An Excursion to Gentilly—“_Uraniæ Sacrum_”—César and
Ruggieri—The rue d’Enfer and the Capucins—Perditor—The
Love-philtre—Seeing the Devil—“Now You are Mine!”
Ninon’s pledge of eternal fidelity to Rambouillet did not hinder
other friendships; and about this time she one day made an excursion
to Gentilly with the Comte de Lude, intent on visiting the great
magician, Perditor, who conducted there his famous incantations. She
chose de Lude for her companion on this occasion, because he was an
utter disbeliever. The adventure was prompted by the craze, ever
latent in society, and then recently kindled to fever-heat, for magic
and occultism. The theme, as old almost as the ages, is ever new,
and likely to remain so until the mysteries of life and death are
revealed. And some short time previously, the rumour had circulated
that a man named Febroni, intensely hated by Richelieu, was
endeavouring to compass the cardinal’s destruction, by causing a wax
image of him to be made and exposed to a slow fire, and as the image
melted, so the minister’s life would dwindle to the death. This was,
of course, no new device of witchcraft and _diablerie_; but it served
to arouse intense interest and curiosity, and the air was as full
of sorcery and demonology as when the first Ruggieri practised his
arts for Catherine de Médicis, and watched the stars from the old
tower-top of Blois, the observatory of the terrible queen, “_Uraniæ
Sacrum_.”
Some half-dozen years before Ninon was born, a man named César and
another Ruggieri, probably taking the old magician for sponsor, had
been notorious as potent masters of the “Black Art.” That they were
credited with possessing unlimited command over the elements, and to
produce thunder and lightning at will, was but a small part of his
power. He could manufacture love-potions to render the indifferent
one enamoured of the wooer, and insidious poisons to destroy a hated
human obstacle, and perform many services of the like nature for a
price, but the fees were startlingly high.
An indiscretion, only in a measure connected with his profession,
brought César inside the walls of the Bastille. He had, it appeared,
been accustomed to attend the Witches’ Sabbath, and meeting there
a great Court lady, he had, he said, induced her to listen too
graciously to his soft speeches. The boasts, after his release from
the old fortress, brought him condign punishment at the hands, it was
said, of his Satanic chief, furious with jealousy it might be. It was
on a wild March night that he came and went again with hideous din
and clatter, leaving César strangled in his bed; and then making his
way to the abode of Ruggieri, he despatched him in the same manner.
There were some ready to contend that less supernatural agency might
be answerable for these acts. On the other hand it was well known
that the devil was no stranger in Paris, having once resided in a
street on the left bank of the Seine, which was named after him, the
rue d’Enfer. From here he was at last ejected, thanks to a happy
thought on the part of the city authorities, who handed the ground
over to the Capucin brothers, and the foul fiend was heard of no
more in that quarter. César extenuated his offence of magic by the
assertion that he “was pestered to death by young courtiers and other
young Parisians to show him the devil,” and not seeing why he should
have the trouble of doing so for nothing, he set his price at forty
and fifty pistoles, leaving it a matter of choice whether they would
face the terrible ordeal to its ending, or take flight, leaving the
pistoles of course behind them. It was this latter course which had
been mostly adopted.
And now, at Gentilly, dwelt one magician named Perditor, whose power
was reported to be greater than that of any of his predecessors;
since he possessed the secret of concocting a philtre capable of
maintaining a woman’s beauty and freshness to extreme age. It was
the idea of obtaining this inestimable thing, which determined Ninon
to pay a visit to the mighty Perditor. The chronicles of the time
confirm the facts related by Ninon of her adventure, which are best
told in the fashion of her own experiences:
“On entering the village, we inquired for the dwelling of the
celebrated necromancer, and a guide presented himself to conduct
us thither. We soon arrived in front of a yawning cavern which
was surrounded by large deep ditches. Our guide made a signal, and
immediately a man dressed in red appeared on the opposite side of the
ditches, and asked us what we wanted.
“‘I wish for a philtre,’ I replied, ‘which will make my beauty last
the length of my life.’
“‘And I,’ said the count, ‘wish to see the devil.’
