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A good predator ought to recognize and choose his/her game well.
Is Napoleon a good meal?
Is Napoleon a good meal?
'And now with the days growing longer here it will be much harder to spend time in Gourgaud's company'
Suspicions raised earlier confirmed at this comment (sometimes I'm slow).
Very much anticipating your tying together the various timeframes of this AAR.
( a note to myself to review all the hints/clues dropped thus far)
edit-
aha, the clue!
Suspicions raised earlier confirmed at this comment (sometimes I'm slow).
Very much anticipating your tying together the various timeframes of this AAR.
( a note to myself to review all the hints/clues dropped thus far)
edit-
aha, the clue!
man, I'm slow.
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So, she was the it of the coffin. I had a funny feeling she would be. These Kindred sound like interesting people.
Well... Let's say your definition of "interesting" is definitely critical to understanding your comment
He was indeed quite ill in 1819, and enjoyed a relapse the following year before his final decline.
Cool!
I'm working on more
A good predator ought to recognize and choose his/her game well.
Is Napoleon a good meal?
You would have to ask someone who was fed him
First things first: welcome to this AAR and thanks for reading!
I'm glad to read your comments. You're basically describing the effect I was after
That game is almost up - it will soon be time to introduce Monsieur Bonaparte to his new world
Memories of Christmas.
Excerpt from Albert Speer's "Spandau Diary"
December 26th, 1955
Neurath had angina this night. He shrugs it off as unimportant in the morning, but the nurses don't share his views: he has very high arterial tension. They say he might very well die during the coming hours. The "old gentleman", as he's come to be called here, is not drawing attention to himself like Funk would have. Neurath's manner remains discrete and amiable. He actually seems to be in pretty good spirits.
It hasn't been much of a Christmas and I prefer it this way. I'm in a bleak mood and I remember the equally bleak Christmas of 1932.
I wish I could have listened to Margarete and organized a Christmas party of our own. I would never have thought of not going at the time. The second half of 1932 had been terrible for Hitler. Our claims to the contrary notwithstanding, he had suffered a major defeat against old Marshal Hindenburg in the Presidential election, the Party had lost 34 seats in the Reichstag in November, our coffers were empty while our creditors clamored for repayment, and to cap it all Gregor Strasser (1) had gained so much popularity among the "Socialists" of NSDAP that it seemed it was only a matter of weeks before he would present a list of National-Socialist members of the Reichstag willing to support the government of Chancellor von Schleicher. (2)
In the midst of all this turmoil I felt it was my duty as a friend to accept Hitler's invitation. Hitler's Berlin apartment was to small to accommodate as many guests as he would have wanted, thus it was Göring who played host. Emmy Sonnemann was not present. Göring's relationship with her was in its infancy, it was only in 1933 that her presence by his side became the norm, and they married in 1935.
The guests were supposed to be intimates of Hitler, thus I was surprised to see Martin Bormann and his wife Gerda. It was early proof of the Führer's trust in him, and I bitterly regret not having noticed at the time. I had expected the presence of Joseph Goebbels and his wife Magda and had been right doing so. Unfortunately I had also been right to expect to see Ernst Röhm, the only man I ever heard actually call Hitler "Adolf". Röhm looked remarkably out of place among the other guests. I remember one picture where he stood next to Elsie von Carstein. The contrast between burly, ruddy-faced Röhm and the classy dress and porcelain features of Elsie made the whole picture look rather ridiculous. Himmler, his spouse Margarete and their daughter Gudrun were also present. Gudrun was the only child who was there. Magda Goebbels' son Harald lived with his father, and her daughter and both of Bormann's children were too young to attend.
When Margarete and I arrived the company was assembled around a violinist who was approximately my age. He was quite talented as a musician, and also had the looks of an accomplished sportsman. At first I thought what had attracted Hitler to him was how much he fitted the image of the new German gentleman, and I was shocked to hear Röhm make a remark at table about "Adolf's latest killer hound". Röhm's words would later turn out to have been prophetic. In the event Heydrich protested formally, but he fell silent when Hitler said he would need men with Heydrich's qualities to rid Germany of its internal enemies. I chose to believe Hitler did not mean this literally, and it was not until after the trials which were held after Stauffenberg's attempt to assassinate the Führer that I started to think my old friend's frequent talk of eliminating those who stood against him during his speeches wasn't merely a rhetorical figure.
