by Damian Serbu
9 August 1792
CATHERINE, ALONE IN her office, gazed at the pile of paperwork in front of her and noticed a new letter with Michel’s seal. She wondered if he had sent another explanation that the government had changed hands again, this time to the artisan class, perhaps. But she had already heard and hardly cared any more. Each change was temporary and not worth her effort. She worried a lot more about Xavier and keeping people safe in her salon. She broke the seal and read the letter:
Catherine,
I apologize for canceling our engagement again this evening. I know that you are worried about Xavier, and I intend to come as soon as possible to assist you. But I cannot leave the edge of Paris right now as things have worsened. My regiment is still aligned too closely with Louis. Today, they imprisoned the royal family. Louis has seemingly lost all authority, and they are hunting down his regiments. I am transforming mine as we speak, to serve the people and so that my men are protected, but it will take time. I apologize again. Your loving brother, Michel
Poor Michel. He still fretted after their reconciliation, always worried that he would offend her. He had unburdened himself of his responsibility as head of the family but replaced it with this incessant anxiety that he would anger her.
Actually intrigued that they had imprisoned the entire royal family, Catherine delayed plans to do paperwork and went to tell Xavier. She found him in the chapel with the communion wine, alone in front of the altar and praying. Catherine paused to watch. He was so complex, with his denouncing of the Catholic Church but continued identity as a priest, with his shunning of traditional religion and now constant drunkenness. But she often found him praying when he was alone.
Catherine ruffled her skirt to alert him. Without leaving the altar and still kneeling, he bent backward and looked at her upside-down. He smiled and twisted back into position, gained his feet, and lurched toward her, falling completely on his face, laughing as he did so.
“The last time I saw you prone on a sanctuary floor they ordained you.”
“What brings you to the house of the Lord?” he asked, laughing even harder at what she had said.
“This Lord’s house is in my home, and I came to see my brother. But I see only a drunken priest.”
Xavier laughed again. “But alas, fair lady, your brother is a drunken priest.”
“Would he like to hear some news from Michel?”
Xavier jumped off the ground and raced to her. He hugged her and spun her around. “What? What?”
“They have imprisoned Louis.”
“Michel has imprisoned Louis?”
“The Insurrectionist Commune.”
“What’s that?”
“The new government.”
“How boring. Wine and politics just don’t mix. So, where did they put Louis?”
“I’m not sure.”
As they conversed, he was his usual drunken self at first, silly and laughing, which strangely comforted Catherine. But slowly he reminded her why she had sent for Michel as he became morose. The alcohol depressed him and he was no longer able to keep up the charade. Two days ago she had finally confronted him and demanded that he talk about Thomas. He had burst into tears for hours, but he still refused to say a word about it.
Catherine: Drinking Away the Pain
10 August 1792 Morning
CATHERINE WENT IMMEDIATELY to the library when the servants informed her that Michel had arrived. She had responded to his note about Louis’s imprisonment by telling him that she understood why he had had to cancel coming to the house yesterday, but he had promised to come today.
“Michel.” Catherine hugged him tightly as she greeted him and ushered them both to seats. He appeared tired, and his clothes were filthy.
“I came as soon as I secured my regiment. We’re hiding in Paris. I distanced us entirely from Louis. Only one of my men refused to abandon the monarchy, but he left peacefully.”
“Are you safe? You look dreadful.”
“Speaking of not looking well, you look worn yourself.”
“I fell asleep at my desk.”
“It’s because Jérémie left, isn’t it?”
“Partially.” She toyed with her skirts. Jérémie still wrote to her and handled their foreign affairs, but Catherine missed him terribly. Their friendship, more than anything, made her ache for his company. However, she was not about to mourn the loss of a man in front of Michel.
“Do you need help here?” Michel asked.
“I can take care of things.”
“I know you can.” He patted her hand. “I’m sure that Jérémie will return eventually.”
