CHAPTER IV

THE FANTASTIC SIDE OF MAGICAL LITERATURE

It is now twenty years since Alphonse Esquiros,[360] one of the friends of our childhood, issued a work of high fantasy, entitled the _Magician_. All that the romanticism of that period conceived to be most bizarre was embodied in the story; the author provided his magus with a seraglio of dead ladies, embalmed according to a process which has since been discovered by Gannal. The characters included an automaton of bronze who preached chastity, a hermaphrodite who was in love with the moon and conducted a regular correspondence with that satellite: there were other wonderful things which one has forgotten at this day. Alphonse Esquiros may be said to have founded a school of fantasiasts in Magic by the publication of this romance, its most distinguished present representative being the young and interesting Henri Delaage, who is a productive writer, an unrecognised thaumaturgist and a gifted charmer. His style is not less astonishing than were the notions of Alphonse Esquiros, his initiator and master. Thus, in his book dealing with those who have risen from the dead, he remarks as follows concerning some objection against Christianity: “I take this objection by the throat and, when I loose my grasp, the earth shall resound sullenly under the weight of its strangled corpse.” It is true that his reply to the objection comes to very little; but what would you, when an objection has been strangled and when the earth has resounded sullenly under the weight of its body?

We have said that Henri Delaage is an unrecognised thaumaturgist. As a fact he has informed a person of our acquaintance that during a winter when influenza was prevalent, it was sufficient for him to enter a room and every one who happened to be therein was cured immediately. Unhappily he became himself a victim of the miracle, for he contracted a slight hoarseness which has never left him. Many of our friends declare that he has the gift of ubiquity; he is left at the office of _La Patrie_ and is found again with his publisher Dantu; one retires in dismay and goes home, there to find—Delaage awaiting one’s arrival. He is a skilful charmer. A society lady who had been reading one of his books testified that she knew nothing better written or more beautiful, but it is not to his works alone that Delaage imparts beauty. We had been reading an article signed Fiorentino which said that the physical attractions of the young magician equalled or even surpassed those of angels. We encountered Delaage and questioned him with curiosity on this singular revelation. Delaage then put his hand in his waistcoat, turned three parts round and looked smiling to heaven; it happened fortunately that we were carrying the _Enchiridion_ of Leo III, which is known to preserve from enchantments, so that the charmer’s angelical beauty was hidden from our eyes. Let us offer on our part a more serious eulogium to Henri Delaage than do those who admire his good looks; he is sincere when he says that he is a catholic and when he proclaims loudly his love and respect for religion. Now religion can make you a saint, and this title is more estimable and glorious than that of a sorcerer.[361]

It is owing to his rank as a publicist that we have placed this young man in the first place among the Fantasiasts of Magic, but in all other respects it belongs to the Comte D’Ourches, a man of venerable age who has devoted his life and fortune to mesmeric experiments. Ladies in a state of somnambulism, and any furniture at his house, give themselves up to frenzied dances; the furniture becomes worn out and is broken, but it is said that the ladies are all the better for their gyrations.

For a long time the Comte D’Ourches has been dominated by a fixed idea, which is the fear of being buried alive, and he has written a number of memorials on the need for verifying decease in a more certain way than obtains usually. He has some justification for such a fear on his own part because his temperament is plethoric, while his extreme nervous susceptibility, continually superexcited by experiments with fair somnambulists, may expose him to attacks of apoplexy. In magnetism he is the pupil of Abbé Faria and in necromancy he belongs to the school of Baron de Guldenstubbé. The latter has published a work entitled _Practical Experimental Pneumatology, or the Reality of Spirits and the Marvellous Phenomenon of their Direct Writing_. He gives an account of his discovery as follows: “It was in the course of the year 1850, or about three years prior to the epidemic of table-rapping, that the author sought to introduce into France the circles of American spiritualism, the mysterious Rochester knockings and the purely automatic writing of mediums. Unfortunately he met with many obstacles raised by other mesmerists. Those who were committed to the hypothesis of a magnetic fluid, and even those who styled themselves Spiritual Mesmerists, but who were really inferior inducers of somnambulism, treated the mysterious knockings of American Spiritualism as visionary follies. It was therefore only after more than six months that the author was able to form his first circle on the American plan, and then thanks to the zealous concurrence of M. Roustan, a former member of the _Société des Magnétiseurs Spiritualistes_, a simple man who was full of enthusiasm for the holy cause of spiritualism. We were joined by a number of other persons, amongst whom was the Abbé Châtel,[362] founder of the Église Française, who, despite his rationalistic tendencies, ended by admitting the reality of objective and supernatural revelation, as an indispensable condition of spiritualism and all practical religions. Setting aside the moral conditions, which are equally requisite, it is known that American circles are based on the distinction of positive and electric or negative magnetic currents.