When I think of the company I kept this evening and during so many years that followed it is not hard to understand Hilde's need to ask how I could fail to realize I was consorting with murderers.
December 28th, 1955
More reminiscences about that 1932 Christmas. I remember the attraction Elsie von Carstein and Heydrich immediately felt for each other. Aside from Röhm everyone felt rather uncomfortable to witness this development. Heydrich's pregnant wife Lina did not know what to say or do, and I felt pretty certain that Hitler himself wanted to reprimand Heydrich and Elsie for their conduct. Hitler profoundly hated the notion of unfaithfulness within a couple. And certainly the Hitler of the late forties would not have hesitated an instant to lash out violently at the two offenders.
The Hitler of the days before we gained power knew better than to make a stand. At that time Elsie had the ear of many of our financial backers (this was in fact the reason why Göring had included her in the list of guests). Hitler could not guess how quickly Schleicher would alienate Hindenburg, or how von Papen would seize the opportunity to convince the President to finally appoint Hitler Chancellor. (3) He wouldn't risk plunging the Party into bankruptcy for the sake of upholding his moral values.
It was consistent with his character. After the Night of Long Knives Hitler freely admitted that he had deliberately chosen never to make a stand on ethical grounds if it was detrimental in his rise to power, and therefore detrimental for Germany. Now I know he would have committed any crime as long as he thought it was for the Greater Good of Germany. His infamous order to destroy the basis of the nations' life proves he was capable of the most heinous acts if they fitted his vision of the world.
December 29th, 1955
Still thinking of the strange relationship between Heydrich and Elsie von Carstein. In retrospect I am pretty confident there were no feelings of love between them. Now I know better than to think either of them was capable of genuine affection. What they did feel was respect for each other's capabilities, and it remained true after they became mortal enemies.
(1) Gregor Strasser was a 'left-wing' member of the German Nazi Party party who rejected some of Hitler's ideas and less socialist economic tendencies. Strasser subsequently formed his own faction within the Nazi Party, along with his brother, Otto Strasser. He nearly successfully challenged Hitler's supremacy over NSDAP in 1926 and remained one of the most powerful Gauleiter in 1932. He was arrested during the Night of Long Knives on 30 June 1934 and was executed without trial two days later.
(2) Kurt von Schleicher was a German general and the last Chancellor of Germany during the era of the Weimar Republic. Schleicher offered Strasser the vice-chancellorship and the office of the Prussian Prime Minister in December 1932. A schemer at heart, Schleicher hoped to disunite the NSDAP with Strasser's help and to pull the left Nazis around Strasser over to his national conservative side, as to prevent a revolution or takeover by Hitler. The plan failed because of Hitler's intervention.
(3) Schleicher had convinced Hindenburg to oust von Papen and appoint him Chancellor in his place on the assurance he would be capable to rally a majority of the Reichstag around himself. Hitler's unwillingness to collaborate unless he himself was appointed Chancellor forced Schleicher to look for support among members of every party but the Communists, and the inclusion of the SPD in his majority could only have been obtained by significant social concessions to which Hindenburg and the National-Conservatives were opposed. Schleicher threatened to reveal the scandal of the "Osthilfe" if they would not comply, and made good on his threat when it failed. He was himself weakened by another scandal. In the end he had no choice but to ask Hindenburg for emergency powers and the dissolution of the Reichstag. Hindenburg denied him both and he was forced to resign on 28 January 1933, opening the way for the appointment of Hitler as Chancellor two days later. Schleicher and his wife were murdered during the Night of Long Knives on 30 June 1934.
Excerpt from Albert Speer's "Spandau Diary"
December 26th, 1955
Neurath had angina this night. He shrugs it off as unimportant in the morning, but the nurses don't share his views: he has very high arterial tension. They say he might very well die during the coming hours. The "old gentleman", as he's come to be called here, is not drawing attention to himself like Funk would have. Neurath's manner remains discrete and amiable. He actually seems to be in pretty good spirits.
It hasn't been much of a Christmas and I prefer it this way. I'm in a bleak mood and I remember the equally bleak Christmas of 1932.
