Hotel Transylvania (43 page)

"In May," she repeated as Roger opened the door for her. She pulled Saint-Germain's cloak more tightly around her, but not for modesty; she was seeking to keep him with her, if only from the familiar warmth of his cloak. She turned her violet eyes to his again, and his hands reached out to her. "I am glad it is you, Saint-Germain," she said. "I am glad you have loved me and I have loved you."

He tightened his grip on her hands. Happiness softened his face, erasing the sardonic twist of his mouth. "I am glad, too, Madelaine. I will always be glad."

She stepped out of the coach. "It is late," she said to the air. The night sky was polished by stars, and a crisp wind ruffled her hair. Once more she said, "In May."

Still he could not leave her. He leaned down from the coach to press one more kiss to her eyes, her mouth. "Now, go, Madelaine, or I will not have the will to send you away."

She nodded and stepped back from the road, one hand holding the cloak closed, the other raised in farewell. She smiled, and her smile was joyous, following the coach until, with Roger riding beside it, and Hercule handling the reins in form, it turned the bend in the road and was lost to sight.

Excerpt from a letter from la Comtesse d'Argenlac to la Marquise de Montalia, dated
November 15,1743:

...I grieve with you, my sister, for the loss of my brother Robert, who was your husband. He was a kind man, a good brother, and his fatherly devotion exceeded all his other qualities. I have wept and wept for him as I prayed, but no tears or prayers will restore him to us.

I am told by l'Abbé Ponteneuf, our cousin, that Robert at last made his peace with God, and that his martyrdom suffered on behalf of his child (Madelaine speaks little of this, but we have learned enough of that dreadful night to know that his life bought hers) has given him a place among the Blessed of God. If it is any consolation to you, Saint-Germain has sent money from England to l'Abbé to buy Masses for the repose of Robert's soul. It was he, as you may know, who brought Madelaine away from the fire and restored her to me.

How is it that misfortune always comes in apparently unending multitudes, like drops of rain? It is my sad duty to inform you that Madelaine has not improved in health since that terrible ordeal. I have called priests and physicians, yet nothing they can do seems to help. Her mind has not been too much affected, which is a blessing. She is perfectly lucid. But her soul is possessed of a sadness now. She spends much of her time alone in the night, reading. Her commendable scholarship must be a solace to her, for she is most diligent in her studies, which now include foreign languages and history. Her beauty is not diminished, but rather has become sharper. You would think, to see the keenness of her violet eyes and the slight flush to her cheek that she is perfectly robust. But it is not true. Her physician, André Schoenbrun, informs me that this travesty of health is but a sign of her disease, and will inexorably claim her.

I have done all I know how to do, and would do more if I could, but I know nothing that will save her now. Nor do her physician and priests.

Pray, Margaret, let me keep her here with me. I do not go out, so she will not be left alone. I still dread the things that people will say, for since my husband's death, the speculation and gossip surrounding his demise have become unbearably painful to me. I realize that Madelaine will not live out a year, but I would like to share those remaining months with her, and find some value for myself in helping her.

For whatever comfort it may bring you, Saint Sebastien and many of his horrible companions were completely destroyed in the fire that gutted Hôtel Transylvania. A group of priests from Saint-Germain-des-Près have searched the wreckage for any remains, but have not found enough bones to make up the whole of one man. They keep vigil at the place, and have performed the rite of exorcism so that any unholy thing left behind by those unspeakable men will be laid to rest.

...I beg you will write to me soon, not only so that we may share in our mourning but so that I may tell Madelaine of your decision.

I do not wish to distress you further, but I know the duty of seeing your daughter die with such Christian resignation, coming so hard upon the death of your husband, is a terrible burden to place on anyone, particularly you, who have a mother's love and wife's affection. I urge you again to let Madelaine stay with me.

In the deepest of sorrow, I have the honor to commend myself to you in our time of mutual distress.

As your most devoted sister,
 

Claudia de Montalia
 

Comtesse d'Argenlac

Epilogue

Text of a letter written by Madelaine de Montalia to le Comte de Saint-German, written in inexpert Arabic, delivered in person by the English sorcerer Beverly Sattin, dated April 29, 1744:

My dearest Saint-Germain,

Your gift has arrived quite safely, through the good offices of your Hercule who has returned to Paris as of a week ago. How is it that green chalcedony can be made to glow red when lit from within? I am certain that in time you will teach me even that.

As you see, I have taken your advice of January 10 and am devoting even more of my time to my studies. Arabic is vastly complicated at first, and I am sure that this is clumsy beyond my imagination. But in time, I will master it, as you have.

Schoenbrun has been to see me yet again. He and l'Abbé Ponteneuf put on such good faces when they are with me. I feel quite beside myself, and wish I could tell them that I do not mind dying. For I am dying. It is a gentle thing, no more difficult than taking off my stays at night. By the end of summer I will be in my grave, I think.

How strange it is to say that, and know that there is no terror for me in those words. When you return to Paris next month, you must come to me again, my dearest love. You cannot deny me this. Even as I write these words I glow with desire for you. My physicians say that it is my malady that gives me this vivid color and eyes that bum. But it is not that. It is your blood in me, making me one with you, as inevitable as sunset when the sun stands but at high noon. In May there will be a few days for us to enjoy our sweet rapture, and then I will go down to the good earth, as you did once, and it will give me strength to come to you again
.

