By the sunlight bending low O’er her work so neat and white: Of her singing so soft and slow: Of her tender toned “Good-night;” But a very few nights ago.

16 O’er the convent doors, I could see A pale and sorrowful-eyes Madonna looking at me, As when Our Lord first died. There was a lizard or spider To be seen on the broken walls. The ruts, and the rain, had grown wider And blacker since last night’s falls. O’er the universal dullness There broke not a single beam. I thought how my love at its fullness Had changed like a change in a dream.

17 The olives were shedding fast About me, to the left and right, In the lap of the scornful blast. Black berries and leaflets white. I thought of the many romances One wintry word can blight; Of the tender and timorous fancies By a cold look put to flight.

18 How many noble deeds Strangled perchance at their birth! The smoke of the burning weeds Came up with the steam of the earth, From the red, wet ledges of soil, And there sere weeds, row over row, — And the vineyard-men at their toil, Who sang in the vineyard below.

19 Last Spring, while I thought of her here, I found a red rose on the hill. There it lies, withered and sere! Let him trust to a woman who will.

20 I thought how her words had grown colder, And her fair face colder still, From the hour whose silence had told her What has left me heart-broken and ill; And “Oh!” I thought, … “if I behold her Walking there with him under the hill!”

21 O’re the mist from the mournful city The blear lamps gleamed aghast, — “she has neither justice, nor pity,” I thought… “all’s over at last!” The cold eve came. One star Through a ragged gray gap forlorn Fell down from some region afar, And sickened as soon as born. I thought, “How long and how lone The years will seem to be, When the last of her looks is gone, And my heart is silent in me!”

22 One streak of sorrowful gold, In the cloudy and billowy west, Burned with alight as cold As love in a much-wronged breast. And she called me by every caressing old name She of old had invented for me: She crouched at my feet, with her cheek on my knee, Like a wild thing grown suddenly tame.

23 In the world there are women enough, maids or mothers; Yet in multiplied millions, I never should find The symbol of aught in her face, or her mind. She has nothing in common with others.

24 And she loves me! This morning, the earth pressed beneath Her light foot, keeps the print. ‘Twas no vision last night, For the lily she dropped, as she went is yet white With the dew on its delicate sheath!

"To Heine" by Fyodor Tyutchev (1823)

also known as “Heine” (the poem didn`t have a name initially)

Liebste, sollst mir heute sagen: Bist du nicht ein Traumgebild, Wie’s in schwulen Sommertagen Aus dem Hirn des Dichters quillt? ………. Aber nein, ein sollches Mundchen, Solcher Augen Zauberlicht, Solch ein liebes, su?es Kindchen, Das erschafft der Dichter nicht. ………. Basilisken und Vampire, Lindenwurm and Ungeheur, Solche schlimme Fabeltiere, Die erschafft des Dichters Feur. ………. Aber dich und deine Tucke, Und dein holdes Angesicht, und die falschen, frommen Blicke - Das erschafft der Dichter nicht. *** Darling, you must tell me today, are you not a dream-picture of the kind which on hot summer days springs from the brain of the poet? ………. But no, such a mouth, such magic light in the eyes, such a dear, sweet child, the poet will not create that. ………. Basilisks and vampires, green dragons and monsters, such dreadful creatures of fable are what the poet’s fire produces. ………. But you and your spite and your sweet face, and your false sanctimonious look, the poet can’t create that.

URL:

http://web.archive.org/web/20080227084942/http://www.cultinfo.ru/fulltext/1/001/001/241/1.htm

  GLADLY would I like the other Dead my grave in quiet keep ; Yet a ban eternal, cursed, Makes me wander when all sleep. Peaceful in the azure moonbeams Rest the vaults where others dwell. From my heavy, marble tombstone Burning pangs my path impel. Gloomy pinions burst from out me. Through my soul fierce longings thrill ; Over hill and dale to wander. Yearnings drive me ‘gainst my will. Where my tender bride reposeth, Sultry dreams of living love ; O’er her form a sombre wooer, Light I’ll flutter from above. Now I tremble o’er her forehead, Now the taper flickers low ; Now I faint from glowing passion, Yet away I cannot go. Well I know my breath’s destruction. She whom I may kiss is dead ; Yet I press the fatal signet On the lips, so full and red. Hark! Avaunt! The cock is crowing. Pale and cold the maiden lies ; Deep within my grave I’ll burrow. Back the marble o’er me flies.

Felix Ludwig Julius Dahn (February 9, 1834 – January 3, 1912) was a German nationalist and anti-semitic lawyer, author and historian.He was also known for writing nationalist poetry.

THE VAMPIRE / EL VAMPIRO by Delmira Agustini (1910)

translation by Allejandro Caceres

~ First published in: Cantos de la mañana ~

In the bosom of the sad evening I called upon your sorrow… Feeling it was Feeling your heart as well. You were pale Even your voice, your waxen eyelids, Lowered… and remained silent… You seemed To hear death passing by… I who had opened Your wound bit on it—did you feel me?— As into the gold of a honeycomb I bit! I squeezed even more treacherously, sweetly Your heart mortally wounded, By the cruel dagger, rare and exquisite, Of a nameless illness, until making it bleed in sobs! And the thousand mouths of my damned thirst I offered to that open fountain in your suffering. …………………………………………………………. Why was I your vampire of bitterness? Am I a flower or a breed of an obscure species That devours sores and gulps tears? ~ ~ * * * ~ ~ Original version in Spanish: El vampiro En el regazo de la tarde triste Yo invoqué tu dolor… Sentirlo era Sentirte el corazón! Palideciste Hasta la voz, tus párpados de cera, Bajaron… y callaste… y pareciste Oír pasar la Muerte… Yo que abriera Tu herida mordí en ella -¿me sentiste?- Como en el oro de un panal mordiera ! Y exprimí más, traidora, dulcemente Tu corazón herido mortalmente, Por la cruel daga rara y exquisita De un mal sin nombre, hasta sangrarlo en llanto! Y las mil bocas de mi sed maldita Tendí á esa fuente abierta en tu quebranto. … … … … … … … … … … … . . ¿ Por qué fui tu vampiro de amargura ?… ¿ Soy flor ó estirpe de una especie obscura Que come llagas y que bebe el llanto ?

Delmira Agustini (October 24, 1886 – July 6, 1914), a Uruguayan poet, is considered one of the greatest female Latin American poets of the early 20th century.

This fragment of the book is the first recorded mention of undead in Moldavia. The word used by the author (a major head of the Orthodox Christian Church), is werewolf but the ritual of banishing is typical for a vampire banishing. The terms of vampire werewolf witch and others (pricolich, striga, moroi etc.) are interchangeable in the old beliefs and documents, so I decided to add this fragment here as referring to vampirism. The translation is close to the original and I`m sorry if it`s hard to read or has mistakes.

COPY OF A WRITING FROM THE GRADISKA DISTRICT IN HUNGARY / COPIA EINES SCHREIBENS AUS DEM GRADISKER DISTRICT IN UNGARN by Frombald (1725)

or (the original full title)

Copy of the letter dated 1725 of the imperial cameral provisor of Gradiska district in the Kingdom of Serbia, Mr. Frombald, which relates to the so-called vampiri or blood-suckers, which were notori-ous in the Kingdom of Serbia in those times

In 1725, in the village of Kisilova in Serbia - then considered part of Hungary by the Austro-Hungarian Empire - the administrator of the district, a so called Frombald, wrote a report describing a vampire case.

 Frombald's original report is either lost or at present unknown. Only a copy exists in Vienna, in the Haus Hof und Staatsarchiv, in the stand Türkei (Turcica), entitled ‘Copy of the letter dated 1725 of the imperial cameral provisor of Gradiska district in the Kingdom of Serbia, Mr. Frombald, which relates to the so-called vampiri or blood-suckers, which were notori-ous in the Kingdom of Serbia in those times’ (‘Copia des vom Herrn Frombald kayserlichen Cameral Provisore zu Gradiska im Königreich Servien erlassenen Briefes anno 1725, Die im Königreich Servien damals im Schwung gegangenen sogenannten vampiri oder Blutsauger betreffend’. Frombald 1725). The undated  copy  is  filed  into  the  documents  relating to 1725 January-February.

        The report was published without comment in the 21.07.1725. issue of the Wienerisches Diarium under the  modified  and  fairly uninteresting  title  ‘Copy of a writing from the Gradiska District in Hungary’.

From The Imperial Provisor, Gradsk District

"After a subject by the name of Peter Plogojowitz had died, ten weeks past - he lived in the village of Kisilova, in the Rahm district - and had been buried according to the Raetzian custom, it was revealed that in this same village of Kisilova, within a week, nine people both young and old, died also, after suffering a twenty-four hour illness. And they said publicly, while they were yet alive, but on their deathbed, that the above-mentioned Peter Plogojowitz, who had died ten weeks earlier had come to them in their sleep, laid himself on them, and throttled them, so that they would have to give up the ghost. The other subjects were very distressed and strengthened even more in such beliefs by the fact that the dead Peter Plogojowitz's wife, after saying that her husband had come to her and demanded his opanki, or shoes, had left the village of Kisilova and gone to another."

"And since with such people (which they call vampires) various (physical signs) are to be seen - that is, the body decomposed, the skin, hair, beard and nails growing - the subjects resolved unanimously to open the grave of Peter Plogojowitz and to see if such above-mentioned signs were really to be found on him. To this end they came here to me and, telling me of these events, asked me and the local pope, or parish priest, to be present at the viewing (The peasants' custom of referring to priests in such districts as 'popes' survived well into the 20th Century).And although I at first disapproved, telling them that the praiseworthy administration should first be dutifully and humbly informed, and its exalted opinion about this should be heard, they didn't want to accomodate themselves to this at all, but rather gave this short answer: I could do what I wanted, but (if) I didn't accord them the viewing and the legal recognition to deal with the body according to their custom, they would have to leave the house and home, because by the time a gracious resolution was received from Belgrade, perhaps the entire village - and this was already (said) to have happened in Turkish times - could be destroyed by such an evil spirit, and they did not want to wait for this."