“I’m not so sure. His letters are distant, as if he’ll never set foot again in France. Besides, what would bring him back to this miserable revolution?”
Michel smiled. “He has interests here. I’m sworn to secrecy, but I’m sure that he’ll be back. Have you asked Xavier to help?”
Catherine roared with laughter, prompting Michel to grin as well. “I know he’s a drunk.”
“I’ve grown accustomed to his being drunk all the time.” Catherine cast her eyes to the ground. “But he’s not happy any more. His moods are dark, and he seldom jokes or even smiles. He sits in dim rooms now, still intoxicated, and cynically condemns everything. We need to confront him, but I’m afraid to do it alone. Not of him, but afraid he won’t listen. Maybe he’ll listen to both of us.”
“You’ve already tried?” Michel asked.
“Yes, a couple of times. But he won’t listen to anyone. He’s too depressed.”
Michel looked out the window, then turned to Catherine and put his hand on her shoulder.
“I didn’t tell you this, though I thought it peculiar. I assumed that it would pass. He came to me, on the front a few nights ago, and said that he sneaked from the house so that you wouldn’t be concerned. He was drunk and falling all over the place. I had to prop him against the wall. He was crying and talking about Thomas, but it was completely incoherent. Then he fell to his knees in front of me. He said that he had to forget and the only way was to deliver himself to God. He wanted me to take him to Rome, to flee with him to Rome, so that he could serve the pope.”
Catherine stared at him. “He hates the pope.”
“That’s what I said to him. Without batting an eye, he smirked and said that yes, he disliked the papacy but that he needed punishment for what he’d done and he could think of nothing worse than working directly for his eminence.”
“And he expected you to travel to Italy?”
“Yes. He said something about my not being endangered and protecting him. I wish I could remember more. It was confusing. I concentrated on calming him down and finally convinced him to allow two of my men to get him home. Xavier refuses to talk about it, but does this have anything to do with Thomas? I’ve seen other men in the army who care deeply for one another. Is that what this is about?”
“He’s accidentally admitted it to both of us, then. I wish I knew what kept him from acting. He always says something about religion and obligation. Whatever it is, I need your help, I fear—” Catherine choked on the words. “I’m afraid that he’ll harm himself.”
Michel’s eyes filled with tears.
“I watch him all the time now,” Catherine continued as she wiped her own tears. “I never leave him alone. If I’m not with him, then Anne or Maria is. He stays contentedly with Anne, but he and Maria argue constantly. She wants him to just stop drinking. And she pronounces that conservative theology to anyone who’ll listen. It only makes things worse for Xavier. It’s all wearing on me, Michel. I hate to say it because I’d do anything for Xavier, but he takes so much time. What could’ve led him to this?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just so unlike him. I’m lost. And depressed, too.”
“I, as well. Let’s go see him.”
Michel barged into Xavier’s room without knocking to find Maria reading on the bed. She quietly left when Catherine a
nd Michel arrived.
“I’ll be outside,” she told them and closed the door.
Xavier was sitting on the ledge and staring out the window. His eyes were red, and dark circles marred his skin beneath them. He had a bottle of wine, having shunned the decorum of using a glass some time ago. He did not look at them when they entered, but he meekly said hello in response to their greetings.
“Xavier,” Michel began, “I haven’t much time. Catherine and I are worried, deeply concerned, more than ever before. This goes beyond our parental instincts.” Michel walked over and forced Xavier off the sill and into a chair so that he faced them, though Xavier refused to look into their eyes. “Please let us do something.”
“Yes, let us help you,” Catherine said.
Xavier’s eyes filled with tears and he took another drink from the bottle.
“Xavier, what is it?” Michel asked.
“I think that I’d like to visit New Orleans one day,” Xavier said. “To go to that part of the world would be quite an experience. Perhaps we could venture together.”
“What are you talking about?” Catherine asked curtly. “Will you stop these games?”
