"In the manuscript of an adept, which I will shew you, and where you will find the very words you used."
I bowed my head in reply, and we left this curious laboratory.
We had scarcely arrived in her room before Madame d'Urfe drew from a handsome casket a little book, bound in black, which she put on the table while she searched for a match. While she was looking about, I opened the book behind her back, and found it to
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be full of pentacles, and by good luck found the pentacle I had traced on the count's thigh. It was surrounded by the names of the spirits of the planets, with the exception of those of Saturn and Mars. I shut up the book quickly. The spirits named were the same as those in the works of Agrippa, with which I was acquainted. With an unmoved countenance I drew near her, and she soon found the match, and her appearance surprised me a good deal; but I will speak of that another time.
The marchioness sat down on her sofa, and making me to do the like she asked me if I was acquainted with the talismans of the
Count de Treves?
"I have never heard of them, madam, but I know those of Poliphilus:" "It is said they are the same."
"I don't believe it."
"We shall see. If you will write the words you uttered, as you drew the pentacle on my nephew's thigh, and if I find the same talisman with the same words around it, the identity will be proved."
"It will, I confess. I will write the words immediately."
I wrote out the names of the spirits. Madame d'Urfe found the pentacle and read out the names, while I pretending astonishment, gave her the paper, and much to her delight she found the names to be the same.
"You see," said she, "that Poliphilus and the Count de Treves possessed the same art."
"I shall be convinced that it is so, if your book contains the manner of pronouncing the ineffable names. Do you know the theory of the planetary hours?"
"I think so, but they are not needed in this operation."
"They are indispensable, madam, for without them one cannot work with any certainty. I drew Solomon's pentacle on the thigh of Count de la Tour d'Auvergne in the hour of Venus, and if I had not begun with Arael, the spirit of Venus, the operation would have had no effect."
"I did not know that. And after Arael?"
"Next comes Mercury, then the Moon, then Jupiter, and then the Sun. It is, you see, the magic cycle of Zoroaster, in which Saturn and Mars are omitted."
"And how would you have proceeded if you had gone to work in the hour of the Moon?"
"I should have begun with Jupiter, passed to the Sun, then to Arael or Venus, and I should have finished at Mercury."
"I see sir, that you are most apt in the calculation of the planetary hours."
"Without it one can do nothing in magic, as one would have no proper data; however, it is an easy matter to learn. Anyone could pick it up in a month's time. The practical use, however, is much more difficult than the theory; this, indeed, is a complicated affair. I never leave my house without ascertaining the exact number of minutes in the day, and take care that my watch is exact to the time, for a minute more or less would make all the difference in the world."
"Would you have the goodness to explain the theory to me." "You will find it in Artephius and more clearly in Sandivogius." "I have both works, but they are in Latin."
"I will make you a translation of them."
"You are very kind; I shall be extremely obliged to you."
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"I have seen such things here, madam, that I could not refuse, for reasons which I may, perhaps, tell you tomorrow." "Why not to-day?"
"Because I ought to know the name of your familiar spirit before I tell you."
"You know, then, that I have a familiar? You should have one, if it is true that you possess the powder of projection." "I have one."
"Give me the oath of the order." "I dare not, and you know why."
"Perhaps I shall be able to remove your fears by tomorrow."
This absurd oath was none other than that of the princes of the Rosy Cross, who never pronounce it without being certain that each party is a Rosicrucian, so Madame d'Urfe was quite right in her caution, and as for me I had to pretend to be afraid myself. The fact
is I wanted to gain time, for I knew perfectly well the nature of the oath. It may be given between men without any indecency, but a
woman like Madame d'Urfe would probably not relish giving it to a man whom she saw for the first time.
"When we find this oath alluded to in the Holy Scriptures," she said, "it is indicated by the words 'he swore to him by laying his hand
on his thigh.'"
"But the thigh is not really what is meant; and consequently we never find any notice of a man taking this oath to a woman, as a
woman has no 'verbum'."
The Count de la Tour d'Auvergne came back at nine o'clock in the evening, and he skewed no little astonishment at seeing me still with his aunt. He told us that his cousin's fever had increased, and that small-pox had declared itself; "and I am going to take leave of you, my dear aunt, at least for a month, as I intend to shut myself up with the sick man."
Madame d'Urfe praised his zeal, and gave him a little bag on his promising to return it to her after the cure of the prince. "Hang it round his neck and the eruption will come out well, and he will be perfectly cured."
He promised to do so, and having wished us good evening he went out.
"I do not know, madam, what your bag contains, but if it have aught to do with magic, I have no confidence in its efficacy, as you
have neglected to observe the planetary hour."
"It is an electrum, and magic and the observance of the hour have nothing to do with it." "I beg your pardon."
She then said that she thought my desire for privacy praiseworthy, but she was sure I should not be ill pleased with her small circle, if
I would but enter it.
"I will introduce you to all my friends," said she, "by asking them one at a time, and you will then be able to enjoy the company of them all."
I accepted her proposition.
In consequence of this arrangement I dined the next day with M. Grin and his niece, but neither of them took my fancy. The day after, I dined with an Irishman named Macartney, a physician of the old school, who bored me terribly. The next day the guest was
a monk who talked literature, and spoke a thousand follies against Voltaire, whom I then much admired, and against the "Esprit des Lois," a favourite work of mine, which the cowled idiot refused to attribute to Montesquieu, maintaining it had been written by a monk. He might as well have said that a Capuchin created the heavens and the earth.
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On the day following Madame d'Urfe asked me to dine with the Chevalier d'Arzigny, a man upwards of eighty, vain, foppish, and consequently ridiculous, known as "The Last of the Beaus." However, as he had moved in the court of Louis XIV., he was interesting enough, speaking with all the courtesy of the school, and having a fund of anecdote relating to the Court of that despotic and luxurious monarch.
His follies amused me greatly. He used rouge, his clothes were cut in the style which obtained in the days of Madame de Sevigne, he professed himself still the devoted lover of his mistress, with whom he supped every night in the company of his lady friends, who were all young and all delightful, and preferred his society to all others; however, in spite of these seductions, he remained faithful to his mistress.
The Chevalier d'Arzigny had an amiability of character which gave whatever he said an appearance of truth, although in his capacity of courtier truth was probably quite unknown to him. He always