“The circles consist of twelve persons, representing in equal proportions the positive and negative or sensitive elements. This distinction does not follow the sex of the members, though generally women are negative and sensitive, while men are positive and magnetic. The mental and physical constitution of each individual must be studied before forming the circles, for some delicate women have masculine qualities, while some strong men are, morally speaking, women. A table is placed in a clear and ventilated spot; the medium is seated at one end and entirely isolated; by his calm and contemplative quietude he serves as a conductor for the electricity, and it may be noted that a good somnambulist is usually an excellent medium. The six electrical or negative dispositions, which are generally recognised by their emotional qualities and their sensibility, are placed at the right of the medium, the most sensitive of all being next him. The same rule is followed with the positive personalities, who are at the left of the medium, with the most positive among them next to him. In order to form a chain, the twelve persons each place their right hand on the table and their left hand on that of their neighbour, thus making a circle round the table. Observe that the medium or mediums, if there be more than one, are entirely isolated from those who form the chain.

“After a number of séances, certain remarkable phenomena have been obtained, such as simultaneous shocks, felt by all present at the moment of mental evocation on the part of the most intelligent persons. It is the same with mysterious knockings and other strange sounds; many people, including those least sensitive, have had simultaneous visions, though remaining in the ordinary waking state. Sensitive persons have acquired that most wonderful gift of mediumship, namely, automatic writing as the result of an invisible attraction which uses the non-intelligent instrument of a human arm to express its ideas. For the rest, nonsensitive persons experience the mysterious influence of an external wind, but the effect is not strong enough to put their limbs in motion. All these phenomena, obtained according to the mode of American spiritualism, have the defect of being more or less indirect, because it is impossible in these experiences to dispense with the mediation of a human being or medium. It is the same with the table-turning which invaded Europe in the middle of the year 1853.

“The author has had many table experiences with his honourable friend, the Comte d’Ourches, one of the most instructed persons in Magic and the Occult Sciences. We attained by degrees the point when tables moved apart from any contact whatever, while the Comte d’Ourches has caused them to rise, also without contact. The author has made tables rush across a room with great rapidity and not only without contact but without the magnetic aid of a circle of sitters. The vibration of piano-chords under similar circumstances took place on January 20, 1856, in the presence of the Comte de Szapary and Comte d’Ourches. Now all such phenomena are proof positive of certain occult forces, but they do not demonstrate adequately the real and substantial existence of unseen intelligences, independent of our will and imagination, though the limits of these have been vastly extended in respect of their possibilities. Hence the reproach made against American spiritualists, because their communications with the world of spirits are so insignificant in character, being confined to mysterious knockings and other sound vibrations. As a fact, there is no direct phenomenon at once intelligent and material, independent of our will and imagination, to compare with the direct writing of spirits, who have neither been invoked nor evoked, and it is this only which offers irrefutable proof as to the reality of the supernatural world.