"Since I could not hold these people from the resolution they had made, either with good words or with threats, I went to the village of Kisilova, taking along the Gradisk pope, and viewed the body of Peter Plogojowitz, just exumed, finding, in accordance to truthfulness, that first of all, I did not the slightest ordor that is characteristic of the dead, and the body, except for the nose which has somewhat fallen away, was completely fresh. The hair and beard - even the nails, of which the old ones had fallen away - had grown on him; the old skin, which was somewhat whitish, had peeled away, and a new one had emerged from it. The face, hands and feet and the whole body were so constituted, that they could not have been more complete in his lifetime. Not without astonishment, I saw some fresh blood in his mouth, which according to the common observation, he had sucked from the people killed by him. In short, all the indications were present that such people (as remarked above) are said to have."

"After the pope and I had seen this spectacle, while people grew more outraged than distressed, all the subjects, with great speed, sharpened a stake - in order to pierce the corpse of the deceased with it - and put this at his heart, whereupon, as he was pierced, not only did much blood, completely fresh, flow also through his ears and mouth, but still other wild signs (which I pass by out of high respect)* took place. Finally, according to their usual practise, they burned the above-mentioned body, in hoc casu, to ashes of which I (now)inform the most laudable Administration, and at the same time would like to request, obediently and humbly, that if a mistake was made in this matter, such is to be attributed not to me but to the rabble, who were beside themselves with fear."

Intolerable woman, where's the name For your insane complexity of shame? Vampire! white bloodless creature of the night, Whose lust of blood has blanched her chill veins white, Veins fed with moonlight over dead men's tombs; Whose eyes remember many martyrdoms, So that their depths, whose depth cannot be found, Are shadowed pools in which a soul lies drowned; Who would fain have pity, but she may not rest Till she have sucked a man's heart from his breast, And drained his life-blood from him, vein by vein, And seen his eyes grow brighter for the pain, And his lips sigh her name with his last breath, As the man swoons ecstatically on death.

With the Treaty of Passarowitz (Požarevac, 1718), the Habsburg Monarchy annexed most of Serbia and the northern part of Bosnia, territories which had been part of the Ottoman Empire. These remained in Austrian control until the Treaty of Belgrade (1739), when the Austrians were forced to cede them back to the Turks. During this 20-year period, these newly conquered boundary districts were subject to direct military rule from Vienna for strategic, fiscal and other reasons.

Many of the Serbs, especially those who had immigrated from Ottoman-held areas, were recruited as militiamen (hajduks) for the peacetime protection of the borders and for regular military service at war, in exchange for unalienable lots of land. It was in these communities that the earliest well-documented alleged two vampire attacks were attested.

The first outbreak is only known from the doctor Flückinger's report about the second epidemic and its prehistory.

Paole's case, similar to that of Petar Blagojevich, became famous because of the direct involvement of the Austrian authorities and the documentation by Austrian physicians and officers, who confirmed the reality of vampires. Their report of the case was distributed in Western Europe and contributed to the spread of vampire belief among educated Europeans. The report and its significance for the subsequent eighteenth century vampire controversy are nowadays explained with the poor understanding of the process of corpse decomposition at the time.

Visum et Repertum (Seen and Discovered)

After it had been reported that in the village of Medvegia the so-called vampires had killed some people by sucking their blood, I was, by high degree of a local Honorable Supreme Command, sent there to investigate the matter thoroughly along with officers detailed for that purpose and two subordinate medical officers, and therefore carried out and heard the present inquiry in the company of the captain of the Stallath Company of haiduks (a type of soldier), Gorschiz Hadnack, the standard-bearer and the oldest haiduk of the village, as follows: who unanimously recount that about five years ago a local haiduk by the name of Arnold Pavle broke his neck in a fall from a haywagon. This man had during his lifetime often revealed that, near Gossowa in Turkish Serbia, he had been troubled by a vampire, wherefore he had eaten from the earth of the vampire’s grave and had smeared himself with the vampire’s blood, in order to be free from the veIation he had suffered.

In 20 or 30 days after his death some people complained that they were being bothered by this same Arnod Paole; and in fact four people were killed by him. In order to end this evil, they dug up this Arnold Paole 40 days after his death - this on the advice of a soldier, who had been present at such events before; and they found that he was quite complete and undecayed, and that fresh blood had flowed from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears; that the shirt, the covering, and the coffin were completely bloody; that the old nails on his hands and feet, along with the skin, had fallen off, and that new ones had grown; and since they saw from this that he was a true vampire, they drove a stake through his heart, according to their custom, whereby he gave an audible groan and bled copiously, Thereupon they burned the body the same day to ashes and threw these into the grave. These people say further that all those who were tormented and killed by the vampire must themselves become vampires.

Therefore they disinterred the above-mentioned four people in the same way. Then they also add that this Arnod Paole attacked not only the people but also the cattle, and sucked out their blood. And since the people used the flesh of such cattle, it appears that some vampires are again present here, inasmuch as, in a period of three months, 17 young and old people died, among them some who, with no previous illness, died in two or at the most three days. In addition, the haiduk Jowiza reports that his step-daughter, by name of Stanacka, lay down to sleep 15 days ago, fresh and healthy, but at midnight she started up out of her sleep with a terrible cry, fearful and trembling, and complained that she had been throttled by the son of a haiduk by the name of Milloe, who had died nine weeks earlier, whereupon she had experienced a great pain in the chest and became worse hour by hour, until finally she died on the third day. At this we went the same afternoon to the graveyard, along with the often-mentioned oldest haiduks of the village, in order to cause the suspicious graves to be opened and to examine the bodies in them, whereby, after all of them had been dissected, there was found:

  1. A woman by the name of Stana, 20 years old, who had died in childbirth two months ago, after a three-day illness, and who had herself said, before her death, that she had painted herself with the blood of a vampire, wherefore both she and her child - which had died right after birth and because of a careless burial had been half eaten by the dogs- must also become vampires. She was quite complete and undecayed. After the opening of the body there was found in the cavitate pectoris a quantity of fresh extravascular blood. The vessels of the arteries and veins, like the ventriculis ortis, were not, as is usual, filled with coagulated blood, and the whole viscera, that is, the lung, liver, stomach, spleen, and intestines were quite fresh as they would be in a healthy person.

The uterus was however quite enlarged and very inflamed externally, for the placenta and lochia had remained in place, wherefore the same was in complete putredine. The skin on her hands and feet, along with the old nails, fell away on their own, but on the other hand completely new nails were evident, along with a fresh and vivid skin.

2. There was a woman by the name of Miliza (60 years old), who had died after a three-month sickness and had been buried 90-some days earlier. In the chest much liquid blood was found; and the other viscera were, like those mentioned before, in a good condition. During her dissection, all the haiduks who were standing around marveled greatly at her plumpness and perfect body, uniformly stating that they had known the woman well, from her youth, and that she had; throughout her life, looked and been very lean and dried up, and they emphasized that she had come to this surprising plumpness in the grave. They also said that it was she who started the vampires this time, because she had eaten of the flesh of those sheep that had been killed by the previous vampires.

3. There was an eight-day-old child which had lain in the grave for 90 days and was similarly in a condition of vampirism.

4. The son of a haiduk, 16 years old, was dug up, having lain in the earth for nine weeks, after he had died from a three-day illness, and was found like the other vampires.

5. Joachim, also the son of a haiduk, 17 years old; had died after a three-day illness. He had been buried eight weeks and four days and, on being dissected; was found in similar condition.

6. A woman by the name of Ruscha who had died after a ten-day illness and had been buried six weeks previous, in whom there was much fresh blood not only in the chest but also in fundo ventriculi. The same showed itself in her child, which was 18 days old and had died five weeks previously.

7. No less did a girl ten years of age, who had died two months previously, find herself in the above-mentioned condition, quite complete and undecayed; and had much fresh blood in her chest.

8. They caused the wife of the Hadnack to be dug up, along with her child. She had died seven weeks previously, her child - who was eight weeks old- 21 days previously, and it was found that both mother and child were completely decomposed, although earth and grave were like those of the vampires lying nearby.

9. A servant of the local corporal of the haiduks, by the name of Rhade, 21 years old, died after a three-month-long illness, and after a five week burial was found completely decomposed.

10. The wife of the local bariactar, along with her child, having died five weeks previously, were also completely decomposed.

11. With Stanche, a local haiduk, 60 years old; who had died six weeks previously, I noticed a profuse liquid blood, like the others, in the chest and stomach. The entire body was in the oft-named condition of vampirism.

12. Milloe, a haiduk, 25 years old; who had lain for six weeks in the earth, also was found in the condition of vampirism mentioned.

13. Stanoika, the wife of a haiduk, 20 years old, died after a three-day illness and had been buried 18 days previously. In the dissection I found that she was in her countenance quite red and of a vivid color, and, as was mentioned above, she had been throttled, at midnight, by Milloe, the son of the haiduk, and there was also to be seen, on the right side under the ear, a bloodshot blue mark, the length of a finger. As she was being taken out of the grave, a quantity of fresh blood flowed from her nose. With the dissection I found; as mentioned often already, a regular fragrant fresh bleeding, not only in the chest cavity, but also in ventriculo cordis.

All the viscera found themselves in a completely good and healthy condition. The hypodermis of the entire body, along with the fresh nails of hands and feet, was as though completely fresh. After the examination had taken place, the heads of the vampires were cut off by the local gypsies and burned along with the bodies, and then the ashes were thrown into the river Morava. The decomposed bodies, however, were laid back into their own graves.