“‘You shall both be satisfied,’ replied the red man, as calmly as if
we had asked the most natural thing in the world. Then he lowered a
sort of drawbridge across the ditch, and, this crossed, he admitted
us into the cavern, where we soon found ourselves in complete
darkness. I felt not a little nervous.
“‘Do not be afraid,’ said the count to me; ‘I have my sword with
me, a dagger, and two pistols; with them I think I can defy all the
sorcerers in the world.’
“After proceeding for quite five minutes along underground galleries
and passages, we found ourselves in a sort of large circular chamber
hewn out of the solid rock. Some resin torches cast a fitful and
gloomy glare up into its vaulted roof. At one end of this hall, upon
a platform draped entirely in black, was seated a personage in the
garb of a magician, who appeared to be waiting for us.
“‘That is the Master!’ solemnly said the man in red to us.
“And he left us alone in the presence of the great sorcerer himself.
“‘Approach!’ cried Perditor, addressing us in a terrible voice. ‘What
do you wish?’
“‘I wish,’ murmured I, in a trembling voice, ‘a philtre to preserve
to me my youth and beauty all my life.’
“‘Forty crowns. Pay first.’
“Taking out my purse, I laid down five louis, appalled by the defiant
fierceness of his tones. The count did not wait for the questioning
of the man on the platform.
“‘For my part, Sir Necromancer,’ he said, ‘I feel greatly curious to
see the devil. How much do you want for showing him to me?’
“‘One hundred livres.’
“‘Peste! At that price what fine benefices you must be able to
bestow.’
“The lord of the cavern vouchsafed no reply. He took the money from
the count, which he put into a big purse hanging at his side, along
with my louis. That done, he laid his hand upon a huge bell, which
sounded as loud as the bourdon strokes of Notre-Dame tower-bell. At
this signal, which nearly deafened us, two nymph-like young women,
fairly pretty, dressed in white and crowned with flowers, rose from
the ground near. Perditor pointed me out to them, handed them an
empty crystal phial, and then again struck his fearful bell. The
nymphs disappeared. I gathered that they had gone to mix my philtre.
“‘And now,’ continued the necromancer, turning to us, ‘you are both
decided that you will see the devil?’
“‘Very decided,’ said the count.
“‘Your name?’
“‘But is it necessary to give it to you, sir?’ stammered I.
“‘It is indispensable.’
“‘It is Anne de L’Enclos.’
“‘And I,’ hastened to add my companion, ‘I am called George de
Sandrelles, Comte de Lude.’
“‘You swear never to reveal that which is about to take place before
your eyes?’
“‘We swear it.’
“‘You promise not to be afraid, and not to invoke heaven or the
saints?’
“‘We promise.’
“The magician rose; he took a long wand of ebony, approached us, and
traced a large circle with it in the dust, inscribed with a number of
cabalistic figures. Then he said to us—
“‘You can still go away—are you afraid?’
“I wanted to answer in the affirmative, but the count cried in
resolute tones—
“‘Afraid of the devil? For shame! What do you take us for? Get on
with you.’
“And at the same instant we heard thunderous peals—the voice of
the magician sounding above the tumult. He gesticulated, shouted,
and broke, in some unknown tongue, into a torrent of diabolic
invocations. It made one’s hair stand on end. Terror seized me. I
clung convulsively to the count’s arm, and implored him to leave the
frightful place.
“‘The time is past for it,’ cried the sorcerer; ‘do not cross the
circle, or you are dead.’
“Suddenly, to the noise of the thunder, succeeded a sound like the
rattling of chains that were being dragged along the depths of the
cavern. Then we heard dismal howlings. The necromancer’s contortions
continued, and his cries redoubled. He uttered barbaric words, and
appeared to be in fits of frenzy. In the twinkling of an eye, we were
enveloped in flames.
“‘Look!’ cried Perditor.
“A cry of terror broke from me, as I saw in the midst of this wild
whirlwind of fire a huge black goat, loaded with glowing red chains.