“The author, being always in search of such proof, at once intelligent and palpable, concerning the substantial reality of the supernatural world, in order to demonstrate by certain facts the immortality of the soul, has never wearied of addressing fervent prayers to the Eternal, that He might vouchsafe to indicate an infallible means for strengthening that faith in immortality which is the eternal basis of religion. The Eternal, Whose mercy is infinite, has abundantly answered this feeble prayer. On August 1st, 1856, the idea came to the author of trying whether spirits could write directly, that is, apart from the presence of a medium. Remembering the marvellous direct writing of the Decalogue, communicated to Moses, and that other writing, equally direct and mysterious, at the feast of Belshazzar, recorded by Daniel; having further heard about those modern mysteries of Stratford in America, where certain strange and illegible characters were found upon slips of paper, apparently apart from mediumship, the author sought to establish the actuality of such important phenomena, if indeed within the limits of possibility.

“He therefore placed a sheet of blank letter paper and a sharply pointed pencil in a box, which he then locked and carried the key about him, imparting his design to no one. Twelve days he waited in vain, but what was his astonishment on August 13, 1856, when he found certain mysterious characters traced on the paper. He repeated the experiment ten times on that day, placing a new sheet of paper each time in the box, with the same result invariably. On the following day he made twenty experiments but left the box open, without losing sight of it. He witnessed the formation of characters and words in the Esthonian language with no motion of the pencil. The latter being obviously useless he decided to dispense with it and placed blank paper sometimes on a table of his own, sometimes on the pedestals of old statues, on sarcophagi, on urns, &c., in the Louvre, at St. Denis, at the church of St. Étienne du Mont, &c. Similar experiments were made in different cemeteries of Paris, but the author has no liking for cemeteries, while most spirits prefer the localities where they have lived on earth to those in which their mortal remains are laid to rest.”

We are far from disputing the singular phenomena observed by Baron de Guldenstubbé, but would point out to him that the discovery had been made previously by Lavater and that the water-colour portrait[363] painted by the Kabalist Gablidone is of far greater importance than the few lines of writing obtained on his part. Speaking next in the name of science, we would tell him, not indeed for his benefit, seeing that he will not believe us, but for serious observers of these strange phenomena, that the writings obtained by him do not come from the other world but have been made unconsciously by himself. We would say to him that your experiments, so unduly multiplied, and the excessive tension of your will, have destroyed the equilibrium of your fluidic and astral body; you have compelled it to realise your dreams and it has traced, in characters borrowed from your own remembrance, the reflections of your imagination and of your thoughts. Had you been placed in a perfectly lucid state of magnetic sleep, you would have seen a luminous counterpart of your hand, lengthened out like a shadow in the setting sun; you would have seen it trace on the paper prepared by yourself or your friends those characters which have so much surprised you. That corporeal light which emanates from the earth and from you is contained by a fluidic envelope of extreme elasticity, and that envelope is formed from the quintessence of your vital spirits and your blood. This quintessence derives from the light a colour determined by your secret will; it is made in the likeness of your dream, and the characters are impressed on the paper as signs on the bodies of unborn children are imprinted by the imagination of their mothers. That which seems to you ink is your blackened and transfigured blood. You are expending yourself in proportion as such writings multiply. If you continue your experiments, your brain will be weakened gradually and your memory will suffer. You will experience unspeakable pains in the joints of the limbs and fingers, and you will finally die, either struck down suddenly or after a prolonged agony, characterised by hallucinations and madness. So much for Baron de Guldenstubbé.

To the Comte d’Ourches we would say: You will not be buried alive, but you run the risk of dying by the very precautions which you are taking against such a possibility. The awakening of those who are so buried can only be rapid and brief, but they may live long underground, conserved by the Astral Light in a complete state of lucid somnambulism. Their souls are then bound to the sleeping body by an invisible chain, and if those souls are greedy and criminal, they can draw on the quintessence of the blood in persons who are naturally asleep; they can transmit this sap to their interred bodies for their longer preservation, in the vague hope that they may be restored ultimately to life. It is this frightful phenomenon which is called vampirism, and its reality has been established by many cases as well attested as the most serious things in history. If you question the possibility of this magnetic life of the human body under earth, read the following account of an English officer, named Osborne, the good faith of which was attested to Baron du Potet by General Ventura.

