Condemnation & Redemption

Acknowledgements at the end of the Chapter

Story and Music © PostScriptor 2019

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La Fille aux Cheveau de Lin (The Girl with the Flaxen Hair), Claude Debussy

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~~* I. Present Day, Nashville, Tennessee *~~

I stood there before the large plate glass window that made up the rear wall of my house and looked out at the fountain and the lake beyond, already illumined for the evening. The fountain was a small-scale reproduction of its famous predecessor with Poseidon riding his horses in the ocean froth. The moon shining down on the blue translucent color of nature's icing, drizzled on the trees by one of the infrequent freezing rains against the dark background created an ethereal vision, drawing up past memories from the deep recesses in my mind.

It was an unusual sight for the Nashville area, which was generally immune to extended cold streaks — but every once in a while, we too had a winter weather treat.

The view was, of course, the raison d'etre for the transparent wall of glass in the room and one of the major selling points for the homes in this rather exclusive and gated community.

The scene had been created in this Tennessee town as an obvious homage to the view one would see from the 'Hall of Mirrors' at the rearmost wall of the Palace of Versailles. Of course the name of the development, 'Versailles Villas', was a dead giveaway even to the least versed potential buyer, along with the photographs of Louis' famous palace in the sale's office of the original room for the truly obtuse.

As I looked back at the Potemkin village — the imitation Versailles — once again I was thrown into my own personal hell — infinitely sad memories of earlier times.

~~* II. février 1688, Versailles *~~

"Pardon monsieur," came a feminine voice from behind me as I stood looking down upon the fountain and in the distance an artificial lake, really the extension of a canal, completely covered in winter's white blanket, "But are you Christian?"

Without bothering to look, I waved my hand as if shooing away a fly and replied in the aloof manner that I cultivated, "It seems to me that one's religious propensity is a rather personal, and potentially fatal question, Mademoiselle."

Only then did I turn my head over my shoulder, to find a young woman standing there of such beauty that she almost took my breath away, her perfectly oval face revealing her embarrassment by blushing a furious red that extended to her décolletage.

Her eyes were a rare dark blue, very intense and intelligent. I imagined that beneath the fashionable powdered wig that stood atop her head her own hair would be of a golden straw color. Ah yes! There was an undisciplined wisp of flaxen hair trying to escape behind her ear. Descended, no doubt, of the Norsemen who ruled long ago in Normandy.

Her lips were reddened, of course, and her eyebrows were colored as well to frame her face. She had a delicate chin and high cheekbones, again betraying her Viking ancestry. She was, at least to my eyes, staggeringly beautiful.

To my great fortune the fashions of the time dictated that her neck down to the top of her full bosom was exposed. And her deep blush extended to the entire area of her body that was open to my vision. Jesus wept.

Suddenly, again in the present time, I could only wonder: how could it be that a woman whose body was covered by a dress that exposed so little flesh — the top of her full bosom, her neck, her throat, her hands, her wrists — could seem so much more erotic than the virtually nude posturing of the slatterns who constitute what passes for modern eroticism?

Knowing there was no rational answer to my question, my mind retreated again to the past.

I smiled at her. First because her beauty was naturally pleasing and second because her appearance indicated that she was a person of importance, not the maid or serving wench I had first taken her for.

Her dress was made of red silk, with a matching jacket of sorts split in the middle, worn over her skirt. If there were any doubts of her wealth and status, the amount of gold brocade on the jacket and the lace adorning her sleeves would have dispelled the question.

"But please, je m'excuse for my rudeness," I said with a bow, "I am not a Christian, although I am nominally a Catholic. I am a rationalist by nature, an astronomer and astrologer as well as a Court physician by employment. I advise l'Roi , the King, regarding the stars, which explains why I am tolerated here at Versailles and haven't, thus far, been expelled from the country like a Huguenot heretic." I added a slight smile to punctuate my answer and show that I regarded the issue of possibly being expelled from France with some humor.