“‘Tis not a game. I’ve wanted to see New Orleans for a long time. Since I first heard about it. It sounds so different. So fascinating. I want to see plantations. I want to see the Africans. I want to judge for myself whether or not they’re treated well. I’ve heard vivid descriptions of this place and want to see it with my own eyes.”
“For God’s sake—” Catherine stopped.
“Xavier,” Michel said, “if that’s what you want to talk about, fine, but why?”
“A friend.” Xavier bit his lower lip and cried. It broke Catherine’s heart when she realized that Xavier was reaching out to them.
“What friend?” Michel asked.
“Thomas, of course. He’s been to New Orleans and has business interests there. He promised to take me there. But that would require our still being friends, wouldn’t it? So I need new companions for my trip. Because he’s gone and nothing can be done. You know, you always saw me as so pure and innocent. I’m so far from that. The truth is much more complex. These robes, the church, religion, they’re all a confusion and full of contradictions in my mind. I love God. I do. I want to serve Him and His people. At least I try. But there are powerful personal feelings that have haunted me since an early age. I almost left the church because these urges take over, but my spiritual confusion sabotaged this impulse to leave because I instantly felt like a selfish traitor. I was going to New Orleans, and maybe other places. I was going to sin because my heart longed for it. Now I’m back to the church but the person I love abandoned me. It’s ironic, yes?” He wiped at his eyes.
“Ironic, that there’s nothing now.” He paused, then continued. “I don’t mean that you’re nothing. I love you. Only deep love could keep you next to a complete loss of a human being. I drink to forget. Which, I believe, brings me to the purpose of your visit.”
Xavier lifted the bottle in the air and gulped half of it down. “I’m not prepared to give it up. Sobriety holds no allure. It threatens me with a reality that’s cold and harsh. Leave me to wallow in the drink, for it comforts me with visions of what could’ve been. Here, in my sorrow, I at least have left my memory of happier times and the silly dreams that I created and hoped would some day come true. This shouldn’t affect your happiness. You both mean more to me than you can imagine. I love you, but I’m not ready to accept myself or confront my failures.”
And so the solution that Catherine had known all along once again haunted her. Thomas was the only answer. Only his passion for Xavier could pull her brother out of this funk. What had happened to these two who had always seemed happy? Did Xavier discover the vampire lurking in Thomas? Or had Thomas attacked Xavier? Or was it both? Whatever the answer, she had to find Thomas.
Xavier: Death
2 September 1792
XAVIER STUMBLED ON the stone street, took another swig of wine, and continued on his clandestine operation. Though they accused him of not caring, the revolution still terribly interested him. He just preferred being alone. Today, he had devised a scheme that ultimately allowed him to sneak out a basement window and into the street. Maria, his guardian at the time, would not miss him until it was too late. He even took a bottle with him. He hurried through Paris to see the crowds and how much they really hated his fellow priests who refused to support their revolution.
It started when some unknown man stormed into the salon in the middle of Xavier’s breakfast and gleefully announced that Catholic tyranny was about to end because the extremists intended to massacre priests. Typically, Maria and Catherine assumed that Xavier’s drunkenness meant he could not comprehend the news, so he had to escape to learn more.
Thomas. Xavier stopped walking. The very name forced him to prop himself up against a wall and take another gulp of wine. The buildings around him spun even though he was stationary. He closed his eyes and dreamt of happier times, first his childhood with Michel and Catherine, the blithe innocence of youth, then about meeting Maria when he got his first parish, and later how he accidentally fell into his relationship with Anne Hébert. But his mind played tricks on him and again he thought of Thomas, of their long walks through Paris and their secret intimacy. Then he fantasized what it would have been like to let himself go—if God did not have him captive. Ah, the joy of traveling across the ocean with Thomas as his escort. As his lover. No matter how much he drank or remained faithful to the church, he desperately wished for that.