Visum et Repertum Seen and Discovered 1732

Regimental Field Surgeon Johannes Fluckinger To the Emperor

"Why looks my lord so deadly pale? Why fades the crimson from his cheek? What can my dearest husband ail? Thy heartfelt cares, O Herman, speak! "Why, at the silent hour of rest, Dost thou in sleep so sadly mourn? Has tho' with heaviest grief oppress'd, Griefs too distressful to be borne. "Why heaves thy breast? — why throbs thy heart? O speak! and if there be relief, 10 Thy Gertrude solace shall impart, If not, at least shall share thy grief. "Wan is that cheek, which once the bloom Of manly beauty sparkling shew'd; Dim are those eyes, in pensive gloom, That late with keenest lustre glow'd. "Say why, too, at the midnight hour, You sadly pant and tug for breath, As if some supernat'ral pow'r Were pulling you away to death? 20 "Restless, tho' sleeping, still you groan, And with convulsive horror start; O Herman! to thy wife make known That grief which preys upon thy heart." "O Gertrude! how shall I relate Th' uncommon anguish that I feel; Strange as severe is this my fate, — A fate I cannot long conceal. "In spite of all my wonted strength, Stern destiny has seal'd my doom; 30 The dreadful malady at length Wil drag me to the silent tomb!" "But say, my Herman, what's the cause Of this distress, and all thy care. That, vulture-like, thy vitals gnaws, And galls thy bosom with despair? "Sure this can be no common grief, Sure this can be no common pain? Speak, if this world contain relief, That soon thy Gertrude shall obtain." 40 "O Gertrude, 'tis a horrid cause, O Gertrude, 'tis unusual care, That, vulture-like, my vitals gnaws, And galls my bosom with despair. "Young Sigismund, my once dear friend, But lately he resign'd his breath; With others I did him attend Unto the silent house of death. "For him I wept, for him I mourn'd, Paid all to friendship that was due; 50 But sadly friendship is return'd, Thy Herman he must follow too! "Must follow to the gloomy grave, In spite of human art or skill; No pow'r on earth my life can save, 'Tis fate's unalterable will! "Young Sigismund, my once dear friend, But now my persecutor foul, Doth his malevolence extend E'en to the torture of my soul. 60 "By night, when, wrapt in soundest sleep, All mortals share a soft repose, My soul doth dreadful vigils keep, More keen than which hell scarely knows. "From the drear mansion of the tomb, From the low regions of the dead, The ghost of Sigismund doth roam, And dreadful haunts me in my bed! "There, vested in infernal guise, (By means to me not understood,) 70 Close to my side the goblin lies, And drinks away my vital blood! "Sucks from my veins the streaming life, And drains the fountain of my heart! O Gertrude, Gertrude! dearest wife! Unutterable is my smart. "When surfeited, the goblin dire, With banqueting by suckled gore, Will to his sepulchre retire, Till night invites him forth once more. 80 "Then will he dreadfully return, And from my veins life's juices drain; Whilst, slumb'ring, I with anguish mourn, And toss with agonizing pain! "Already I'm exhausted, spent; His carnival is nearly o'er, My soul with agony is rent, To-morrow I shall be no more! "But, O my Gertrude! dearest wife! The keenest pangs hath last remain'd— 90 When dead, I too shall seek thy life, Thy blood by Herman shall be drain'd! "But to avoid this horrid fate, Soon as I'm dead and laid in earth, Drive thro' my corpse a jav'lin straight; — This shall prevent my coming forth. "O watch with me, this last sad night, Watch in your chamber here alone, But carefully conceal the light Until you hear my parting groan. 100 "Then at what time the vesper-bell Of yonder convent shall be toll'd, That peal shall ring my passing knell, And Herman's body shall be cold! "Then, and just then, thy lamp make bare, The starting ray, the bursting light, Shall from my side the goblin scare, And shew him visible to sight!" The live-long night poor Gertrude sate, Watch'd by her sleeping, dying lord; 110 The live-long night she mourn'd his fate, The object whom her soul ador'd. Then at what time the vesper-bell Of yonder convent sadly toll'd, The, then was peal'd his passing knell, The hapless Herman he was cold! Just at that moment Gertrude drew From 'neath her cloak the hidden light; When, dreadful! she beheld in view The shade of Sigismund! — sad sight! 120 Indignant roll'd his ireful eyes, That gleam'd with wild horrific stare; And fix'd a moment with surprise, Beheld aghast th' enlight'ning glare. His jaws cadaverous were besmear'd With clott'd carnage o'er and o'er, And all his horrid whole appear'd Distent, and fill'd with human gore! With hideous scowl the spectre fled; She shriek'd aloud; — then swoon'd away! 130 The hapless Herman in his bed, All pale, a lifeless body lay! Next day in council 'twas decree, (Urg'd at the instance of the state,) That shudd'ring nature should be freed From pests like these ere 'twas too late. The choir then burst the fun'ral dome Where Sigismund was lately laid, And found him, tho' within the tomb, Still warm as life, and undecay'd. 140 With blood his visage was distain'd, Ensanguin'd were his frightful eyes, Each sign of former life remain'd, Save that all motionless he lies. The corpse of Herman they contrive To the same sepulchre to take, And thro' both carcases they drive, Deep in the earth, a sharpen'd stake! By this was finish'd their career, Thro' this no longer they can roam; 150 From them their friends have nought to fear, Both quiet keep the slumb'ring tomb.

The original language of the 1845 vampire poem by James Clerk Maxwell.

"To say the language is a difficult read is simplistic; it's a bear. The Scot's burr of the high-land comes through even given the non-standard spelling. This is why I have provided a modernized version below."

1845 James Maxwell's "The Vampire" Modernized Language A knight rides through the woods, And he is a strong and courageous knight. He has been sent on an errand, So he rides with haste. He rides past the oak tree and the birch tree, He passes many trees, It was pleasant to see the sight of slim* trees, For under it he saw The most beautiful lady he ever did see, For she was shining and fair. She sat beneath the branches Combing her golden hair. And then the knight said, “Oh bright lady, What chance has brought you here? If you but say the word, you shall go Back to your dear kindred.” The fair lady answered, “I have no friends or kin, I live in a little loat Amid the load waves din.” Then the brave knight said, “I’ll follow you to wherever you go, For even if you are on a little boat, The world to the boat seems small.” Together they traveled through the woods Until they arrived at its end. And when they got to the end of the woods They saw the salt sea’s foam. Then they saw the small boat That danced on the tops of the waves, And the fair lady got into it first Then the brave knight followed her onto it. They rowed with all their might; Then the brave knight turned in the boat And looked at the shining lady: He looked at her beautiful cheek, And he looked at her bright eyes, But suddenly her rosy cheek went ghastly pale, As though she were dead.

Then the false, false knight grew pale with fright, And his hair stood on end, For past days came to his mind, And he remembered and thought about his former love. Then the lady spoke, “You false knight, You have done much ill to me, You forsook me long ago But I am still constant (faithful) to you; For although I lie in the cold woods I cannot be at rest Until I suck the good life-blood Of the man that caused my death.” He saw her lips were red with blood, And he saw her lifeless eyes, And loudly he cried, “Get from my side, You unclean vampire corpse!” But no, he is in the magic boat, And on the wide, wide sea; And the vampire sucks his good life’s blood, She sucks him until he dies. So now beware, whoever you are, That walks in this lone wood: Beware of that deceitful spirit, That ghost that sucks the blood.

Image: Strigoii by Bordelache

I

... for it fades away like smoke above the earth. They bloomed like flowers, were cut like grass, Wrapped up in a linen and buried in the ground

Within an ancient church with lofty soaring dome, Between tall waxen candles, does in her coffin lie, Her face towards the altar, wrapped in white drapery, The bride of brave King Harold, the King of Avari, While softly chanted dirges do from the darkness come. Upon the dead girl's breast a wreath of jewels glows, Her golden hair hangs loosely over the coffin side, Her eyes are sunken deep; a sad smile sanctified Rest on her parched lips, that death to mauve has dyed, While is her lovely face as pale as winter snows. Beside her on his knees is Harold, mighty King, And from his bloodshot eyes does shine untold despair, His mouth with pain is drawn, dishevelled is his hair. Though like a lion he would roar, grief holds him silent there; Three days he thinks upon his life in nameless sorrowing. "I was still but a child. Within the pine-tree glade My greedy eyes already had conquered many a land, I dreamed an empire grow beneath my fancy's wand, I dreamed the world entire was under my command, The foaming Volga's ford I fathomed with my blade. Countless mighty hosts my youthful zeal led forth By whom as of some God my name was worshipped. I felt the very earth tremble beneath my tread; Before my marching hosts the wandering nations fled, Crowding in their terror the empty frozen North. For Odin had deserted his frosty ancient home, Down long and tortuous ways his wandering people went; Priests with snowy locks and backs that time had bent Roused and led through forests where peace an age had spent Thousand diverse tongues along the way to Rome. One eve my troops I camped upon the Nistru's side, Intending on the morrow your battle host to quell; But there amidst your councillors I came beneath your spell; Before your marble loveliness my eyes in wonder fell, So fearless you stood, in all your childish pride. Before your soft reproach my words dried on my tongue. I strove to make an answer, but could no answer find. Would earth have swallowed me, and left no trace behind, My hands before my face I put my shame to blind, And tears came to the eyes where tears had never sprung. Your councillors did smile and soon departed then To leave us quite alone. I asked you, after a space, Though scarcely did I dare to look upon your face; Why have you come, o Queen, into this desert place? What do you seek so far away from courts and men? In a murmur filled with tears, gentle and sad you spake Holding me with your eyes in which the sky shone clear, You said: "I beg of you, o King and cavalier, To give to me as prisoner the one I hold most dear, Harold, that untamed youth, him would I captive take." Turning my head away, I handed you my sword. My people ceased their march along the Danube side; Harold no longer dreamed the universe to ride, His ears for tender tones and poetry did abide, The conqueror from that hour was vanquished by your word. From then sweet maid with hair of gold as ripened grain Each night you came to me when nobody should know, And your white, slender arms around my neck did throw, And raising coaxing lips to mine you said in whispers low: "O, King, it is for Harold I come to beg again." If you would ask for Rome, if you would ask the earth, Or all the crowns that rest on mortal monarch's head, The wandering stars that beam across the heavens shed, There heaped about your feet would I bestow instead, But do not ask for Harold for he is nothing worth. Ah, where are gone the days when brave I probed the ford To stride into the world. Far better had it been If so much loveliness my eyes had never seen... To ride through ruined towns, to lead the battle keen And thus fulfil those dreams the pine-tree forest stored l" The torches are raised up. The train moves slowly on. The Danube Queen is carried down to her narrow bed, Councillor and monarch with heavy drooping head, Priests with snowy beards and eyes that tears shed, Mumbling their dirge in mournful unison. Beneath the arching vault the slow procession goes, A mystery religion, a strange and sombre lore, They lower down the coffin beneath the gaping floor, Then close it with a cross, a seal for evermore, Beneath the holy lamp that in the corner glows.