I wish I could have listened to Margarete and organized a Christmas party of our own. I would never have thought of not going at the time. The second half of 1932 had been terrible for Hitler. Our claims to the contrary notwithstanding, he had suffered a major defeat against old Marshal Hindenburg in the Presidential election, the Party had lost 34 seats in the Reichstag in November, our coffers were empty while our creditors clamored for repayment, and to cap it all Gregor Strasser (1) had gained so much popularity among the "Socialists" of NSDAP that it seemed it was only a matter of weeks before he would present a list of National-Socialist members of the Reichstag willing to support the government of Chancellor von Schleicher. (2)
In the midst of all this turmoil I felt it was my duty as a friend to accept Hitler's invitation. Hitler's Berlin apartment was to small to accommodate as many guests as he would have wanted, thus it was Göring who played host. Emmy Sonnemann was not present. Göring's relationship with her was in its infancy, it was only in 1933 that her presence by his side became the norm, and they married in 1935.
The guests were supposed to be intimates of Hitler, thus I was surprised to see Martin Bormann and his wife Gerda. It was early proof of the Führer's trust in him, and I bitterly regret not having noticed at the time. I had expected the presence of Joseph Goebbels and his wife Magda and had been right doing so. Unfortunately I had also been right to expect to see Ernst Röhm, the only man I ever heard actually call Hitler "Adolf". Röhm looked remarkably out of place among the other guests. I remember one picture where he stood next to Elsie von Carstein. The contrast between burly, ruddy-faced Röhm and the classy dress and porcelain features of Elsie made the whole picture look rather ridiculous. Himmler, his spouse Margarete and their daughter Gudrun were also present. Gudrun was the only child who was there. Magda Goebbels' son Harald lived with his father, and her daughter and both of Bormann's children were too young to attend.
When Margarete and I arrived the company was assembled around a violinist who was approximately my age. He was quite talented as a musician, and also had the looks of an accomplished sportsman. At first I thought what had attracted Hitler to him was how much he fitted the image of the new German gentleman, and I was shocked to hear Röhm make a remark at table about "Adolf's latest killer hound". Röhm's words would later turn out to have been prophetic. In the event Heydrich protested formally, but he fell silent when Hitler said he would need men with Heydrich's qualities to rid Germany of its internal enemies. I chose to believe Hitler did not mean this literally, and it was not until after the trials which were held after Stauffenberg's attempt to assassinate the Führer that I started to think my old friend's frequent talk of eliminating those who stood against him during his speeches wasn't merely a rhetorical figure.
When I think of the company I kept this evening and during so many years that followed it is not hard to understand Hilde's need to ask how I could fail to realize I was consorting with murderers.
December 28th, 1955
More reminiscences about that 1932 Christmas. I remember the attraction Elsie von Carstein and Heydrich immediately felt for each other. Aside from Röhm everyone felt rather uncomfortable to witness this development. Heydrich's pregnant wife Lina did not know what to say or do, and I felt pretty certain that Hitler himself wanted to reprimand Heydrich and Elsie for their conduct. Hitler profoundly hated the notion of unfaithfulness within a couple. And certainly the Hitler of the late forties would not have hesitated an instant to lash out violently at the two offenders.
The Hitler of the days before we gained power knew better than to make a stand. At that time Elsie had the ear of many of our financial backers (this was in fact the reason why Göring had included her in the list of guests). Hitler could not guess how quickly Schleicher would alienate Hindenburg, or how von Papen would seize the opportunity to convince the President to finally appoint Hitler Chancellor. (3) He wouldn't risk plunging the Party into bankruptcy for the sake of upholding his moral values.
It was consistent with his character. After the Night of Long Knives Hitler freely admitted that he had deliberately chosen never to make a stand on ethical grounds if it was detrimental in his rise to power, and therefore detrimental for Germany. Now I know he would have committed any crime as long as he thought it was for the Greater Good of Germany. His infamous order to destroy the basis of the nations' life proves he was capable of the most heinous acts if they fitted his vision of the world.
December 29th, 1955
Still thinking of the strange relationship between Heydrich and Elsie von Carstein. In retrospect I am pretty confident there were no feelings of love between them. Now I know better than to think either of them was capable of genuine affection. What they did feel was respect for each other's capabilities, and it remained true after they became mortal enemies.