She looked at me for a brief moment with her intense gaze as if she were seeking access into my innermost soul. Perhaps she thought I was a madman. Or maybe I WAS a secret Huguenot. No, I hoped, she is merely shy and avoids offending me, even though I was a simple servant of sorts, far beneath her social station.

I didn't recognize her, something that suggested that she was newly arrived at the Court.

"I was told that your NAME was 'Christian', monsieur," she paused and looked over her delicate and exquisite shoulder and tipped her head in the direction of the Duchess d'M... "and that you could instruct me in the ways of Versailles better than any other man at the court!"

Her sincerity spoke to a soft place in my heart and I couldn't allow the jape to go forward.

The Duchess d'M... was one of the 'noble' ladies who attended (and some might say 'guarded') the rather dubious virtue of the one of the King's younger mistresses. In this case, neither the mistress nor the Duchess suffered from a surfeit of virtue, so it was something of a lost cause from its genesis.

"Mademoiselle, Je suis à votre service," I began, when she extended her fine, delicate hand. I was indeed at her service — and I would have done anything to remain close to her.

"I am le Comtesse d'F..." she interjected, as I bowed down and kissed her noble hand. I noted that it was a limb so soft and fragrant that it clearly had never seen an honest day's labor.

"Enchanté, Madam" I replied with complete honesty — a very rare occurrence since I'd come to the palace, but she HAD instantly enchanted me.

"Madam, I'm afraid that the Duchess was making a jest at the expense of your kindness and honesty." I didn't add her guilelessness and naiveté.

"I suspect that she sent you to me because she believes that I am a corruptor of men's souls and a thief of beautiful women's virtue. She enjoys the scandals of the court, especially if she has had a hand in creating it."

The Comtesse absorbed my words with a look of seriousness as if the very notion of such moral bankruptcy was an impossibility. She only mulled the notion for the blink of an eye before she looked into my eyes and with a slight frown on her face nodded her understanding.

"I have heard of people who find such games to be amusing sport. I've also heard tales of the corruptness of the court. I should not have been surprised."

"Nevertheless, Monsieur Christian," she suddenly smiled and in my heart spring flowers bloomed despite the frost outside, "if it is a scandal she wants, then a scandal she shall have! Shall we take a walk?"

I looked at her in disbelief before I extended my arm out to allow her to place her forearm on it with her hand resting atop mine, as was common at the time, and we began walking in the opposite direction from the Duchess.

I was as shocked as every other member of the court who witnessed the scene — one of the female members of the high-ranking nobility openly engaged in close conversation with one of the King's educated, but common, servants. None of them could be as amazed at this vision of loveliness as I, when she turned to me and asked,

"Since you are an astronomer, I assume that you've read Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo. But have you had the opportunity to examine the 'Principe Mathematica' by the English savant, Isaac Newton?"

"But, the 'Principe' has just been published!" I cried out, completely astonished, "I was not aware that any copies had reached the shores of France yet!"

Her smile appeared again, with a mischievous look, suggesting that she was very pleased to have surprised me.

"Mais oui, but yes, Monsieur! Although," she looked around as if she were about to impart a great secret and spoke in hushed tones, "My husband may have the only copy! I believe that it was smuggled into the country on his orders."

I could well imagine that. Le Roi didn't care for the English (in fairness, who could hold THAT against him?) and the book had hardly been published long enough for the religious authorities to have examined it for heresies contrary to the teachings of the true church. The English were a people simply overflowing with heresies!

A shadow passed over my face as I realized that this treasure, so close, was also beyond my reach. Madam l'Comtesse must have heard in her heart my unspoken thoughts.

"Monsieur Christian, I see that you are interested in this book." She paused before speaking again, "It would give me great pleasure if you were to visit the apartment belonging to my husband and me here in the Palace to read it and share with me your thoughts on Newton's calculations."

So began one of the most joyous times of my life, and the prelude to one of the most tragic times as well.

~~* III. août 1688, Versailles *~~

It was a beautiful late summer's day six months later that I found myself in Aurora's (for that was l'Comtesse's given name) bedchamber.