II

Be silent, in God's name, To hear the bay Of the earth-hound Under the stone cross. Harold on his charger sweeps far o'er hill and dale, Like a dream he goes within the moon's pale zone; Across his breast in folds his black cloak he has thrown, Behind him drifts of leaves high in the air are blown, While never straight before him the Polar Star does sail. Reaching at last the forest that clothes the rising hills, Where does a sweet spring murmur, well out from 'neath a stone, Where grey with scattered ashes an old hearth stands alone, Where far off in the forest the earth-hound sounds his tone And with his distant barking he midnight silence fills. Upon a rocky ledge, quite stiff and ashen faced, There sits, with crutch in hand, a priest of pagan creed For ages sits he thus, by death forgot indeed, Moss growing on his forehead and on his breast long weed, His beard reaching to the ground, his eyebrows to his waist. Blindly thus for ages he sits both day and night, Until his feet have grown one with the stone at last, Numbering the days that numberless have passed, While over him are circling in endless circles vast Two crows on weary wings, one black, the other white. And now upon his arm the youth doth sudden lay His eager hand, and wakes the old priest terrified; "To you, o timeless Seer, across the world I ride To give me back the one that envious death does hide, And all my days for you I will unceasing pray." Now with his crutch the Seer his heavy eyebrows parts And gazes on the King, but not an utterance makes. Then out o'the stone's grey substance his feet with trouble And turning towards the forest his battered crutch he shakes, And lastly up the narrow path with heavy paces starts. Upon the oaken doorway that guards the mountain keep With crutch on high uplifted loud three times does he knock; With thunderous commotion the gates slow backwards rock, The priest kneels down... while through the young king's spirit flock A thousand dreadful fears, and thousand terrors leap. Into the lofty vault of shining marble black They go. The door swings shut again with rumbling sound; The Seer now lights a candle that spreads its glow around And throws away behind them their shadows on the ground And lights the sombre walls that shine like iron back. There in the dreadful darkness they know not what will come... The old magician makes a sign that he should bide, And Harold crouches down, his sword clasped at his side, While nameless, awful dread does through his spirit ride, Blank gazing at the walls of that uncanny tomb. Till soon the Seer did seem immeasurably to grow; He waved kiss magic crutch above his ancient head, And through the chilly vault a wind in wailing sped And thousand whispering voices into the silence shed A song the filled the dome with gentle cadence low. And now the singing gradually increases like a breeze Until with sudden swelling it to a tempest grows, As though a gale that madly across the ocean blows, As though the tortured soul of deepest earth arose And all that lives and feels with horrid fright must freeze. The mighty vault now trembles from ceiling to the floor, The marble walls are rocking and crack right to their base While through the darkness curses do sobs in panic chase, And cries and moans and lightning amidst the tumult race Till thunderous indeed has grown the wild uproar... "Out of the heart of earth let man the dead awake, And let the stars her eyes their pristine spark ignite, Her golden hair the moon, like it was once, make bright, While you, o Zamolxis, eternal seed of light, With breath of fire and frost let her of life partake. Search wide throughout the kingdom where Harold is the king Search deep the very entrails of this revolving earth, Out of ice make vapour, from stone make gold of worth, Blood make out of water, and fire from rock give birth, While in her maiden heart again let hot blood spring." At that the walls enclosing withdraw before his eyes, He sees the snow and lightning and ice as one conspire, The sky, the wind, the water, the elements entire, He sees a mighty city beneath a bridge of fire, And over all a thunderstorm of wailing and of sighs. He sees the Christian church bow 'neath the tempest's host, He sees the falling lightning its bulwarks shatter through, The secret tomb within wide open laid to view, The covering stone of marble divided now in two And out of that uncovered grave does rise... a ghost. A thing of snow she is. Upon her bosom frail A wreath of rubies glows, her hair to earth arrayed, Her eyes sunk in her head, her lips of violet shade, Her hands as though of wax upon her temples laid, Her tender childish face as new slaked lime is pale. The tumult of her coming does all the clouds dispel, The lightning and the thunder out of the heavens fly, The moon turns pitchy-black within a drooping sky, The waters sink to nowhere and leave the oceans dry; An angel in her sleep, it seems, who walks through hell. The vision fades away. Before those gleaming walls, A form does now approach, with smooth and silent stride; 'Tis she. Harold stares, amazed with joy, wide eyed, Then reaches out his arms to clasp her to his side, But in a sudden trance to earth unconscious falls. He feels two icy hands clasp gently round his heart, A long and freezing kiss is set upon his breast, As though from him in sleeping his very life would wrest... Then feels the life returning to her against him pressed And knows that from that hour they nevermore will part. 'Tis verily the maid who in her coffin lay? He feels in her the life yet ever warmer glow, Till she around his neck her snowy arms does throw, And raising coaxing lips she says in murmurs low; "'O King, behold Maria for Harold comes to pray ! Come, Harold, your sweet brow against my bosom lean; Thou god with eyes of darkness... how wonderful they shine! But let me round your neck my golden hair entwine... My life and youth your presence does in the sky enshrine. O let me gaze into your eyes of sweet and fatal sheen." And now a sound of voices does gradually awake, A song that ancient sweetness upon the ear bestows, As when a spring at autumn among the dead leaves flows, A harmony of love, voluptuous repose, As when in silver cadence the breeze enfolds the lake.

III

"... as often when people die, many of those dead, they say, wake up to become ghosts..."

In high and empty halls the torches redly burn Wounding like glowing coals the darkness they intrude; Harold is striding there in madman's frenzied mood, Harold, the youthful King; a King in solitude, While all his palace seems to wait the dead return. Upon the marble mirrors a heavy shadow rears Through which the torches' glimmer shines as on silken net, A twilight doubly mournful with sorrowing beset; The empty palace chambers house naught but dark regret, While out of every corner it seems a dead man peers. Since when the dome was shattered by dreadful lightning stroke The whole day long he passes in cold and leaden sleep, Upon his heart was branded a symbol black and deep. But in the night he rises and does his council keep, And then the pallid king does don his gloomy cloak. It seems that now a mask of wax King Harold wears, So paled and so still the face his grief's conceal; Yet burn his eyes like fires, his lips the blood reveal, Upon his heart he carries a black and deadly seal, While on his noble forehead an iron crown he bears. Since then in death's dark garments he wraps his life forlorn, He cares but for sad chants as does the tempest play; Often 'neath the moon at midnight rides away, And when he does return his eyes are bright and gay Until death's shuddering voice will grasp him at the dawn. Harold, what can mean this sombre funeral guise, This face your wear like wax, so pale and motionless? What is this seal, this scar that does your heart oppress, Why do you light the funeral torch, love dirges of distress? Harold, you are dead if I believe my eyes ! Today once more he mounts his fiery Arab horse And o'er the wilderness he speeds with arrow's flight While does the moon shine down her soft and silver light. Now over the horizon Maria comes in sight, And through the whispering forest the wind flies on its course. Set in her golden hair a wreath of rubies gleams, The light of many saints does in her large eyes sleep. On towards the meeting place their chargers swiftly sweep. They meet and each in greeting bows to the other deep But on their scarlet lips are stains of blood it seems. They gallop like the tempest with thousand wings, they fly Speeding o'er the country their chargers side by side, Speaking of their love that naught can more divide, She rests upon his arm that is around her plied And on his ready shoulder her golden head does lie. "Come Harold, your sweet brow upon my bosom lean Thou God with eyes of darkness... how beautiful they shine ! But let me round your neck my golden hair entwine... My life and youth your presence does in the sky enshrine. O let me gaze into your eyes of sweet and fatal sheen." A soft and soothing scent is in the air dispersed, A shower of lime-tree blossoms the wind in passing throws Upon the way by which the Queen of Danube goes, A murmuring of breezes among the petals blows, While do in tender kiss unite their lips athirst. Thus flying like the wind they each of love inquire, Nor see beyond the night the dawn already glowing; Yet in their souls they feel an icy shiver growing And o'er their pallid faces a mask of death is showing While slowly on their lips their whispered words expire. "O Harold, on your breast allow my face to hide, Do you not hear far off the cock's hoarse morning cry? A spear of light that sprang athwart the eastern sky To wound his fleeting life within my heart does pry; Within my soul is born the ruddy fire of day." Harold bolt upright was stricken like an oak, His eyes forever veiled with death's eternal shade. Their steeds fled on untended with panic dread afraid, Like to a demon's shadow straight out of Hades strayed They went... Among the trees a plaintive wind awoke. They speed on like a whirlwind, cross rivers no bridge spanned. Before their flying course the dawn-lit mountains gleam, They traverse hill and valley, and many a fordless stream, Upon their waxen foreheads their crowns like lightning beam, While far away before them the pine-tree forests stand. Now from his rocky throne the old magician spies Their coming, and he calls above the tempest fray The sun to check its course, the night its moon delay, The gale to fly abroad, the earth its movement stay, Too late... The rising sun is mounting up the skies. The hurricane let loose a tale of pain relates And sweeps along besides them to fill their steeds with dread; Their eyes are dimmed and downcast, the fire in them is shed, Beautiful their dying, in death forever wed. Now, widely swinging, open the temple's double gates. They ride into the temple, the gates behind them swing. Lost for all eternity within the tomb's constraint; Around them in the darkness there sounds a sad complaint For that fair mortal maid whose face was of a saint, For Harold, youthful monarch, the pine-tree forest's king. The Seer now lowers his eyebrows, the world fades from His feet into the granite again enrooted grow, Numbering the days that numberless did flow, Harold in his failing mind a tale of long ago, While soaring o'er his head two crows: one black, one white. Upon his rocky ledge, upright and ashen faced, There sits with crutch in hand the priest of pagan creed. For ages sits he thus, by death forgot indeed, Moss growing on his forehead and on his breast long weed, His beard reaching to the ground, his eyebrows to his waist. Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu *****

Image: Strigoii by Marcel Chirnoaga

Original Romanian version: I ... ca trece aceasta ca fumul de pre pamînt. Ca floarea au înflorit, ca iarba s-au taiat, cu pînza se-nfasura, cu pamînt se acopere.