(1) Gregor Strasser was a 'left-wing' member of the German Nazi Party party who rejected some of Hitler's ideas and less socialist economic tendencies. Strasser subsequently formed his own faction within the Nazi Party, along with his brother, Otto Strasser. He nearly successfully challenged Hitler's supremacy over NSDAP in 1926 and remained one of the most powerful Gauleiter in 1932. He was arrested during the Night of Long Knives on 30 June 1934 and was executed without trial two days later.
(2) Kurt von Schleicher was a German general and the last Chancellor of Germany during the era of the Weimar Republic. Schleicher offered Strasser the vice-chancellorship and the office of the Prussian Prime Minister in December 1932. A schemer at heart, Schleicher hoped to disunite the NSDAP with Strasser's help and to pull the left Nazis around Strasser over to his national conservative side, as to prevent a revolution or takeover by Hitler. The plan failed because of Hitler's intervention.
(3) Schleicher had convinced Hindenburg to oust von Papen and appoint him Chancellor in his place on the assurance he would be capable to rally a majority of the Reichstag around himself. Hitler's unwillingness to collaborate unless he himself was appointed Chancellor forced Schleicher to look for support among members of every party but the Communists, and the inclusion of the SPD in his majority could only have been obtained by significant social concessions to which Hindenburg and the National-Conservatives were opposed. Schleicher threatened to reveal the scandal of the "Osthilfe" if they would not comply, and made good on his threat when it failed. He was himself weakened by another scandal. In the end he had no choice but to ask Hindenburg for emergency powers and the dissolution of the Reichstag. Hindenburg denied him both and he was forced to resign on 28 January 1933, opening the way for the appointment of Hitler as Chancellor two days later. Schleicher and his wife were murdered during the Night of Long Knives on 30 June 1934.
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Actually he joined in 1931, shortly after he was evicted from the Navy, and met Hitler in the summer of 1932
Speer said:
That name reminds me of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's short story.
It's worrisome that she is linking up with the nefarious Heydrich. Nothing good can come of that.
So, we get more characters and another time. What Speer writes in 1955 may or may not be significant to the overall development of the story...
That name reminds me of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's short story.
It's worrisome that she is linking up with the nefarious Heydrich. Nothing good can come of that.
I may have another addition to my "to read" list. I am afraid the name von Carstein did not come from a literate source of inspiration at all: I first read it in a description of the Warhammer fantasy universe
indeed, nothing good can be expected from interactions between Elsie and Heydrich. Both are inhumane in their own way.
The next couple of updates should make it clear
Elise and Heydrich... I hope that they enmity makes him unsuitable as a "partner". An unead Heydrich makes me shiver.
I knew it... We got rid of Isabella and Vlad von Carstein, at least.
Don't forget to read LeFanu...
I may have another addition to my "to read" list. I am afraid the name von Carstein did not come from a literate source of inspiration at all: I first read it in a description of the Warhammer fantasy universe
I knew it...
We got rid of Isabella and Vlad von Carstein, at least.Don't forget to read LeFanu...
Lordban included it in the story line. It must be significant, more than just to tie Elsie and Heydrich together.
Lets hear some more about Boney!
Interesting update
Thank you!
The idea inevitably crossed my mind, and it made me shiver too... I'm not sure there is much to gain by making Heydrich worse than he already is
Odds are you will quite soon, I'm on a roll
The Emperor's Penance.
Napoléon on his death bed, surrounded by his retinue and his jailers.
Governor Hudson Lowe: 'Can someone identify the deceased?' - 'I can' answers Marquis Montchenu, crying.
**
St Helena Island, May 5th, 1821
At least I know that a man can experience frustration even when he is dying Napoléon mused bitterly, his unfocused gaze trailing on the blurred shape of the glass of orgeat which lay on his bedside table. Only two weeks ago he would have been able to reach for the refreshing drink almost effortlessly; only two nights ago he could still have managed it, even though doing it would have been as much of an ordeal as swallowing anything was with his tortured stomach. Only two hours ago he would have been able to see it properly.
And there would have been someone by his side to make him drink.