I had long since read Newton's brilliant 'Principe' and was still digesting his equations that among other things explained so much that had mystified astronomers since Ptolemy. In short, he proved that the planets orbited the Sun, which had long been understood, but not in the circular motion that had always been assumed, rather in ellipses. That explained and solved so many of the inconsistencies that had plagued earlier planetary calculations. It was if the entire universe was a great clock run by mechanisms finally revealed.

I sat naked in an ornate chair, upholstered with costly embroidered Belgian silk cloth, reading, while Aurora lay naked in her afterglow, her skin marble-white on the bed. Her golden hair spread out around and above her head, while her rounded breasts, topped by the most delicious pink nipples, pointed towards the ceiling. Her eyes were closed and her unblemished limbs were entangled in the sheets. She lay unmoving, a short trail of blood dripping from her arm where I had used my scarificator to bleed her.

Her voice broke the silence of the summer afternoon.

She raised her head off of the pillows and looked at me, as I took a sip from the crystal glass.

"Christian, the pleasure that you give me is more than I could have ever imagined possible. It is almost unbearable at times."

She continued on, "And Christian? You know that I love you deeply? Oui?"

I smiled and nodded at her, for I loved her as well.

"Je t'aime aussi. Aujourd'hui et pour toujours. I love you also — today and for all time." My words were true then and were still true today.

"I am pregnant with your child," she stated flatly, as if she was not sure how I might take the news. "I have not had my flows for two months."

"Are you sure it's mine?" I asked, not sure myself whether to be pleased or concerned. "It can't be your husband's?"

She laughed her magical laugh that made my affection for her so complete.

With her eyes twinkling at me she responded.

"The child is most certainly NOT my husband's! He is not interested in me that way. Young men are more to his liking. Due to his indifference, you are the only man to have ever had me. While I am just a simple farm girl, not a learned physician like yourself, that would seem to point to you as the father." A 'simple farm girl' indeed!

I looked at Aurora and I could see the anxiety in her face, awaiting my response to her announcement. I allowed my joy to show on my face. I sat upright in the chair and leaned forward to take her hand and kissed her palm.

"You make me feel humble, for you have freely given me the greatest gifts that a man can receive from a woman; first your chastity and then a child. There is a joy in my heart that I had never expected to know, my sweet flower, my dearest love."

Her face shone with joy at my response and it made her even lovelier if that was possible.

"I assume that your husband is also aware of the basic mechanics of how a woman becomes pregnant. Will he be jealous or angry when he discovers that he has been cuckolded?"

She laughed again.

"He would be more jealous of my having you than of you having me, I'm afraid. Sometimes it seems so sad, but he doesn't care a whit for me."

"Then why, in heaven's name, did you marry him?"

"It was arranged," she replied, the regret palpable in her voice. "He is quite handsome, you know. And very rich, as well, which my family was not." She paused and looked away from me before she said in a sardonic voice, "I can't tell you how disappointing our wedding night was."

"I hope that you and I have made up for it since then," I replied with a sly smirk.

"Now you are fishing for compliments, mon amour! But you are right, and you have made me the happiest woman on earth. You are my world. You are more than a mere mortal man to me." She looked at me oddly and tapped the side of her nose as if she discerned a great secret.

I raised my glass to her and took another sip of the blood that I had so recently drawn from her. It was still warm and carried a bouquet of her essence, a unique taste never to be duplicated. A vintage finer than any wine produced at any vineyard in France.

As for my being more than a mere man, I agreed. I was, and for that matter, am, what is called in the common parlance, a vampire. Yes, I was both more and LESS than a mortal man.

~~* IV. An Explanation *~~

My last statement, the 'I am a vampire' demands additional clarification. I am neither one of Bram Stoker's vile creatures whose lust for blood outweighed all other passions, nor am I descended of the Anne Rice caricatures of a separate 'race' arising from some long ago evil creature from Egypt. May such creatures exist? I suppose so, but neither fiction fits into my experience, so I am skeptical.