Sub bolta cea înalta a unei vechi biserici, Între faclii de ceara, arzînd în sfesnici mari, E-ntinsa-n haine albe, cu fata spre altar, Logodnica lui Arald, stapîn peste avari; Încet, adînc rasuna cîntarile de clerici. Pe pieptul moartei luce de pietre scumpe salba Si paru-i de-aur curge din racla la pamînt, Cazuti în cap sunt ochii. C-un zîmbet trist si sfînt Pe buzele-i lipite, ce vinete îi sunt, Iar fata ei frumoasa ca varul este alba. Si lînga ea-n genunche a Arald, mîndrul rege, Scînteie desperarea în ochii-i crunti de sînge, Si încîlcit e parul lui negru... gura-si strînge; El ar racni ca leii, dar vai! nu poate plînge. De zile trei îsi spune povestea vietii-ntrege: ?Eram un copilandru. Din codri vechi de brad Flamînzii ochi rotindu-i, eu mistuiam pamîntul, Eu razvrateam imperii, popoarele cu gîndul... Visînd ca toata lumea îmi asculta cuvîntul, În valurile Volgai cercam cu spada vad. Domnind semet si tînar pe roinicele stoluri, Caror a mea fiinta un semizeu parea, Simteam ca universul la pasu-mi tresarea, Si natii calatoare, împinse de a mea, Împlut-au sperioase pustiul pîn? la poluri. Caci Odin parasise de gheata nalta-i doma, Pe zodii sîngeroase porneau a lui popoara; Cu crestetele albe, preoti cu pleata rara Trezeau din codrii vecinici, din pace seculara Mii roiuri vorbitoare, curgînd spre vechea Roma. Pe Nistru tabarîsem poporul tau sa-mpil; Cu sfetnici vechi de zile ma-ntîmpinasi în cale, Ca marmura de alba, cu par de aur moale; În jos plecat-am ochii-naintea fetei tale, Statînd un îndaratnic - un sfiicios copil. La blînda ta mustrare simt glasul cum îmi seaca... Eu caut a raspunde, nu stiu ce sa raspund; Mi-ar fi parut mai bine-n pamînt sa ma cufund, Cu mînile-amîndoua eu fata îmi ascund Si-ntîia data-n viata un plîns amar ma-neaca. Zîmbira între dînsii batrînii tai prieteni Si singuri ne lasara... Te-ntreb într-un tîrziu, Uitîndu-ma la tine, privind fara sa stiu: TLa ce-ai venit, regina, aicea în pustiu ? Ce cauti la barbarul sub streasina-i de cetini ? t Cu glasul plin de lacrimi, de-nduiosare cald, Privindu-ma cu ochii, în care-aveai un cer, Mi-ai zis: TAstept din parte-ti, o, rege cavaler, Ca-mi vei da prins pe-acela ce umilit ti-l cer... Eu vreau sa-mi dai copilul zburdalnic - pe Arald. Si întorcîndu-mi fata, eu spada ti-am întins. Pe plaiuri dunarene poporu-si opri mersul, Arald, copilul rege, uitat-a Universul, Urechea-i fu menita ca sa-ti asculte viersul, De-atunci, învingatoareo, iubit-ai pe învins. De-atunci, fecioara blonda ca spicul cel de grîu, Veneai la mine noaptea ca nimeni sa te vada Si-nlantuindu-mi gîtul cu brate de zapada, Îmi întindeai o gura deschisa pentru sfada: TEu vin la tine, rege, sa cer pe-Arald al meut. De-ai fi cerut pamîntul cu Roma lui antica, Coroanele ce regii pe frunte le aseaza Si stelele ce vecinic pe ceruri colindeaza, Cu toate la picioare-ti eu le puneam în vaza, Dar nu-l mai vrei pe Arald, caci nu mai vrei nimica. Ah ! unde-i vremea ceea cînd eu cercam un vad Sa ies la lumea larga... si fost-ar fi mai bine Ca niciodata-n viata sa nu te vad pe tine - Sa fumege nainte-mi orasele-n ruine, Sa se-mplineasca visu-mi din codrii cei de brad !" Facliile ridica, se misc-în line pasuri, Ducînd la groapa trupul reginei dunarene, Monahi, cunoscatorii vietii pamîntene, Cu barbele lor albe, cu ochii stinsi sub gene, Preoti batrîni ca iarna, cu gîngavele glasuri. O duc cîntînd prin tainiti si pe sub negre bolti, A misticei religii întunecoase cete, Pe funii lungi coboara sicriul sub parete, Pe piatra pravalita pun crucea drept pecete Sub candela ce arde în umbra unui colt. II

În numele sfîntului Taci, s-auzi cum latra Catelul pamîntului Sub crucea de piatra. Arald pe un cal negru zbura, si dealuri, vale În juru-i fug ca visuri - prin nouri joaca luna - La pieptu-i manta neagra în falduri si-o aduna, Movili de frunze-n drumu-i le spulbera de suna, Iar steaua cea polara i-arata a lui cale. Ajuns-a el la poala de codru-n muntii vechi, Izvoara vii murmura si salta de sub piatra, Colo cenusa sura în parasita vatra, În codri-adînci catelul pamîntului tot latra, Latrat cu glas de zimbru rasuna în urechi. Pe-un jilt taiat în stînca sta tapan, palid, drept, Cu cîrja lui în mîna, preotul cel pagîn; De-un veac el sede astfel - de moarte-uitat, batrîn, În plete-i creste muschiul si muschi pe al lui sîn, Barba-n pamînt i-ajunge si genele la piept... Asa fel zi si noapte de veacuri el sta orb, Picioarele lui vechie cu piatra-mpreunate, El numara în gîndu-i zile nenumarate, Si fîlfîie deasupra-i, gonindu-se în roate, Cu-aripile-ostenite, un alb s-un negru corb. Arald atunci coboara de pe-al lui cal. C-o mîna El scutura din visu-i mosneagu-ncremenit: - O, mag, de zile vecinic, la tine am venit, Da-mi înapoi pe-aceea ce moartea mi-a rapit, Si de-astazi a mea viata la zeii tai se-nchina. Batrînul cu-a lui cîrja sus genele-si ridica, Se uita lung la dînsul, dar gura-nchisa-i tace; Cu greu a lui picioare din piatra le desface, Din tronu-i se coboara, cu mîna semn îi face Ca-n sus sa îl urmeze pe-a codrilor potica. În poarta prabusita ce duce-n fund de munte, Cu cîrja lui cea vechie el bate de trei ori, Cu zgomot sare poarta din vechii ei usori, Batrînul se închina... pe rege-l prind fiori, Un stol de gînduri aspre trecu peste-a lui frunte. În dom de marmur negru ei intra linistiti Si portile în urma în vechi tîtîni s-arunca. O candela batrînul aprinde - para lunga Se nalta-n sus albastra, de flacare o dunga, Lucesc în juru-i ziduri ca tuciul lustruiti. Si în tacere cruda ei nu stiu ce astept... Cu mîna-ntinsa magul îi face semn sa sada, Arald cu moarte-n suflet, a gîndurilor prada, Pe jet tacut se lasa, cu dreapta pe-a lui spada, În zid de marmur negru se uita crunt si drept. Fantastic pare-a creste batrînul alb si blînd; În aer îsi ridica a farmecelor varga Si o suflare rece prin dom atunci alearga Si mii de glasuri slabe încep sub bolta larga Un cînt frumos si dulce - adormitor sunînd. Din ce în ce cîntarea în valuri ea tot creste, Se pare ca furtuna ridica al ei glas, Ca vîntul trece-n spaima pe-al marilor talaz, Ca-n sufletu-i pamîntul se zbate cu necaz - Ca orice-i viu în lume acum încremeneste. Se zguduie tot domul, de pare-a fi de scînduri, Si stînci în temelie clatindu-se vedem, Plînsori sfîsietoare împinse de blestem Se urmaresc prin bolte, se cheama, fulger, gem Si cresc tumultuoase în valuri, rînduri, rînduri... - Din inima-i pamîntul la morti sa deie viata, În ochii-i sa se scurga scîntei din steaua lina, A parului lucire s-o deie luna plina, Iar duh da-i tu, Zamolxe, samînta de lumina, Din duhul gurii tale ce arde si îngheata. Stihii a lumei patru, supuse lui Arald, Strabateti voi pamîntul si a lui maruntaie, Faceti din piatra aur si din înghet vapaie, Sa-nchege apa-n sînge, din pietre foc sa saie, Dar inima-i fecioara hraniti cu sînge cald. Atuncea dinaintea lui Arald zidul piere; El vede toata firea amestecat-afara - Ninsoare, fulger, gheata, vînt arzator de vara - Departe vede-orasul pe sub un arc de para, Si lumea nebunise gemînd din rasputere; Biserica crestina, a ei catapeteasma De-un fulger drept în doua e rupta si tresare; Din tainita mormîntul atuncea îi apare, Si piatra de pe groapa crapînd în doua sare; Încet plutind se-nalta mireasa-i, o fantasma... O dulce întrupare de-omat. Pe pieptu-i salba De pietre scumpe... parul i-ajunge la calcîie, Ochii cazuti în capu-i si buze viorie; Cu mînile-i de ceara ea tîmpla si-o mîngîie - Dar fata ei frumoasa ca varul este alba. Prin vînt, prin neguri vine - si nourii s-astern, Fug fulgerele-n laturi, lasînd-o ca sa treaca, Si luna înnegreste si ceru-ncet se pleaca Si apele cu spaima fug în pamînt si seaca - Parea ca-n somn un înger ar trece prin infern. Privelistea se stinge. În negrul zid s-arata, Venind ca-n somn lunatec, în pasuri line, ea; Arald nebun se uita - cu ochii o-nghitea, Puternicele brate spre dînsa întindea Si-n nesimtire cade pe-a jiltului sau spata. Îsi simte gîtu-atuncea cuprins de brate reci, Pe pieptul gol el simte un lung sarut de gheata, Parea un junghi ca-i curma suflare si viata... Din ce în ce mai vie o simte-n a lui brate Si stie ca de-acuma a lui ramîne-n veci. Si sufletul ei dulce din ce în ce-i mai cald... Pe ea o tine-acuma, ce fu a mortii prada ? Ea-nlantuieste gîtu-i cu brate de zapada, Întinde a ei gura, deschisa pentru sfada: - Rege,-a venit Maria si-ti cere pe Arald ! - Arald, nu vrei tu fruntea pe sînul meu s-o culci ? Tu zeu cu ochii negri... o, ce frumosi ochi ai ! Las? sa-ti înlantui gîtul cu parul meu balai, Viata, tineretea mi-ai prefacut-o-n rai, Las? sa ma uit în ochii-ti ucizator de dulci. Si blînde, triste glasuri din vuiet se desfac, Acusa la ureche-i un cîntec vechi strabate, Ca murmur de izvoare prin frunzele uscate, Acus o armonie de-amor si voluptate Ca molcoma cadenta a undelor pe lac.