Where had Montholon gone? Napoléon was almost sure he had seen him sitting on a chair next to his bed only moments before. Maybe the General had gone to investigate some noise made by the gale which pounded Longwood House. The drumming of the rain on the roof and the shutters, the pounding of the wind on the walls and the roaring of the thunder all contributed to add to the dying man's misery. A particularly violent gust almost battered one of the windows open and Napoléon felt terror surge through him. Who was to take him to a safer place if he was suddenly exposed to the fury of the elements? He would never manage to hide from the storm on his own: he was hardly capable of raising a hand! Would a miserable death drenched by the freezing rain and battered by the howling winds be God's final punishment for causing the deaths of many a good man? Or maybe he was dead already, and this was the first hour of his eternal penance?
He was distracted from this train of thought by a thud near the door. Napoléon slowly turned his face in the direction of the noise and saw a silhouette highlighted by a lantern. It was not Montholon. It was a young woman whose frame, blond hair and pale complexion looked impossibly familiar. Napoléon would have jumped with surprise had his body been up to it. Instead he experienced a painful spasm. He knew it could not be the woman he thought of. She had left St Helena more than two years earlier. But calling her name would reveal him whether he was already dead.
He croaked. 'Betsie?'
The voice which answered was not Elizabeth Balcombe's. Its pitch was higher, and the woman replied in far more polished French:
'A couple of islanders mistook me for her a couple of years ago' the woman said conversationally as she walked towards the dying Emperor. 'You have no idea of how troublesome it was to stop them from spreading the rumor of young Elizabeth's return. Altering one's face is easy; altering an other's recollections requires quite a bit of time and skill.'
The woman's words made no sense to Napoléon. What meant such talk about altering memories? Was the woman a trickster? Something more sinister? Or was she an hallucination born from his tormented mind?
'Who... are... you?' he managed. And the woman answered:
'I am your guide to the lands of the dead.'
The reply was punctuated by a violent clap of thunder. The whole scene felt eerie and at the same time unnatural, as though it was directly taken from a bad horror story. Now I know this is not real. Or maybe the Porter of Hell has questionable tastes Napoléon thought wryly.
His thoughts must have brought a faint smile to his lips, judging from the woman's reply: 'Oh no, Monsieur Bonaparte, I am quite serious. I am the last person you will see during your life. You will not live to see the dawn, and you will be dead long before then in the unhappy event one of your retinue tries to interrupt our conversation.'
Napoléon heard a trickle of liquid. With great effort he looked in the direction of the sound - and he did not understand what he was seeing. The woman had cut one of her veins open and was letting her blood mingle with the orgeat, tainting the almond liquid with dark red. Then something incomprehensible happened. The woman raised her wrist to her mouth and licked it; when she extended her hand to pick up the goblet, there was no trace of the self-inflicted wound.
Panic surged through him once more as the woman - for lack of a better word - turned his head upwards with one cold hand and brought the glass to his lips with the other. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but she forced it open, her icy fingers none too gentle, and the tainted drink filled his mouth; he had no choice but to swallow, and he prepared for the inevitable burning sensation when the liquid reached his stomach.
When it came, he shouted with pain, but the woman had anticipated the shout: she had snatched one of his pillows and pressed it hard on his face, muffling the sound. He started struggling and tried to push the pillow away. To his surprise, she released her hold, and the pillow went flying across the room, hitting the wall on the far end. He stopped struggling, and realized he had sat up, when only moments before he was hardly capable of lifting a hand. There was still the pain in his stomach but, somehow, he had regained some strength.
'I see you are feeling better already' the woman said coldly as she stepped away from Napoléon. 'Be careful not to overextend yourself. My blood has returned you some strength, but you are still dying.'
'Your blood?' His voice had sounded normal, too.
'A man who drinks my blood becomes stronger, as you can experience for yourself.'
Napoléon could not believe what he was hearing. If he was not dead, it had to be a nightmare. But his senses told him he was awake. The burning sensation in his belly was all too familiar, as were the carpet and walls of the living room where his bed had been brought. His eyes were focused now, and he spotted a man lying on the floor right next to the door, his eerily familiar silhouette highlighted by the flickering light of the lantern brought by the woman, and his features-
The Emperor's jaw dropped. The man lying near the door looked exactly like Napoléon himself.