For one thing, I abhor the term 'vampire' itself; at least as it refers to me. But, alas, it is so widely used that I will accept it to provide a common term for descriptive purposes.

The question arises: if I did not become a 'vampire' according to the methods of legend — a bite from another already so infected — then how?

In my case, I was a 16-year-old boy attending the University of Paris in the late 14th century.

At the time one might study at the University from 14-, or even 12-years of age and depending upon your studies, stay there until you were 23- or 24-years old. By that age, one would expect you to be a 'maître' or in English a 'Master'. Either that, or you were a wealthy profligate studying ad infinitum to avoid going into the real world. In my case, I was to complete the 'ratio studiorum' established by the Jesuits, followed by taking the curriculum of law.

In any case, if by chance you have ever read the book 'A Distant Mirror' by the historian, Barbara Tuchman, then you would know that the 14th century was one of great intellectual advances, of learning and art.

It was also a time of repeated plagues sweeping across Europe, that could kill anywhere from one-quarter to one-third of the entire population. The Black Death was the most famous, and it came three times that century!

So it was that at 16-years of age, I contracted one of the terrible fevers that carried away many of my contemporaries. Most who got it died, others recovered and went on as before. I, on the other hand, became ill but my sickness seemed to linger on as I gradually became more and more frail, unable to keep enough food down to recover.

Then a physician of rare insight concluded that perhaps I had a lack of blood (which in its own way was true) and began to feed me the red liquor of life. No, not human blood, but raw pig's blood. It was not difficult to obtain at that time; it is still used today to make 'black', or 'blood' sausage or pudding.

I suddenly began to recover. So long as a major part of my diet continued to be blood, I grew stronger. Within a short time, I was once again out of my bed and able to attend to my tutor and wander the streets of Paris.

It was only then that I lost my soul. One day when the hunger overtook me, I encountered a man who had just lost his hand; it was torn off when his cart started to roll backwards and his hand was caught in the spokes. I quickly looked around and except for me, he was alone on the street.

To my eternal shame, as his blood shot forth from his arteries, I knew he was going to die and I grabbed the now open wound where his hand had been and sucked the blood into my open mouth as he bled out and died.

The fresh, warm blood of a human was so much more pleasing to my palette than the stale animal blood that I had become accustomed to that, from that time onward, I sought it out. It became more and more a substitute for any other nourishment.

I will not satisfy your lust for tales of the macabre by relating my early exploits, but let it suffice to say that in the Paris of that time, amongst the poor, it was what we call today a 'target rich environment.' I was young, lacking in judgment (but pardon me, I repeat myself), and without self-discipline (I fear I am doubly redundant!).

Like a wolf, I preyed upon the weak and the outcasts, the lonely and helpless. Most were already seeking death. I was not frenzied, nor too greedy, but nevertheless eventually tales of a dark and evil being spread throughout the district and I feared for both my life and my soul.

Eventually, my self-loathing led me to confess my sins to a priest.

I confessed as honestly as I could, but rather than finding forgiveness, the Priest condemned me and drove me from the chapel.

"You are a spawn of the devil! Your soul is forfeit! Your kind cannot be forgiven or redeemed. Get thee away from me! Return to Hell, Satan!" he screamed as I ran into the night, waving a crucifix after me like a weapon as I fled the wrath of this priest and of God.

How could this damnation of my soul be true? I never asked to become evil and wicked. And just what was my infirmity? What had caused it?

Knowing what I do as a physician today (I have been through medical training on four different occasions, the last being in the late 1990's), I suspect that there was a unique confluence of circumstances that made me into this kind of abominable being. It was the combination of being exposed to some virus, or perhaps a prion — a fragment of virus — that was mutated by my immune system and in turn changed my basic nature.

Both the virus and my body's response must have been extraordinarily rare, for I personally know of no other cases similar to mine (although there have been several others who I suspected could also be of the same nature.) Upon reflection, I assume that there must have been others, for the rumors and legends of vampires exist around the globe, and have since the times of ancient Kamet.