The howlings grew more fearful, the flames burst into frightful
intensity, and a troop of hideous demons, also loaded with chains,
began to dance round the goat, waving their torches, and uttering
furious shouts and yells. The goat reared on to his hind legs, butted
with his horns, and appeared to be the very genius of the infernal
scene.
“‘Ah! pardieu!’ cried de Lude, ‘the comedy is well played, I own; but
I am curious to see the coulisses, and to examine the costumes of the
actors closer.’
“He grasped his pistols, and made as if he was going to step over
the circle; but at a sign from the magician, all the flames were
extinguished, the goat and the demons disappeared. We were plunged
once more into profound darkness. At the same moment strong arms
seized us, we were dragged hurriedly along the passages, and flung
outside the cavern.
“I was only too glad of this unlooked-for ending up, and did not ask
to go back and get my philtre, and I willingly left the magician in
possession of my five louis.
“The count was not at all of the same mind. He insisted on
penetrating to the solving of the enigma. We had been the victims
of a hateful and odious charlatanism. I did not feel so convinced
of that as he was, and the abominable spectacle would not quit my
imagination. For the rest of that day, and the following night, I saw
nothing but devils dancing and howling amid the flames.”
* * * * *
And then it was just before break of dawn, between her sleeping and
waking, came once again the Man in Black. He smilingly asserted
himself to Ninon, to be, beyond all doubt and juggling hocus-pocus,
his Satanic Majesty, the real “Simon Pure.” In calm, grave tones he
offered her the choice of the three great gifts this world has to
bestow—riches, grandeur, beauty—enduring beauty till all-destroying
Death should claim her, and with only a momentary hesitation, Ninon
chose beauty. Then in two crystal phials, like the one the charlatans
had yesterday cheated her out of in the Gentilly cavern, he handed
her the wondrous liquid—limpid, delicately rose-tinted; enough to
last the longest lifetime, since one drop only in a wine-glass of
water, to be taken after her morning bath, was all that was needed.
First, however, he produced his tablets, and writing a few words on
one of the pages, he bade her set her signature beneath. “Very good,”
he said, when she had done this. As he placed the phials in her
hands, “Now you are mine,” and he added, as he laid his hand on her
shoulder, that her health would remain almost unbroken through all
the coming years, troops of friends and love would be ever with her,
and after death the memory of her would be unfading. Once more she
would see him—years hence. “Then beware and tremble; you will not
have three more days to live.”
And so he disappeared.[2]
In the course of their brief conversation, the Man in Black disclosed
to Ninon the manner in which his impudent imitator produced his
Mumbo-Jumbo terrors. Like the Comte de Lude, he did not deny them
effect; but he held them so essentially vulgar, that it seemed
marvellous to him how the fellow succeeded in imposing on refined
and educated clients. Moreover, they had not even the recommendation
of novelty. Perditor had, he explained, contrived merely to get
knowledge and possession of the tricks and traps of the long since
strangled César, who during his incarceration in the Bastille had
entertained his gaolers with an account of the way he played his
tricks, performed apparently at Gentilly also at that time and
therefore rendering the way the easier to his successor, since the
old quarry he had utilised and patterned about with ditches still
remained. Perditor’s ceremonial was identically the same with
César’s. The frightful cries he uttered were the signal for six men
hideously masked and garbed, he kept concealed in the cavern, to
spring forward, flinging out flashes of flame, and waving torches
of burning resin. Amid the flames was to be seen the monstrous
goat, loaded with thick iron chains painted vermilion, to give the
appearance of being red-hot. On each side, in the obscurity of the
cavern, were placed two huge mastiffs, their heads fastened into
wooden cases, wide at one end, and narrow at the other. Two men
goaded and prodded these two poor animals, which caused them to
utter the most dismal howling, filling the cavern with the appalling
noise, while the goat, a most intelligent beast, and thoroughly
understanding his part, played it to admiration, rattling his chains
and butting his huge horns.
The devil having thus shown himself, two of the men now rush upon the
unfortunate individual, and belabour him black and blue with long
bags of cloth filled full of sand, and then fling him, half-dead,
outside the cavern. “Then the parting advice is given him not to wish
to see the devil again, and he never does, concluded César.”