'What devilry is this?' he managed, his eyes fixed on his "twin".
'Devilry?' The woman laughed scornfully. 'Monsieur Bonaparte, the power which was used to remake this man in your semblance is a gift from God.'
'Wh-' The woman interrupted him.
'Abel was a shepherd and kept flocks' she began, 'and Caine tilled the soil.'
'Why are you quoting the Bible to me?' a bewildered Napoléon asked.
'It shall soon make sense to you.' She went on. 'It happened after a time that Caine brought fruits of the soil as an offering to Yahweh. Abel for his part brought the firstborn of his flock, and some fat as well. Now Yahweh was well pleased with Abel and his offering, but towards Caine and his offering he showed no pleasure. This made Caine very angry and downcast.
'Then Yahweh said to Caine, "Why are you angry and downcast? If you do right, why do you not look up? But if you are not doing what is right, sin is lurking at the door. It is striving to get you, but you must control it.
'Caine said to his brother Abel, "Let's go to the fields." Once there, Caine turned on his brother Abel and killed him.'
Napoléon was horribly fascinated by the woman as she retold the ancient story. As far as he could tell she was quoting the Bible word for word, yet it did not sound like the scriptures at all. In her mouth the story of Abel and Caine became a cruel tale, and there was scorn in her voice every time she mentioned the Creator.
She continued: 'Yahweh said to Caine, "Where is your brother, Abel?" He answered, "I don't know; am I my brother's keeper?" Yahweh asked, "What have you done? Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground. Now be cursed and driven from the ground that has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood that your hand has shed. When you till the soil, it will no longer yield you its produce. You will be a fugitive wandering on the earth."
'All this is familiar, my dear man' she said with a cruel smile. 'But from this point onwards my version of the tale differs from the Church's.'
The woman went on, her eyes gleaming eerily red in the lantern-light. 'Yahweh put a mark on Caine, and He spake: "You are outcast, banished for all eternity from my light, from the race of Adam and Eve, and condemned to blood, pride and darkness. All of my creatures will shun you, fear you and never give you the peace you will desire." Caine then went from Yahweh's presence and fled in the land of Nod, to the east of Eden.
The woman pressed on: 'In sorrow and longing, Caine committed a second sin, casting his lot to darkness forever. He chose three of his son Enoch's sons, and these Three became his Progeny. And Caine despaired when he saw what he had wrought, for his Progeny bore the same mark Yahweh put on him. Thus, the Second Generation was born, and their Dark Father fled, once more. In time, the Three sired those of the Third Generation, and on, and on, and on.'
And suddenly Napoléon noticed the woman's inch-long fangs.
His eyes opened wide with horror.
And he whispered:
'Vampire.'
'Such did God remake Caine.' She gratified him with a nightmarish smile. 'I am descended from him, and I bear the same Mark.'
The vampire swooped towards him.
Only five nights earlier Napoléon had dreamed of facing Death itself as it came to take him. It was the night after they had moved his bed to the gloomy living room where he had spent many a dour evening. He had understood then that this was where he would die, and he had woken up screaming: "La Mort! La Mort!"
Now was the time. Tonight Death had walked into the cold and damp room where the Emperor was waiting, heralded by the howl of wind and the roar of thunder. Napoléon's sins against Men would not go unpunished: he was sentenced to Hell, and God had sent one of His monsters to open the gates for the sinner.
The vampire smiled. Napoléon recoiled from her, but he did not flee: he knew could never escape her. She leaned towards him, and his nostrils filled with the sweet fragrance of her scent. When he felt her cold lips on his skin his mind went numb with fear. A tiny part of him knew this mental paralysis would be his last satisfaction: in the few seconds left to him, he was granted a reprieve from the knowledge death at the vampire's fangs was but the beginning of eternal torment.
I had intended to wrap up this introduction with two updates. I am afraid it will be three
Napoléon on his death bed, surrounded by his retinue and his jailers.
Governor Hudson Lowe: 'Can someone identify the deceased?' - 'I can' answers Marquis Montchenu, crying.