III

?... cum de multe ori cînd mor oamenii, multi deîntr-acei morti zic se scoala de se fac strigoi..." Îndereptarea legii, 1652 În salele pustie lumine rosi de tortii Ranesc întunecimea ca pete de jeratic; Arald se primbla singur, rîzînd, vorbind salbatic Arald, tînarul rege, e-un rege singuratic - Palatu-i parc-asteapta în veci sa-i vie mortii. Pe-oglinzi de marmuri negre un negru nimitez, A faclelor lucire razbind prin pînza fina Rasfrîng o dureroasa lumina din lumina; Zidirea cea pustie de jale pare plina Si chipul mortii pare ca-n orice colt îl vezi. De cînd cazu un trasnet în dom... de-atunci în somn Ca plumbul surd si rece el doarme ziua toata, Pe inima-i de-atuncea s-a pus o neagra pata - Dar noaptea se trezeste si tine judecata Si-n negru-mbraca toate al noptii palid domn. Un obrazar de ceara parea ca poarta el, Atît de alba fata-i s-atît de nemiscata, Dar ochii-i ard în friguri si buza-i sîngerata, Pe inima sa poarta de-atunci o neagra pata, Iara pe frunte poarta coroana de otel. De-atunci în haina mortii el si-a-mbracat viata, Îi plac adînce cînturi, ca glasuri de furtuna; Ades calare pleaca în mîndre nopti cu luna, Si cînd se-ntoarce, ochii lucesc de voie buna, Pîn? ce-un fior de moarte îl prinde dimineata. Arald, ce însemneaza pe tine negrul port Si fata ta cea alba ca ceara, neschimbata ? Ce ai, de cînd pe sînu-ti tu porti o neagra pata, De-ti plac faclii de moarte, cîntare-ntunecata ? Arald ! de nu ma-nsala privirea, tu esti mort ! Si azi el se avînta pe calul sau arab, Si drumul, ca sagetii, îi da peste pustie, Care sub luna plina luceste argintie - El vede de departe pe mîndra lui Marie, Si vîntu-n codri suna cu glas duios si slab. În parul ei de aur, rubine-nflacarate, Si-n ochii ei s-aduna lumina sfintei mari - S-ajung curînd în cale, s-alatura calari, Si unul înspre altul se pleaca-n desmierdari - Dar buzele ei rosii pareau ca-s sîngerate. Ei trec ca vijelia cu aripi fara numar, Caci caii lor alearga alaturea-nspumati, Vorbind de-a lor iubire - iubire fara sat - Ea se lasase dulce si greu pe al lui brat Si-si razimase capul balai de al lui umar. - Arald, nu vrei pe sînu-mi tu fruntea ta s-o culci ? Tu zeu cu ochii negri... O ! ce frumosi ochi ai... Las? sa-ti înlantui gîtul cu parul meu balai... Viata, tineretea mi-ai prefacut-o-n rai - Las? sa ma uit în ochii-ti ucizatori de dulci ! Miroase-adormitoare vazduhul îl îngreun, Caci vîntul adunat-a de flori de tei troiene, Si le asterne-n calea reginei dunarene. Prin frunze aiureaza soptirile-i alene, Cînd gurile-nsetate în sarutari se-mpreun. Cum ei mergînd alaturi se cearta si se-ntreaba, Nu vad în fundul noptii o umbra de roseata, Dar simt ca-n al lor suflet trecu fior de gheata, De-a mortii galbeneala pieriti ei sunt la fata... Ei simt c-a lor vorbire-i mai slaba, tot mai slaba. - Arald ! striga craiasa - las? fata sa-mi ascund, N-auzi tu de departe cucosul ragusit ? O zare de lumina s-arata-n rasarit, Viata trecatoare din pieptu-mi a ranit... A zilei raze rosii în inima-mi patrund. Arald încremenise pe calu-i - un stejar - Painjenit e ochiu-i de-al mortii glas etern, Fug caii dusi de spaima si vîntului s-astern, Ca umbre stravezie iesite din infern Ei zboara... Vîntul geme prin codri cu amar. Ei zboar-o vijelie, trec ape far? de vad, Naintea lor se nalta puternic vechii munti, Ei trec în rapejune de rîuri fara punti, Coroanele în fuga le fulgera pe frunti, Naintea lor se misca padurile de brad. Din tonul lui de piatra batrînul preot vede Si-n vînturi el ridica adîncul glas de-arama, Pe soare sa-l opreasca el noaptea o recheama, Furtunelor da zborul, pamîntul de-l distrama... Tîrziu ! caci faptul zilei în slava se repede ! Porneste vijelia adîncu-i cînt de jale, Cînd ei soseau alaturi pe cai încremeniti, Cu genele lasate pe ochi painjeniti - Frumosi erau si astfel de moarte logoditi - Si-n doua laturi templul deschise-a lui portale. Calari ei intra-nuntru si portile recad; Pe veci pierira-n noaptea maretului mormînt. În sunete din urma patrunde-n fire cînt, Jelind-o pe craiasa cu chip frumos si sfînt, Pe-Arald, copilul rege al codrilor de brad. Batrînu-si pleaca geana si iar ramîne orb, Picioarele lui vechie cu piatra se-mpreuna, El numara în gîndu-i si anii îi aduna, Ca o poveste-uitata Arald în minte-i suna, Si peste capu-i zboara un alb s-un negru corb. Pe jiltul lui de piatra întepeneste drept Cu cîrja lui cea veche preotul cel pagîn, Si veacuri înainte el sede-uitat, batrîn, În plete-i creste muschiul si muschi pe al lui sîn, Barba-n pamînt i-ajunge si genele în piept 1876, 1 dec.

 Mihai Eminescu

Mihai Eminescu (Romanian pronunciation: [miˈhaj emiˈnesku]; born Mihail Eminovici; 15 January 1850 – 15 June 1889) was a Romantic poet, novelist and journalist, often regarded as the most famous and influential Romanian poet.

Eminescu was an active member of the Junimea literary society and he worked as an editor for the newspaper Timpul ("The Time"), the official newspaper of the Conservative Party (1880–1918).

His poetry was first published when he was 16 and he went to Vienna to study when he was 19. The poet's Manuscripts, containing 46 volumes and approximately 14,000 pages, were offered by Titu Maiorescu as a gift to the Romanian Academy during the meeting that was held on 25 January 1902 . Notable works include Luceafărul (The Vesper/The Evening Star/The Lucifer/The Daystar), Odă în metru antic (Ode in Ancient Meter), and the five Letters (Epistles/Satires).

In his poems he frequently used metaphysical, mythological and historical subjects.

The Vampires With red lanterns, yellow, green The vampires pass in night over wheat And the dogs bark on in the night at the fields The vampires have entered the loft of an inn, And the loft is seen to be queerly lit By red lanterns, yellow, green. The vampires have returned to the loft to retrieve Pledges left long ago in their lives … So goes a story that now I’ve forgotten That at night, in the inn, there appear silhouettes With red lanterns, yellow, green. But when the cock crows toward daybreak, In a pack the vampires tumbles out of the loft, `Cross the fields, and in chaos they all disappear, Either red, yellow or green.

George Bacovia

Constantin Daniel Stahi - The Portrait of Vasile Alecsandri - 1892

Near the cliff’s sharp edge, on high Standing out against the sky, Dost thou see a ruined cross Weatherstained, o’ergrown by moss, Gloomy, desolate, forsaken, By unnumbered tempests shaken? Not a blade of grass grows nigh it, Not a peasant lingers by it. E’en the sombre bird of night Shuns it in her darksome flight, Startled by the piteous groan That arises from the stone. All around, on starless nights, Myriad hosts of livid lights Flicker fretfully, revealing At its foot a phantom, kneeling Whilst it jabbers dismal plaints, Cursing God and all the saints. Tardy traveller, beware Of that spectre gibbering there; Close your eyes, and urge your steed To the utmost of his speed;— For beneath that cross, I ween, Lies a Vampyre’s corpse obscene! Though the night is black and cold Love’s found story, often told, Floats in whispers through the air, Stalwart youth and maiden fair Seal sweet vows of ardent passion With their lips, in lovers’ fashion. “Restless, pale, a shape I see Hov’ring nigh; what may it be? ‘Tis a charger, white as snow, Pacing slowly to and fro Like a sentry. As he turns Haughtily the sward he spurns. “Leave me not, beloved, tonight! Stay with me till morning’s light!’ Weeping, thus besought the maid; ‘Love, my soul is sore afraid! Brave not the dread Vampyre’s power, Mightiest at this mystic hour!’ Not a word he spake, but prest The sobbing maiden to his breast; Kissed her lips and cheeks and eyes Heedless of her tears and sighs; Waved his hand, with gesture gay, Mounted—smiled—and rode away. We rides across the dusky plain Tearing along with might and main Like some wild storm-fiend, in his flight Nursed on the ebony breast of Night? ‘Tis he, who left her in her need— Her lover, on his milk-white steed! The blast in all its savage force Strives to o’erthrow the gallant horse That snorts defiance to his foe And struggles onward. See! below The causeway, ‘long the river-side A thousand flutt’ring flamelets glide! Now they approach, and now recede, Still followed by the panting steed; He nears the ruined cross! A crash, A piteous cry, a heavy splash, And in the rocky river-bed Rider and horse lie crushed and dead. Then from those dismal depths arise Blaspheming yells and strident cries Re-echoing through the murky air And, like a serpent from its lair, Brandishing high a blood-stained glaive The Vampyre rises from his grave!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

În prăpastia cea mare, Unde vântul cu turbare Suflă trist, înfricoșat, Vezi o cruce dărâmată Ce de vânt e clătinată, Clătinată ne-ncetat? Împrejur iarba nu crește Și pe dânsa nu-și oprește Nici o pasăre-al ei zbor; Că sub dânsa-n orice vreme Cu durere jalnic geme, Geme-un glas îngrozitor. Când e noapte fără stele, Mii de flăcări albăstrele Se văd tainic fluturând, Și prin ele crunt deodată O fantasmă se arată, Se arată blestemând. Călător nenorocite, Fugi de-acele căi pocite De ți-e calul de bun soi, Că-n mormântul fără pace Și sub cruce-acolo zace, Zace singur un strigoi!