“On June 6, 1838,” says Mr. Osborne, “the monotony of our camp-life was happily interrupted by the arrival of an individual who was famous throughout the Punjaub. He was the subject of great veneration among the Sikhs because of his power to remain buried underground for so long a time as he pleased. Such extraordinary stories are told of this man, and their authenticity has been guaranteed by so many reputable persons, that we were most anxious to see him. He told us on his own part that he had followed this business of interment for a number of years in various parts of India. Among serious and creditable people who have borne witness in his favour I may mention Captain Wade, the political agent at Lodhran. This officer has told me most seriously that he himself assisted at the resurrection of the said fakir after a burial which took place several months previously, in the presence of General Ventura, the Maharajah and the principal Sikh chiefs. The details concerning the interment as given to Captain Wade, and those which he added on his own authority respecting the exhumation are as follows.

“After certain precautions which lasted for several days and the details of which are distasteful, the fakir announced that he was ready to undergo the trial. The Maharajah, Sikh chiefs and General Ventura assembled round a grave of stone-work constructed for the express purpose. In their presence the fakir sealed up with wax every opening of his body by which air could enter, with the exception of the mouth; he then cast off his garments, was enveloped in a linen bag and, by his own wish, his tongue was turned back so that it obstructed the gullet. He fell after this into a kind of lethargy. The bag which contained him was closed up, and a seal was placed therein by the Maharajah. It was then put into a sealed and padlocked chest, which was lowered into the grave. A large quantity of earth was thrown on it; it was trodden down and barley was sown therein. Finally, sentinels were stationed round the spot, with orders to watch day and night.

“These precautions notwithstanding, the Maharajah still had doubts; thrice during the period of ten months, during which the fakir was to remain interred, he visited the grave and had it opened in his presence, but the body was in the sack, just as it had been placed therein, cold and inanimate to all appearance. When the ten months had expired, the fakir was exhumed finally. General Ventura and Captain Wade undid the padlocks, broke the seals and raised the chest from the grave. The fakir was taken out, but there was no indication of life either at heart or pulse. As a first means to reanimate him, one of the spectators inserted his finger very gently in the mouth and restored the tongue to its natural position. The top of the head was the sole seat of any sensible heat. By pouring warm water slowly over the body, some signs of life were obtained by degrees. After two hours of attention, the fakir rose up and began to move about smiling.

“The extraordinary being declared that he had delicious dreams during his entombment, but that the time of awaking was always exceedingly painful and that he was in a state of vertigo before his return to consciousness; his age is about thirty years, his countenance is ill-favoured and his expression somewhat crafty. We had long conversations with him, and he offered to be buried in our presence. We took him at his word and appointed a meeting at Lahore, where we promised that he would remain underground throughout our stay in that city.”

Such was the story of Osborne. The question was whether the fakir would really allow himself to be interred once more. The new experiment might well be decisive. But that which happened was as follows.

“Fifteen days after the fakir’s visit to their camp, the English officers arrived at Lahore. They chose a spot which seemed favourable for the coming operation, had a mural tomb constructed, as well as a very solid chest, and then awaited the fakir. He came on the day following, expressing an ardent desire to prove that he was no impostor. He stated further that he had made the necessary preparations for an experiment, but his demeanour evidenced a certain disquiet and despondency. He began to stipulate concerning his compensation, which was fixed at fifteen hundred rupees down and two thousand rupees annually, which the officers undertook to obtain from the king. Satisfied on this point, he wished to be informed as to the precautions that they were proposing to take. The officers shewed him the chest, the keys belonging thereto, and warned him that sentinels chosen among the English soldiers would watch round the place for a week. The fakir cried out and gave vent to much abuse of the _Firinghees_ and sceptics, who sought to rob him of his reputation. He expressed also a fear that some attempt would be made on his life and, refusing to trust himself entirely to the surveillance of Europeans, he demanded that duplicate keys should be committed to one of his co-religionists, further insisting—and this indeed above all—that the sentries should not be enemies of his faith. The officers declined to entertain these conditions; several interviews followed, leading to no result; and finally the fakir intimated, through one of the Sikh chiefs, that the Maharajah having menaced him with his anger if he did not fulfil his engagement with the English, it was his wish to undertake the trial, though he rested assured that the sole object of the officers was to deprive him of life, and that he would never come forth from his tomb. The officers admitted that, as to the last point, they all shared his conviction, adding that as they did not wish to have his death as a reproach against them, they relieved him of his promise.