**
St Helena Island, May 5th, 1821
At least I know that a man can experience frustration even when he is dying Napoléon mused bitterly, his unfocused gaze trailing on the blurred shape of the glass of orgeat which lay on his bedside table. Only two weeks ago he would have been able to reach for the refreshing drink almost effortlessly; only two nights ago he could still have managed it, even though doing it would have been as much of an ordeal as swallowing anything was with his tortured stomach. Only two hours ago he would have been able to see it properly.
And there would have been someone by his side to make him drink.
Where had Montholon gone? Napoléon was almost sure he had seen him sitting on a chair next to his bed only moments before. Maybe the General had gone to investigate some noise made by the gale which pounded Longwood House. The drumming of the rain on the roof and the shutters, the pounding of the wind on the walls and the roaring of the thunder all contributed to add to the dying man's misery. A particularly violent gust almost battered one of the windows open and Napoléon felt terror surge through him. Who was to take him to a safer place if he was suddenly exposed to the fury of the elements? He would never manage to hide from the storm on his own: he was hardly capable of raising a hand! Would a miserable death drenched by the freezing rain and battered by the howling winds be God's final punishment for causing the deaths of many a good man? Or maybe he was dead already, and this was the first hour of his eternal penance?
He was distracted from this train of thought by a thud near the door. Napoléon slowly turned his face in the direction of the noise and saw a silhouette highlighted by a lantern. It was not Montholon. It was a young woman whose frame, blond hair and pale complexion looked impossibly familiar. Napoléon would have jumped with surprise had his body been up to it. Instead he experienced a painful spasm. He knew it could not be the woman he thought of. She had left St Helena more than two years earlier. But calling her name would reveal him whether he was already dead.
He croaked. 'Betsie?'
The voice which answered was not Elizabeth Balcombe's. Its pitch was higher, and the woman replied in far more polished French:
'A couple of islanders mistook me for her a couple of years ago' the woman said conversationally as she walked towards the dying Emperor. 'You have no idea of how troublesome it was to stop them from spreading the rumor of young Elizabeth's return. Altering one's face is easy; altering an other's recollections requires quite a bit of time and skill.'
The woman's words made no sense to Napoléon. What meant such talk about altering memories? Was the woman a trickster? Something more sinister? Or was she an hallucination born from his tormented mind?
'Who... are... you?' he managed. And the woman answered:
'I am your guide to the lands of the dead.'
The reply was punctuated by a violent clap of thunder. The whole scene felt eerie and at the same time unnatural, as though it was directly taken from a bad horror story. Now I know this is not real. Or maybe the Porter of Hell has questionable tastes Napoléon thought wryly.
His thoughts must have brought a faint smile to his lips, judging from the woman's reply: 'Oh no, Monsieur Bonaparte, I am quite serious. I am the last person you will see during your life. You will not live to see the dawn, and you will be dead long before then in the unhappy event one of your retinue tries to interrupt our conversation.'
Napoléon heard a trickle of liquid. With great effort he looked in the direction of the sound - and he did not understand what he was seeing. The woman had cut one of her veins open and was letting her blood mingle with the orgeat, tainting the almond liquid with dark red. Then something incomprehensible happened. The woman raised her wrist to her mouth and licked it; when she extended her hand to pick up the goblet, there was no trace of the self-inflicted wound.
Panic surged through him once more as the woman - for lack of a better word - turned his head upwards with one cold hand and brought the glass to his lips with the other. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but she forced it open, her icy fingers none too gentle, and the tainted drink filled his mouth; he had no choice but to swallow, and he prepared for the inevitable burning sensation when the liquid reached his stomach.
When it came, he shouted with pain, but the woman had anticipated the shout: she had snatched one of his pillows and pressed it hard on his face, muffling the sound. He started struggling and tried to push the pillow away. To his surprise, she released her hold, and the pillow went flying across the room, hitting the wall on the far end. He stopped struggling, and realized he had sat up, when only moments before he was hardly capable of lifting a hand. There was still the pain in his stomach but, somehow, he had regained some strength.
'I see you are feeling better already' the woman said coldly as she stepped away from Napoléon. 'Be careful not to overextend yourself. My blood has returned you some strength, but you are still dying.'
'Your blood?' His voice had sounded normal, too.
'A man who drinks my blood becomes stronger, as you can experience for yourself.'