*

Într-o noapte-ntunecată Dulce șoaptă-namorată Prin văzduh încet zbura. Două umbre sta în vale, Ce, cuprinse-n dulce jale, Amor vecinic își jura. Iar pe-o culme-n depărtare Se vedea mișcând la zare Un cal alb, copil de vânt; Coamele-i erau zburlite, Ș-a lui sprintene copite Săpau urme pe pământ. Nu te duce, nu, bădiță! (Zicea blânda copiliță Cu ochi plânși, cu glas pătruns) Ah! te jur pe sfânta cruce! Stai cu mine, nu te duce... Dar voinicul n-a răspuns; Ci, strângând-o cu-nfocare, După-o dulce sărutare, Repede s-a depărtat Și, sărind cu veselie Pe-al său cal de voinicie, În văzduh s-a afundat.

*

Cine-aleargă pe câmpie Ca un duh de vijelie Într-al nopții negru sân? Cine fuge, cine trece Pe la ceasul doisprezece?... Un cal alb, cu-al său stăpân! Vântul bate, vâjâiește, Falnic calul se izbește, De se-ntrec ca doi voinici. Dar prin neguri iată, iată Că lucesc pe câmp deodată Mii de focurele mici. Ele zbor, se depărtează. Zboară calul, le urmează, Pășind iute către mal. Stai, oprește!... de pe stâncă, În prăpastia adâncă Au picat stăpân și cal! Și-de-atunci în fund s-aude Gemete, blăstemuri crude Care trec pe-al nopții vânt. Și de-atunci ades s-arată O fantasmă-nfricoșată Care iese din mormânt!

1845, Mânjina

"Această baladă am compus-o în tovărășie cu Costache Negri, împărțindu-ne subiectul în două părți; eu am lucrat partea I, și Negri, partea II. Acea compunere a prietenului meu, plină de frumuseți poetice, este una din cele mai nimerite scrieri ale sale." *** Vasile Alecsandri, (21 July 1821–22 August 1890) was a Romanian poet, playwright, politician, and diplomat. He collected Romanian folk songs and was one of the principal animators of the 19th century movement for Romanian cultural identity and union of Moldavia and Wallachia.

Published in 1920’s Theosophical Publishing House, Adyar, Chennai [Madras] India The Theosophist Office, Adyar, Madras. India Reprinted from The Theosophist, Vol XII, 1891 Of all the forms of the real or supposed intercourse between the living and dead, that of the vampire is the most loathsome. The horrid physical effects which follow after the burial of a corpse, have no doubt, had much to do in creating the sentiment of disgust and terror which associates with the thought of this return of the dead to prey upon the living. And it is another argument in favour of cremation — if any were needed by thoughtful persons — that there are no vampires save in countries where the dead are buried. We do not hear of Hindu vampires, but where such cases occur in India, it turns out that the revenant is a deceased Mussalman, Christian, or Jew, whose body has been interred. Some years ago the grandmother of our Mr Gopalacharlu had a neighbour, a Hindu woman, who was supposed to have been obsessed by a devil (pis’acha). For about a year she would find herself every morning on awakening deprived of all strength, pale and anæmic. Twice becoming pregnant, she had miscarriages. Finally, resort was had to a Mussalman mantriki, or exorcist, who, by arts known to himself, discovered that the “control” was a deceased man of his own Faith. He went secretly to the country, opened the grave of the suspect, found the corpse fresh and life-like, made a cut on its hand near the thumb and found fresh blood flowed spurting out from the wound. He then performed the usual placatory rites, recited his mantrams, and drove the phantom away from his victim and back to its grave. The woman recovered, and no fresh victim was visited. I do not know the derivation of the word vampire. In French it is spelt as in English; in Spanish and Italian vampiro; in German and Danish vampire; in Serb Wampire, wampira, wukodlak; in Wallachian murony; in Turkish massacet; in Modern Greek bronkolakas, and in several other ways; its Polish name is upior, Slavonic upir, and Russian googooka. The “Am. Cyclopædia” calls it “a fabulous creature”, but the pious Benedictine writer, Dom Calmet, describes it as persons “who have been dead a considerable time, sometimes more, sometimes less; who leave their tombs, and come and disturb the living, sucking their blood, appearing to them, making a noise at their doors and in their houses, and often causing their death”. They usually, he informs us, visit their relatives and those in the prime of life and full health and vigour. In reading upon this gruesome subject, I have been struck with the apparent substantiation of certain facts, viz: 1. The vampire elementary always attacks the robust; 2. The signs of the obsession are invariably nervous prostration and anæmia, and usually a slight puncture over the jugular vein; 3. The corpse of the suspected vampire, when examined, appears well-nourished with healthy blood, and presents the appearance of one in cataleptic sleep, rather than of death. 4. If a pointed stake or weapon be thrust through the heart, the corpse cries out and often writhes in agony; 5. If the corpse be cremated, the vampire ceases to trouble. I have found no exception stated in this respect. All these are indications that our problem has to deal not with a dead, but with a half-dead, person: in short, that the defunct is in catalepsy or some other form of suspended animation. The phantom which sucks the blood of the living appears to the eye, creates noisy and other phenomena in and about houses, and disappears when the corpse is burnt, is an astral, not a physical shape, a body of sublimated, not one of concrete, matter: in short, D’Assier’s posthumous phantom, the survivor of the living phantom, or “double,” “ doppelgänger” or “perisprit,” as you like to call it. The vampire, then, is divisible into two factors, the inert corpse and the projectible double, or astral body: it is, therefore, a proper subject of scientific enquiry. The first stage of verification is the existence of an astral human double which is capable of being projected from the body of the living man. This is the line of proof followed out by D’Assier in his Posthumous Humanity, which most interesting work should be studied by all who wish to know the evidence and the deductions therefrom of a Positivist man of science. His theory—but before passing on to theories, we may as well confine ourselves to a few out of the mass of facts that are available. The literature of Vampirism is large and copious, covering the records of many countries and epochs. As to the witnesses, “their name is legion”; as to their trustworthiness , all that can be said is that, in nearly all cases where the ecclesiastical or political authorities intervened, there was an inquest conducted at least under the forms of law. The deaths of the victims were attested, their graves and those of the alleged vampires were opened, the fresh and ruddy condition of the corpses of the latter recognized, the spurting of fresh blood from them, and the cries or other signs of momentarily revived physical vitality, when the pointed stake or the executioner’s sword was driven through the heart, placed upon the record of the inquest. If we are to open a scientific enquiry by first violating the canon of science that corroborative evidence of probability cannot be put aside, but should be kept as unproved theory awaiting the final verdict, then it is but waste of energy to take up the research at all. There are those who straightaway scout all testimony with respect to witchcraft and sorcery as of necessity false and puerile, and such has been the fate of modern Spiritualism, mesmerism, psychometry and various other branches of Occult Science. But times are changing, and men—especially hypnotists—changing with them. Spiritualism survives its thousand “final collapses,” psychometry has won its foothold, Reichenbach’s vindication has commenced, mesmerism is stronger because on a more scientific basis than ever, magic and sorcery are discussed as thinkable phases of practical psychology, and Theosophy, that universal solvent of mysteries and nursing-mother of every branch of psychical science, has gained every year fifty times the influence it has ever lost by the most bitter attacks of its cleverest antagonists. We may safely venture, then, to quietly discuss vampirism as one of group of psychical phenomena.