I will never again need to fear the shortness of hours, I will have time to learn, to study, to know, to see all that there is to see. And if there is loneliness, there is also victory. Across the world and the ages I will always seek your arms, and in time I will achieve that perception that makes you what you are. Because of you, my life is not a wasted thing, nor my death.

In my reading of history there is war and ruin and pillage and lives snuffed out with such profligacy that my breath is stopped by the senselessness of it. One would think that all humanity had nothing better to do than feed on its own carrion. Think of all the destruction you have seen, and the endless foolishness. Whole peoples have perished for a few men's greed, or desire, or sport.

I have thought as I read these books, how many much worse things there are in this world than vampires.

To know your freedom. To live in the blood that is taken with love.

Saint-Germain, Saint-Germain, I can hardly wait!

Your Madelaine
 

Forever

Notes

HÔTEL TRANSYLVANIA

Built in the reign of Louis XIII, Hôtel Transylvania stands today at 9 Quai Malaquais in le Faubourg Saint-Germain. Its name was taken from Prinz Franz Leopold Ragoczy, who stayed there from 1713 to 1717, due in part to his role in the War of the Spanish Succession.

Much of the Hôtel Transylvania's notoriety developed out of its mention in l'Abbé Prévost's novel
Manon Lescaut,
which was first published in 1728, and has kept up its popularity to this day largely because of the operas of Massenet and Puccini, which are based on Prévost's works (there are in fact, four operas using
Manon Lescaut
as a text, but only two are often performed).

A few of the illustratious people who have lived at or owned Hôtel Transylvania are: la Duchesse de Gramont, who was there in 1724; from 1869 to 1892 la Marquise de Blocqueville lived there, making the place synonymous with all that was splendid in arts and letters; and early in its career, before it gained the name by which it is still known, Hôtel Transylvania was occupied by le Maréchal de Tallard.

LE COMTE DE SAINT-GERMAIN

He first appeared in Paris in May, 1743, a gentleman of tremendous wealth, great learning, engaging manners, and much mystery. He was a terrifically conspicuous figure, known to everyone, going everywhere. His passion for diamonds was remarkable even for that gaudy century, and he often claimed to be able to grow his own diamonds. On two or three occasions, he took diamonds from friends and returned them larger stones, saying that they had been made larger by his own process.

He wore black and white almost exclusively, at a time when other men were dressing in colors that would shame a rainbow. His clothes were always of the finest quality, and were particularly neat. Everyone who knew him was impressed with his mode of dress, particularly Grimm and Frederick the Great. To complement his black-and-white clothes, he rode and drove gray horses exclusively, and had carriages of the most modern design.

He is credited with the work
Le Très Sainte Trinosophie,
which he may or may not have had anything to do with, but which bore his seal (the eclipse, with upraised wings) and did contain certain ideas very like ones Saint-Germain expressed. From Casanova and Walpole there is firsthand evidence that Saint-Germain was a practicing alchemist, and apparently quite a good one. In the 1750s, while he lived in The Hague, Saint-Germain purchased an athanor, and added two rooms onto the house he had hired, where he could carry out various alchemical processes.

Music was also a passion of Saint-Germain's, and the encounter with Rameau depicted in this novel did indeed take place sometime in the summer of 1743. Saint-Germain wrote quite a few little operas, and the one of
Persephone
mentioned in connection with Madelaine's fête was probably composed before 1750. Saint-Germain played the violin, harpsichord, and guitar and sang in a light, pleasant voice (his range has not been noted). He was an accomplished improviser and would occasionally adlib at the keyboard. His music was collected by the Russian composer Peter Tchaikovsky.

The description of him—a medium-short man with a deep chest, small hands and feet, dark hair, startling eyes (everyone who wrote about him mentions his eyes) and the appearance of early middle age—is more or less the same from 1743 until his supposed death in 1786, which is a long time to look forty-five. He claimed to be three thousand to four thousand years old, and said that he kept his youth by drinking the Elixir of Life.

Whether he had such a secret or not, it is interesting to note that he was rarely if ever seen to eat or drink in public, and that he did not, under any circumstances, drink wine.

He was an enthusiastic patron of the arts, and was particularly fond of the works of Velazquez. He did some painting himself, and although his work was competent but not remarkable, he did have a secret for blending colors of rare brilliance and luminosity, which more than one painter of his day begged him to reveal.

A gifted linguist, he spoke at least twelve languages, including Russian, Arabic, and Chinese.

Exactly who this man was has been the subject of much speculation from the time he appeared in Parisian society until the present. He may indeed have been the youngest son of Prinz Franz Leopold Ragoczy of Transylvania. If so, he was educated by Gian-Gastone de' Medici and was in fact about thirty when he came to Paris. Walpole, in one of his letters, lists all the stories that were circulating about Saint-Germain at that time, and they include such diverse speculations as: 1) he is a Polish aristocrat exiled from Poland for conspiring against the throne; 2) he is a Portuguese Jew; 3) he is an Italian who married well and murdered his wife; 4) he is the illegitimate son of the Pope; 5) he is a Russian boyar amusing himself at everyone's expense; 6) he is an Austrian diamond merchant spying on France.