Napoléon could not believe what he was hearing. If he was not dead, it had to be a nightmare. But his senses told him he was awake. The burning sensation in his belly was all too familiar, as were the carpet and walls of the living room where his bed had been brought. His eyes were focused now, and he spotted a man lying on the floor right next to the door, his eerily familiar silhouette highlighted by the flickering light of the lantern brought by the woman, and his features-
The Emperor's jaw dropped. The man lying near the door looked exactly like Napoléon himself.
'What devilry is this?' he managed, his eyes fixed on his "twin".
'Devilry?' The woman laughed scornfully. 'Monsieur Bonaparte, the power which was used to remake this man in your semblance is a gift from God.'
'Wh-' The woman interrupted him.
'Abel was a shepherd and kept flocks' she began, 'and Caine tilled the soil.'
'Why are you quoting the Bible to me?' a bewildered Napoléon asked.
'It shall soon make sense to you.' She went on. 'It happened after a time that Caine brought fruits of the soil as an offering to Yahweh. Abel for his part brought the firstborn of his flock, and some fat as well. Now Yahweh was well pleased with Abel and his offering, but towards Caine and his offering he showed no pleasure. This made Caine very angry and downcast.
'Then Yahweh said to Caine, "Why are you angry and downcast? If you do right, why do you not look up? But if you are not doing what is right, sin is lurking at the door. It is striving to get you, but you must control it.
'Caine said to his brother Abel, "Let's go to the fields." Once there, Caine turned on his brother Abel and killed him.'
Napoléon was horribly fascinated by the woman as she retold the ancient story. As far as he could tell she was quoting the Bible word for word, yet it did not sound like the scriptures at all. In her mouth the story of Abel and Caine became a cruel tale, and there was scorn in her voice every time she mentioned the Creator.
She continued: 'Yahweh said to Caine, "Where is your brother, Abel?" He answered, "I don't know; am I my brother's keeper?" Yahweh asked, "What have you done? Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground. Now be cursed and driven from the ground that has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood that your hand has shed. When you till the soil, it will no longer yield you its produce. You will be a fugitive wandering on the earth."
'All this is familiar, my dear man' she said with a cruel smile. 'But from this point onwards my version of the tale differs from the Church's.'
The woman went on, her eyes gleaming eerily red in the lantern-light. 'Yahweh put a mark on Caine, and He spake: "You are outcast, banished for all eternity from my light, from the race of Adam and Eve, and condemned to blood, pride and darkness. All of my creatures will shun you, fear you and never give you the peace you will desire." Caine then went from Yahweh's presence and fled in the land of Nod, to the east of Eden.
The woman pressed on: 'In sorrow and longing, Caine committed a second sin, casting his lot to darkness forever. He chose three of his son Enoch's sons, and these Three became his Progeny. And Caine despaired when he saw what he had wrought, for his Progeny bore the same mark Yahweh put on him. Thus, the Second Generation was born, and their Dark Father fled, once more. In time, the Three sired those of the Third Generation, and on, and on, and on.'
And suddenly Napoléon noticed the woman's inch-long fangs.
His eyes opened wide with horror.
And he whispered:
'Vampire.'
'Such did God remake Caine.' She gratified him with a nightmarish smile. 'I am descended from him, and I bear the same Mark.'
The vampire swooped towards him.
Only five nights earlier Napoléon had dreamed of facing Death itself as it came to take him. It was the night after they had moved his bed to the gloomy living room where he had spent many a dour evening. He had understood then that this was where he would die, and he had woken up screaming: "La Mort! La Mort!"
Now was the time. Tonight Death had walked into the cold and damp room where the Emperor was waiting, heralded by the howl of wind and the roar of thunder. Napoléon's sins against Men would not go unpunished: he was sentenced to Hell, and God had sent one of His monsters to open the gates for the sinner.
The vampire smiled. Napoléon recoiled from her, but he did not flee: he knew could never escape her. She leaned towards him, and his nostrils filled with the sweet fragrance of her scent. When he felt her cold lips on his skin his mind went numb with fear. A tiny part of him knew this mental paralysis would be his last satisfaction: in the few seconds left to him, he was granted a reprieve from the knowledge death at the vampire's fangs was but the beginning of eternal torment.