Vampyre and Ernestus Berchtold, or The Modern Oedipus

Janis Svilpis is a professor of English at the University of Calgary.

Neither of these tales is a neglected masterpiece, but they are subtle
and interesting Romantic narratives with considerable historical
importance, and they certainly merit a good scholarly edition. Macdonald
and Scherf have produced not only a good edition but also a very
readable one.

Polidori was Byron’s physician, a participant with Byron and the
Shelleys in the 1816 ghost-story sessions whose most famous product was
Frankenstein. Both of the Gothic tales examined here also resulted from
those meetings. The Vampyre, originally published in 1819 (as by Byron)
and now overshadowed by Dracula, was very popular in its day and claims
our attention as the first treatment of the vampire as a charismatic
sexual predator. The editors rightly comment that “The Vampyre ...
made Bram Stoker’s masterpiece possible.”

Ernestus Berchtold is a longer and more complex tale whose setting is
Napoleon’s invasion of Switzerland. Ernestus is a Swiss patriot, one
of the leaders of a guerrilla resistance. He is also an orphan, the
foster son of a parish priest on an identity quest plagued by vague
threats “that seemed the more terrific, because [they] could not be
decidedly represented to the mind.” He is finally the victim of a
Faustian pact and of the secrecy that others have maintained concerning
his family and origins. As the subtitle reveals, he is a modern Oedipus,
guilty himself but also a scapegoat for the guilt of those closest to
him. Polidori’s gifts as a Gothic storyteller make him well worth
reading.

The editors’ introduction encompasses a great deal in 21 pages:
Polidori’s troubled association with and resentment of Byron; the
relationship of his work to other Romantic literature, especially
Frankenstein; and insightful readings of both tales presented clarity
and grace. Textual issues are discussed in notes and a full apparatus.
Only a few typographical errors mar this very attractive edition, which
invites further critical work on a man who might now be remembered as a
major writer if he had not committed suicide in his mid–20s.