“Are such hesitations and fears proof positive against the fakir? Does it follow that all who have testified previously how they had beheld with their own eyes the occurrences to which he owes his celebrity have been guilty of deception themselves or were the victims of skilful trickery? We confess that, having regard to the extent and quality of the evidence, we cannot doubt that the fakir was frequently and literally interred; and even admitting that after his burial he has on each occasion continued to communicate with the world above ground, it would still be inexplicable how he could be deprived of respiration during the time which intervened between his burial and that moment when his accomplices came to his aid. Mr. Osborne adds in a note a quotation from the _Medical Topography of Lodhiana_, by Dr. MacGregor, an English physician, who assisted at one of the exhumations, was a witness of the fakir’s lethargy, of his gradual return to life, and who tries seriously to explain it. Mr. Boileau, another English officer, in a work published some years ago, recounts how he witnessed another experience which reproduced all the facts in precisely the same manner. Those who are anxious to satisfy their curiosity more fully, those who discern in the narrative an indication of a curious physiological fact, may refer with confidence to the sources which are here indicated.”

A number of official records of the exhumation of vampires are still extant. In each case the flesh was in a remarkable state of preservation, but blood oozed from the body, the hair had grown in an abnormal manner and protruded in tufts through the chinks of the coffin. There was no sign of life in the respiratory apparatus, save in the heart only, and this seemed to have become a vegetable rather than an animal organ. To kill the vampire, a stake had to be driven through the breast and then a frightful cry shewed that the somnambulist of the grave had awakened with a start into a veritable death. To render such death definitive, swords were driven point upward into the vampire’s grave, for the phantoms of Astral Light are disintegrated by the action of metallic points, which attract that light towards the common reservoir and dissipate its coagulated clusters. To reassure nervous people, it may be added that cases of vampirism are fortunately exceedingly rare and that no one who is healthy in mind and body can be personally victimised, unless he or she has been abandoned, body and soul, to the creature in its lifetime by some criminal complicity or irregular passion.

The following history of a vampire is related by Tournefort in his _Voyage to the Levant_.[364]

“In the island of Mycona we witnessed a very singular scene, being the alleged return of a deceased person after interment. In northern Europe those who come back in this manner are called vampires, while the Greeks designated them under the name of _Broucolaques_. The case in question was that of a peasant of Mycona who was naturally gloomy and quarrelsome. It is a circumstance worthy of note, on account of parallel instances. He was killed in the countryside, no one knew why or by whom. Two days after his burial in a church of the city, a report went abroad that he was seen nightly wandering about at a great pace. He also visited houses, turned over the furniture, put out the lights, embraced people from behind and performed innumerable other tricks. At first it was a laughing matter, but it took a serious turn when reliable people began to complain. The priests themselves certified to the fact, and no doubt they had their reasons. Recourse was had to masses, said for the purpose, but the peasant continued the same course with no sign of amendment. After several meetings of the chief persons, priests and monks of the town, it was concluded to wait for the expiration of nine days after the interment, following I know not what ancient procedure. On the tenth day a mass was said in the church wherein the body had been buried, for the purpose of expelling the demon who was thought to have entered into it. The mass over, the corpse was disinterred and the heart removed. It was necessary to burn incense owing to the evil smell, but the combination made bad worse and almost stifled those present. It was testified that a thick smoke exhaled from the corpse, and we who were present at the operations did not venture to suggest that it was really the smoke of the incense. There were also those who affirmed that the blood of the unfortunate person was abnormally scarlet, while yet others declared that the flesh was still warm, whence it was concluded that the deceased person was seriously wrong in not being properly dead, or rather in allowing himself to be brought to life by the devil. This is precisely the idea which obtains concerning the vampire, and that word began to be repeated persistently. A crowd assembled, loudly protesting that the body was obviously not rigid when it was carried to the church for burial and that it was therefore a veritable vampire.