Helena Blavatsky standing behind Henry Steele Olcott (middle seated) and Damodar Mavalankar (seated to his left) in Bombay 1881

I note at the start two points, viz., that the most incredulous writers concede that the exhumed bodies have, or may have, been found in a preserved state, which they ascribe to either the preservative property of the soil, or the burial alive. As for the noctambulation of the phantom, its vampirising the living, and its making noisy “spiritual” phenomena, they dismiss all with the sneer of denial and the charge of falsification by the witnesses. It is true that a living man — a yogi or fakir–can be resuscitated after inhumation for several weeks. Ranjit Singh’s startling case at Lahore is historical and perfectly attested by Sir Claude Wade, Dr Macgregor and other unimpeachable eye -witnesses. It is, therefore, possible that an apparently dead man may be buried for an indefinite time without extinction of life, if the person be all the time in that state of human hibernation known as Samadhi — a state when the lungs need no air, because respiration is suspended, and the heart propels no blood through the arteries, because the human clock is stopped. The vampire’s body may, therefore lie fresh and rosy in the grave, so long as it can draw to itself nutriment to counteract the waste by chemical and subtler actions which operate upon the tissues, even in Samadhi. The Lahore yogi was wasted to a skeleton when exhumed, though he had had no chance to breathe during the whole six weeks of his inhumation. In the Indian case of vampirism, given on Mr Gopalacharlu’s authority, this freshness and plethoric fullness of the blood vessels existed after nearly a year’s stay of the corpse in the grave. This was unnatural, and the theory of common catalepsy does not apply. Whence was blood-food derived, if not from the poor Hindu woman whose blood had been drawn and nervous force thoroughly drained away during the same period, and who was restored to health after the powerful will of the mantriki, and his ceremonial ritual, had driven the horrid phantom back into his grave to rot away with its corpse. In my translation of D’Assier’s book, I quote (p 274) from Eliphas Levi’s Dogme et Rituel, etc., his diagnosis of the Vampire. After death, then the divine spirit which animated man returns alone to heaven, and leaves upon earth and in the atmosphere two corpses, one terrestrial and elementary, the other aerial and related to the stars; the one already inert, the other still animated by the universal movement of the soul of the world, but foredoomed to die slowly, as absorbed by the astral powers which produced it. When a man has lived a good life, the astral corpse evaporates like a pure incense mounting towards the higher regions; but if the man has lived in crime, his astral corpse, which holds him prisoner, seeks still the objects of its passions and yearns to resume the earthly life. During life it is the body which develops and nourishes the astral body; in the case of vampires the process is reversed, for the corpse, being confined in its coffin and by the superincumbent soil, cannot walk about, so the double, being an entity of the “Fourth Dimension,” hence not impeded by either coffin, tomb or grave-soil, is free to move about in search of its blood-food, and to transmit it by sympathetic psychical infusion to the cadaver, now become its mere dwelling-convenience. Dr. Scoffern, author of Stray Leaves of Science and Folk-Lore, quotes (p 353) from Newbridge — a twelfth century English authority — the case of a man of Bucks who appeared bodily to his wife and others after death, and worked mischief, but whose phantom was appeased when the Bishop of Lincoln laid upon the disinterred corpse a written form of absolution. Another case was that of a vampire at Berwick, whose nocturnal maraudings only ceased when his side had been pierced with a sharp stake, the heart extracted, the body cut up and cremated. The ancient Romans affirmed that “dead bodies of certain persons were subject to be allured from their graves by sorcerers, unless incremation had been performed or decomposition had actually taken place”. Lucan puts into the mouth of an enchantress an order to an evoked spirit, which supports this idea. Dr. Scoffern makes the point that “no authentic information is available relative to the manner in which they (the vampires) leave their graves, or the way in which they go back to the same” (p 356). This is a paltry argument and only shows that he knows nothing of our modern “form manifestations,” or apparitions so solid that I could handle and weigh them, yet so evanescent that they sometimes melt away before one’s eyes. The vampire leaves the grave as an impalpable form, and “materializes” whenever it likes, the favoring atmosphere and psychical conditions existing. Dr Scoffern concludes his chapter on Vampires with the statement that two expedients are said to be efficacious for stopping a vampire’s ravages, viz., to have the grave beaten with a hazel twig, the operator being a virgin of not less than twenty-five years old. The other is to have the body dug up and burnt. “For some inexplicable reason,” he sneeringly observes, “the remedy of incremation is always practiced in lands where vampires do most abound.” Being a physician who evidently is ignorant of the existence of the astral counterpart to the physical body which may be separated from it for a time both before and after death, he fails to understand why cremation is found the one efficacious remedy for vampirism, the world over.

Henry Steel Olcott

James Grant, in his Mysteries of all Nations, etc. (p 289), says that the popular belief was that vampirism was transmissible, like a sort of moral microbe, the victim turning vampire after his death under the impulse of a transmitted predisposition. This form of “superstition” created much anxiety in the public mind, “none knowing when he might be bitten by one of these hated demons, and be thereby transformed into a vampire”. And he confesses that: “Men of science bore testimony in favour of vampirism with seeming truthfulness and ability.” Why, then, object to our scientific contemporaries resuming a study which has been temporarily pushed into a corner by the rough hands of our materialistic sciolists? Dr Ennemoser gives (History of Magic, ii 479) two authenticated accounts of vampirism in Hungary. In the first, the report is made by the bailiff of Kisilova, to the tribunal of Belgrade, which dispatched to the village two officers and the executioner to examine into the affair. An Imperial officer also went, expressly to be witness of the circumstance. A number of graves of those who had been dead six weeks were opened, and one corpse, that of an old man of sixty-two years of age, was found “with the eyes open, having a fine colour, with natural respiration, nevertheless motionless as the dead. The executioner drove a stake into his heart; they then raised a pile and reduced the corpse to ashes.” The deceased had appeared in the night to his son three days after his funeral, had demanded food, eaten it, and then disappeared; the second night after he had again appeared, and the son was found dead in his bed. On the same day five or six other persons had fallen suddenly ill in the village, and died one after the other in a few days. Dr Ennemoser’s other narrative relates to a bad case of vampirism in another Hungarian canton. A dead man named Arnald Paul, who formerly had been tormented by a Turkish vampire, turned vampire himself; on the thirtieth day after his death he vampirized and killed four persons, and on the fortieth day his body was exhumed. ‘His body was red, his hair, nails and beard had all grown again, and his veins were replete with fluid blood, which flowed (oozed?) from all parts of his body upon the winding-sheet which encompassed him. The Hadnagi,or baillie of the village, in whose presence the exhumation took place and who was skilled in vampirism, had, according to custom, a very sharp stake driven into the heart of the defunct Arnald Paul, and which pierced his body through and through, and made him, as they say, utter a frightful shriek, as if he had been alive (which of course, he was): that done, they cut off his head and burnt the whole body.’ They also cremated four bodies of other persons who had died of the vampire. These precautions availed not, however, for three years later within the space of three months, seventeen persons of the same village, of both sexes and all ages, fell victims to vampirism. A close inquiry into this unprecedented survival of the scourge after resort to cremation, made by the doctors and surgeons, elicited the significant fact that the vampire Arnald Paul had not only sucked to death human beings, but also “several oxen, which the new vampires had eaten”. So it seems that the vampiric mania, like rabies, may be communicated through bacilli nourished in the bodies of animals, to other persons not touched by the first vampire, when they partake of the flesh of a vampirized beast. Recent experiments in the Paris hospitals in curing paralysis by transmission in a modified form through the body of a third person, appear to throw some light upon the psychical part of this subject. Eliphas Levi gives to the vampire the very expressive title of “le somnambule de la tombe”. Certainly, the case of Arnald Paul has all the appearance of somnambulism. Levi furthermore affirms (Histoire de la Magie p 513) that a person of sound mind and body need not fall a victim to a vampire if he or she has not during life abandoned himself or herself to it body and soul by some complicity in crime or some lawless passion. The rule always holds that the pure in mind, heart and body, are beyond the reach of every species of evil magnetic influence, whether of magician, or sorcerer, “control,” vampire or mantriki: there must always be a joint in the physical or spiritual harness by which the maleficent current can enter and obsess. This is taught in the Bhagavad-Gîtâ, is affirmed by the ancient classics, and is sound common sense. The one sweeping theory adopted by the Christian Church to account for every phase of abnormal psychical phenomena, vampirism included, is the action of the Bogey Man — the Devil. Nothing is easier than the use of this universal solvent. Unfortunately, however, nobody nowadays believes in that absurdity — nobody, at all events, who is in the least loyal to science. One never tires of reading such absurdly stubborn demonologists as Des Mouseaux, who detects the Devil behind the clairvoyant’s head, within the medium’s circle, even behind the mesmerizer’s chair. He devotes many pages of one of his books (La Magie au XIX me Siècle) to proving that poor Margarita Hauffe, the Seeress of Prevorst, was a pucca vampire; and, certainly, in the sense of her living upon the auric emanations of those about her, there is some reasonableness in the use of his term Magnetic Vampirism. We have the good Dr Kerner’s testimony to that effect. But as to her being obsessed by the Devil, there was never a greater libel, her angelically pure and spiritual life and teachings indicating that the source of her inspiration was divine, not devilish. This magnetic vampirism is practiced every day and hour in social, most especially in conjugal, intercourse: the weak absorb strength from the strong, the sickly from the robust, the aged from the young. One vampirizes by hand-shaking, by sitting close together, by sleeping in the same bed; the full brains of the clever are “sucked” by the spongy brains of the stupid. Throughout all these phases the law of natural equilibration asserts itself, as it does in the whole realm of physics. Great minds love isolation, from an instinctive feeling that if they live the life of the crowd, they will be sucked down to the crowd’s low level. It was this sense which dictated to the yogi and the hierophant, that he must seclude himself within the sanctum, or retire to the gupta (yogi’s cave), the jungle, or the mountain summit. The magnetic aura (tejas) of a sage or an adept is to his soul-starving disciples like mother’s milk to the babe, or a fountain of cool waters to the parched traveler of the desert. The unqualified affirmation of the theory that the vampire corpse is the hibernating cadaver of a somnabule, was made by Mme Blavatsky in Isis Unveiled (i 449, et seq ), and supported by a sufficient body of testimony. She makes it very clear that the corpse of the future vampire is in a magnetic stupor, and one of two possibilities may occur: the soul may either be attracted back into the body, in which case, either the unhappy victim will writhe in the agonizing torture of suffocation, or, if he has been grossly material (i.e. having an overpowering affinity for physical existence), he becomes a vampire. The bicorporal life begins; and these unfortunate buried cataleptics sustain their miserable lives by having their astral bodies rob the life -blood from the living persons. The æthereal form can go wherever it pleases; and so long as it does not break the link which attaches it to the body, it is at liberty to wander about, either visible or invisible, and feed on human victims. Pierant notices this invisible cord of connection between the buried but not decomposed body and the somnambulating double, and says: “This, perhaps, some day may be explained.” We may know how the results of the suction of the vitality of living persons are transmitted to the material body lying inert in the tomb, aiding it, in a manner, “to perpetuate the state of catalepsy”. As Dom Calmet sententiously remarks, there are two different ways to destroy the belief in these pretended ghosts … .The first would be to explain the prodigies of vampirism by the physical causes. The second way is to deny totally the truth of all such stories. Being a Catholic priest, he naturally adds: “The latter plan would be undoubtedly the most certain, as the most wise. [Dissertations sur les Apparitions des Anges, des Demons etc., Paris 1746]