“The old man bent over me, his livid face so close to mine that I could feel his corpselike breath. Then, exerting superhuman effort, I discovered myself sitting up in bed, perspiring profusely. No one was in the room. But through the window I detected Gorcha, his face pressed against the pane, his uncanny eyes riveted upon me.”
This somewhat obscure collection was published in 1969, and came to my attention online due to its inclusion of a story called “The Family of the Vourdalak,” which I had long been interested in reading. The story was famously adapted by Mario Bava as part of his 1963 horror triptych I tre volti della paura (released in the states as Black Sabbath), and features one of Boris Karloff’s most chilling performances as the titular Wurdulak. It’s one of the greatest accomplishments in horror cinema, so I eagerly hunted down a copy of this long out of print anthology to see how Tolstoy’s story stacks up against Bava’s interpretation, and to see if any other hidden gems had sprung from the Russian author’s imagination.
The first story, a novella from 1841 called “The Vampire,” definitely fits the bill. This pre-Dracula vampire saga cleverly weaves together several seemingly disparate threads (an ancient family legend of murderous cuckoldry, a cursed Italian villa, aristocratic Russian vampires, weird Satanic rituals, and a young woman’s ghost) into a highly entertaining puzzle-box of a narrative, all helplessly observed by our passive protagonist, a young man named Runevsky. I suspect something might be lost in the translation in terms of language (one critic of Tolstoy’s day describes his prose as “beautiful” and “poetic,” but it mostly comes across as largely practical here), but Tolstoy’s witty asides don’t suffer in the slightest. It’s a jaunty and endlessly inventive take on what has since become a tired subject, and it would’ve made a great Bava film. There is a Russian film version from the nineties, but thus far I haven’t been able to obtain a copy. This is easily the crown jewel of Tolstoy's horror output, and in itself justified the purchase for me.
Next is the famous “Family of the Vourdalak,” which Tolstoy first wrote in 1839. This quietly influential horror tale, unlike its many film versions, is framed as an anecdote told by an older gentleman to entertain a group of younger people. Our narrator, the rakish Marquis d’Urfé, tells how he went on a diplomatic mission to Moldavia during his youth after being spurned by the ravishing Duchesse de Gramont. His travels bring him to the cottage of friendly but superstitious peasants. They tell him that their father, Gorcha, went out to pursue a murderous bandit named Ali Beg, and that he warned them not to let him in if he returns after ten days, for he will then have been turned into a Vourdalak (i.e. a vampire). Meanwhile the Marquis falls in love with Gorcha’s youngest daughter, Sdenka, whose beauty is nearly identical to that of the Duchesse de Gramont. Other than the loss of the framing device, this story is pretty faithfully reproduced by most of the film versions. The story is perhaps more traditional in its depiction of vampirism (the Vourdalaks here, for instance, are repelled by crucifixes), but in other ways it’s shockingly eccentric. (SPOILERS) The climax, for example, sees one vampire pursuing d’Urfé by hoisting himself great distances on a stake, almost as if he were traveling by pole vault. He then proceeds to fling a couple of vampire children at him with the same stake, literally turning them into undead projectiles! (END SPOILERS) It makes for an entertaining read, but good taste dictates that Bava and others were wise not to attempt this insanity on the big screen. Overall I prefer the film versions, but as with “The Vampire” I was very impressed by Tolstoy’s wit and inventiveness.
The remaining two stories occupy a lower tier of quality, but they’re still worth checking out. “The Reunion after Three Hundred Years” is a sort of prequel to “The Family of the Vourdalak,” detailing the Duchesse de Gramont’s ill-fated courtship with the Marquis d’Urfé and her run-in with some ghosts from her family's distant past. “Amena,” easily the weakest of the stories, is an old-fashioned and overly didactic story of Christianity vs. Paganism in Ancient Rome, in which a Christian is seduced from the path of righteousness by a sort of succubus. It’s far too solemn and sanctimonious to recommend, and has none of the humor and verve that made the other stories so pleasurable to read. 3 out of 4 isn’t bad, though, and is more than sufficient to merit a place in any horror fan’s collection.