“Gilles, why should man seek truth since truth is infinite and man is finite?”
“You are younger than I, Cartaphilus, and yet you consider me in the light of your junior. You need not fear for me. Adam ate of the Tree of Knowledge but only one apple. I shall wrest from God the seed!”
“Mortal eye cannot gaze at truth full-faced. Be content if you lift a corner of the veil… !”
“One glance—and death—I am satisfied.”
The Maréchal knit his brow.
“Cartaphilus, you speak like a Christian. We are now in the house of him who is greater than Adonai. The ignorant call him the Prince of Darkness, but he is Lucifer, the bearer of Light.”
From the middle of the ceiling hung a large candelabrum whose shape was a phallic caricature of the one in the Temple of Solomon and which spread a yellowish light, resembling the pallor of a jaundiced eye.
The walls were painted with grotesque figures,—goats with the heads of men, bulls with bodies of goats, elephants whose trunks and legs suggested colossal organs of procreation, snakes, stallions, bats revolving about naked figures that were partially women and partially beasts.
In the center of the Temple glowered a large marble statue of Pan: a giant priapus protruding from his belly, like a strangely shaped arrow hurled by an insane hunter.
The altar, marble encrusted with gold and jewels, was partially surrounded by a velvet curtain of a deep scarlet embroidered with the triangle of Astarte.
The worshipers were assembled. Their faces were painted with phallic symbols or covered with masks of animals.
The Maréchal’s face acquired a beatitude which was incongruous with his eyes, wide open as an owl’s in the dark and as ominous. His beard glittered like a cataract of amethysts.
The organ played a strange hymn, a co-mingling of solemn notes and a dancing medley. A hooded person, whose sex was difficult to determine, shook a censer, scattering an incense which resembled a decayed perfume mixed with human excretions.
Gilles de Retz invited me to sit with him.
“We need not take part in the common prayers. For us is reserved the Great Moment.” He looked at me triumphantly, his gray eyes assuming their demoniac glitter.
I waited for a sign from Catherine’s brothers, but I heard no sound. While I trusted my magic powder, I did not desire to display my power. I was already too conspicuous as the friend of Bluebeard. I did not wish to be compelled to explain the scientific device which produced a gas that paralyzed every muscle.
The priest entered, gorgeously attired. Upon his chest he wore upside down, an immense crucifix, studded with many diamonds which glittered like lamps.
He knelt before the altar and chanted. “Our Father which art in Hell, hallowed be Thy Name.”
The worshipers responded: “Amen.”
“Thy Kingdom come.”
“Amen.”
“Thy Will be done on Earth as in Hell.”
“Amen.”
“Bring us this day our daily light.”
“ Amen.”
“Lead us into temptation.”
“Amen.”
“That we may be free from desire.”
“Amen.”
“Deliver us from good.”
“Amen.”
“Which maketh men weak.”
“Amen.”
“Which bringeth pain and falsehood into the world.”
“Amen.”
“For Thine is the Kingdom and power and glory forever.”
“Amen.”
The priest uncovered the ciborium, The worshipers approached, one by one, forming a circle.
“Partake of the body of the Enemy,” the priest repeated at intervals. Each person took a wafer, desecrated it, and cast it upon the floor.
“Partake of the body of the Enemy.”
Was it a bugle in the distance or the triumphant note of the organ? I listened, my eyes wide open.
There was perfect silence again.
The circle of worshipers was completed. A black-draped acolyte filled the large cup which each one drank and turned upside down to prove that nothing had remained within it.
“Drink the sacred blood of our Lord Lucifer,” the priests chanted.
Three times the circle turned. Three times they drank the full cup. Their legs became unsteady and their eyes glistened. Many laughed.
The organ played: Gloria in Excelsis backward.
The worshipers began to dance about Pan, swaying, contortioning, moaning, howling.
I became more and more impatient. Would Kotikokura remember the sign? Would he have the mask with him? I touched my cloak. Mine was safely hidden.
The worshipers danced on. Their clothing hung from their bodies. Their mouths were covered with foam, like galloping horses.
A stench which was more than mortal struck my nostrils. Human excreta mingled with a strange odor that seemed to be a permanent exhalation of Lucifer’s Temple. Was this the ultimate corruption? Was it the stench of Second Death…?
The choir sang a beautiful litany in a minor key. The dance degenerated into obscene gestures. The worshipers tore their clothing, exhibiting their nakedness. Some inflicted wounds upon themselves with tiny spears and knives. They screamed, whether in pleasure or pain, I could not tell.
“How is the worship of Satan superior to that of Jesus?” I asked.
The Maréchal looked at me, one eyebrow lifted. “Lucifer releases the primal forces throttled by Adonai.”
“They are beastly, not human.”
“By releasing the Beast we discover the God,” he said mysteriously, raising his forefinger which glittered with jewels.
Once more I heard a noise that seemed the call of a distant bugle. I rose and bent my head in the direction. The Maréchal looked at me intently. Had he heard it also?
“Tomorrow,” he said, “these men and women will walk the earth free. Freed from passion, they will see the light.”
“What light?”
“The true light.”
“All religions speak of the true light. Meanwhile, man gropes in the dark…”
The priests struck a cauldron seven times, with a staff in the shape of a pitchfork whose sharp points darted thin blue flames. A sulphurous vapor jetted out and darkened the temple for a few moments.
“He is with us,” the priest announced.
“He is with us,” the people responded.
“He who has conquered Adonai.”
“He who has conquered Adonai.”
“Lucifer, the Light-bearer.”
“Lucifer, the Light-bearer.”
The Maréchal took my arm and bade me approach the altar.
The priest blew a silver horn three times to the East, to the West, to the North and to the South. The curtain was drawn aside. Upon the altar, Kotikokura stood disguised as the Prince of Darkness. From his temples rose two tall horns, priapic shaped. His face dazzled. A blue stream of smoke curled from his nostrils. About his chest was a breastplate of gold, studded with one large ruby. His feet were encased in black hoofs, his hands in black gauntlets which shone with tiny jewels. In his right fist, he held an ebony staff, terminating in two gold prongs. The worshipers threw themselves upon their faces. The priest knelt. “Blessed be the Lord of Life.”
“Amen!” the people responded.
“May His Kingdom come.”
“Amen.”
“Ahriman shall conquer Ahura-mazda.”
“Amen.”
“Ahriman shall stand upon the crest of the universe and rule it forever.”
“Amen.”
The organ played. The choir sang an ancient Persian litany.
The Maréchal approached the altar and knelt. “Has the Great Moment arrived, O Prince of Light?”
Kotikokura nodded. Two long streams of smoke curled out of his nostrils.
“Thy Name be glorified forever, Lucifer!”
“Amen.”
The choir burst into a triumphant song.
The Maréchal rose. “Bring in the sacrifice!” he commanded.
I listened intently. It seemed to me I heard the hoofs of horses, but they might be merely the peasants or the Maréchal’s own men passing by. I looked at Kotikokura. His hearing was acuter than mine, but he did not seem to hear anything. Perhaps they had already arrived, but planned to enter noiselessly, to avert useless slaughter.