Xavier chugged the rest of the wine and threw the bottle to the ground where it broke with a crash. He wiped the wine that had spilled off his chin, then smeared it across his shirt. He tried to straighten his clothing but it was hard to concentrate. Besides, he was on a mission. But where was he going?
Oh, yes. The massacre of the priests. He almost forgot. He headed for the prisons to see if it were true that they intended to kill priests who refused to obey the revolutionary government.
Xavier reached down to play with his cross, a very old habit, and then remembered that it was no longer there. Priests had to wear lay clothing after this latest government outlawed clerical garments entirely. He thought it funny for anyone to care that much about what someone wore. He laughed, and it felt good. He did that rarely now.
He was near the prisons when he confronted the first mob. He had not seen them because he had to watch the ground carefully as he walked or he would trip. They shouted revolutionary slogans and anti-Catholic epithets, and there was the usual burning of the pope in effigy. The crowd shoved Xavier around as it moved toward the prisons. Fearing that he could not stand alone or he might be trampled, Xavier worked his way into an alcove, as if God showed him this spot because it offered a perfect view of the scene before him yet also protected him.
After Xavier focused on the people, it took a moment because of the wine, Xavier spotted what attracted them. They had carts—jail carts— full of shackled priests, some of whom Xavier recognized, including his bishop, who had a deformed and broken pinky on his hand that clutched an iron bar. Xavier might have laughed at seeing him in prison if not for the tragedy that surrounded such a sight. Each priest that Xavier knew had something to do with church hierarchy or had sided against the revolution. He had never gotten along with most of them, but it still disgusted him to see people shouting and spitting at the defenseless men.
Only a few men stood between the carts and the mob, bravely protecting the priests. Were they soldiers?
Then, as the masses became further enraged, someone joined Xavier in the alcove. Even drunk, Xavier recognized him, but the newcomer had no idea that he shared a space with Xavier.
“Damn scum clergy, I hate ’em all,” Marcel said with a smirk. When had he returned from America? Why had he not come to their home to see Catherine? “Bet they won’t get out of here alive.”
Afraid, Xavier went along with the game. In his eternal drunk
enness, Xavier had forgotten about his sister’s wretched fiancé.
“You think they want to kill the priests?” Xavier asked.
“What else?”
“Are you here to kill the priests?”
“No, my mission is personal. My, but you’ve wine all over yourself. You damned slob.” Marcel slapped Xavier on the back and continued to make fun of him. Then he looked around suspiciously. “As I said, my business is personal. I have to take care of a problem.”
Even in his fogged state, Xavier’s heart was in his throat.
“And here it comes,” Marcel said as he glanced away.
Xavier looked, too, at the ring of guards that surrounded the priests. Now he saw that they were soldiers, from their rigid posture and strength, though out of uniform. They pushed people away from the carts and tried to stop the assaults. The mob toyed with them and laughed.
“There he is, the scoundrel I’ve hunted.” Marcel talked more to himself than Xavier, but Xavier listened fearfully. “I sent men after him, good men, brave men who’d fight anything, and they failed. One of them died and the other refused to be involved anymore. So it’s left to me.”
“What’s left to you?” Xavier struggled to stand against the wall and talk at the same time.
“Ah, you drunken fool. Don’t you see that I’m trying to kill someone? He doesn’t want me near his sister.”
Michel. Dear God, Xavier had to do something. But where was Michel? Xavier jerked his head around, scanning the courtyard but saw only hordes and hordes of unidentifiable people yelling at the priests.
“Maybe you should reconsider,” Xavier said.
“I’ve had enough of you.”
Marcel shoved Xavier aside. Too drunk to keep his balance, Xavier thudded to the dirt and fumbled around trying to get up. He kept falling down because the wine controlled his senses as the world spun at twice its normal rate. Xavier did see Marcel grab a bag at his side and pour a white powder into his palm, chanting a spell over it with a bird claw.