Vampire of the Amazon

When most people think of vampires, they imagine insular Eastern European villages huddled in remote valleys at the wooded feet of craggy peaks. Or beautiful monsters haunting the inner rooms of gaslit salons.

What almost nobody thinks of is the Amazon. Yet in the late 19th century, this Old World curse allegedly came to the steamy jungles of the new.

And how was this ancient affliction visited upon Belém, Brazil?

By, of all things, the opera.

The “Theatro da Paz” was the center of cultural life in the Amazon, with concerts by European artists. Among them, one especially caught the public’s attention, the beautiful French opera singer Camille Monfort (1869-1896), who provoked indescribable desires in the rich gentlemen of the region and atrocious jealousy in their wives due to her great beauty.

Camille Monfort also caused indignation for her behavior, which was free from the social conventions of her time. Legend has it that she was seen half-naked, dancing in the streets of Belém while refreshing herself in the afternoon rain. Her solitary night walks also aroused curiosity when she was seen in her long, black, and vaporous dresses under the full moon, on the banks of the Guajará River, towards the Igarapé das Almas.

Soon, rumors began to circulate around her, and malicious comments were made. It was said that she was the lover of Francisco Bolonha (1872-1938), who had brought her from Europe and that he bathed her with expensive imported champagnes in the bathtub of his mansion.

Sounds like your typical Bohemian libertine. But surface impressions can hide darker realities.

For instance …

It was also said that she had been attacked by vampirism in London, due to her paleness and sickly appearance, and that she had brought this great evil to the Amazon, having a mysterious craving for human blood, to the point of hypnotizing young women with her voice in her concerts, making them fall asleep in her dressing room so that the mysterious lady could reach their necks. Curiously, this coincided with reports of fainting in the theater during her concerts, which were simply explained as the effect of the strong emotion that her music produced in the audience’s ears.

You’ve got to admit that’s a convenient way for a vampire to feed.

If the legend is true, how many levels of Toreador was Camille on?

Or Giovanni?

It was also said that she had the power to communicate with the dead and materialize their spirits into dense ethereal mists of ectoplasmic materials expelled from her own body in mediumistic sessions. These were undoubtedly the first manifestations in the Amazon of what would later be called spiritualism, practiced in mysterious cults in Belém palaces, such as the Palacete Pinho.

Keep in mind, spiritualism was all the rage back then. Especially supposed feats of mediumship as described above. And there were countless confirmed hoaxes. So take these tales with a pinch of salt.

Even if they were accurate, neither her vampirism nor her necromancy could save Camille from history’s undisputed supreme predators: germs.

At the end of 1896, a terrible cholera outbreak devastated the city of Belém, turning Camille Monfort into one of its victims, who was buried in the Cemetery of Solitude.

Eternal memory.

By the way, “The Cemetery of Solitude” sounds like a Dark World location from a 1990s Zelda game.

Today, her tomb is still there, covered in slime, moss, and dry leaves, under a huge mango tree that makes her grave sink into the darkness of its shadow, only illuminated by rays of sun that penetrate through the green leaves.

The slime is a bad sign.

And I’m not sure about those mangos.

Just like some aren’t sure about the status of Monfort’s corspe.

But there are still those who say today that her tomb is empty, that her death and burial were nothing more than an act to cover up her case of vampirism, and that Camille Monfort still lives in Europe, now at the age of 154.

Perhaps she’s shacked up with Jim Morrison as a death faker power couple.

Postscript: A bit of fun etymology involving Belém, which is Portuguese for Bethlehem, which is in turn the origin of the word “bedlam”.

So perhaps we’re looking for a Malkavian instead.

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