“Appeal being made to us, we expressed the opinion that the person was undoubtedly dead, and as for the supposed scarlet blood, it was easy to see that it was only bad smelling slime. For the rest, we attempted to cure or at least not provoke further their excited imaginations by explaining the fumes and warmth attributed to the corpse. Such arguments notwithstanding, it was determined to burn the heart of the deceased person, but after this had been done he was not more amenable than formerly and indeed created greater stir. He was accused of beating people at night, of breaking down doors and windows, tearing garments and emptying pitchers and bottles. Altogether, the deceased made himself highly objectionable. There is reason to believe that he spared no house save that of the consul, in which we happened to be lodging. Every imagination was overwrought, people of good sense being affected as much as others. A disease of the brain seemed abroad, as dangerous as that of madness; entire families abandoned their houses and carried their pallets to the outskirts, there to pass the night. Even then they complained of fresh insults, and the most sober retired into the country. Citizens who were imbued with a sense of public zeal decided that one essential detail had been missed, so far, in the observance; from their point of view, the mass should have been celebrated after and not before removing the heart from the body. With this precaution it was pretended that the devil would have been taken by surprise and would not have attempted to return; but unfortunately they began with the mass, which gave him time to depart and he was able to come back at his ease. These considerations left matters in their original state of difficulty. There were meetings and still meetings, both evening and morning; there were processions for three days and three nights; fasts were imposed on the priests; houses were visited by them, _aspergillus_ in hand; there was sprinkling with holy water and doors were purified. Even the mouth of the miserable vampire was filled with holy water.

“In the midst of such prepossessions, our course was to say nothing; we should have been regarded as jesters and infidels. What however was to be done to help the inhabitants? Every morning brought a fresh

## scene in the comedy by the recital of new pranks of this nightbird,

who was even accused of committing the most abominable crimes. We did, however, represent more than once to the governor of the town that in our own country, under such circumstances, a watch would not fail to be set, to take note of what passed. The precaution was ultimately taken and led to the arrest of some vagabonds who were undoubtedly at the bottom of the disorder. It was, of course, relaxed too soon, and two days subsequently, to atone for the fast which the said wastrels had undergone in prison, they betook themselves to emptying the wine jars in some of the abandoned houses. After driving in numberless drawn swords over the grave of the body, people now returned to their prayers, combined with disinterring the corpse as caprice led them, when an Albanian, who happened to be there, pointed out in an authoritative tone that it was highly ridiculous, in a case of the kind, to make use of the swords of Christians; these being cross-handled effectually prevented the devil from leaving the body and his recommendation was therefore to substitute Turkish sabres. The advice of this expert came to nothing; the vampire was not more tractable, and they knew not what saint to invoke, when all with one voice, as if a word of command had been given, cried out through the whole town that the vampire must be burned completely, after which they might defy the devil, and that certainly it was better to have recourse to this extremity rather than that the island should be deserted. As a fact, certain families were preparing already for their departure.

“The vampire was therefore carried, by order of the governors, to the extremity of the isle of St. George, where a great pyre had been prepared with tar, lest even dry wood should not kindle quickly enough. What remained of the miserable body was cast therein and speedily consumed. This was on the first day of January, 1701. Henceforth there were no complaints against the vampire; it was agreed that the devil had that time been overreached and songs were made to deride him.”

It is to be observed in this account of Tournefort that he admits the reality of the visions which paralysed the whole people. He does not deny the flexibility or warmth of the corpse but seeks to explain these with the praiseworthy object of reassuring those who were concerned. He does not mention the decomposition of the body but only its evil smell, which is not less characteristic of vampire corpses than of venomous toadstools. Finally he allows that once the body was burned, the wonders and visions ceased. But we have wandered far from the subject of Fantasiasts in Magic; let us return to them and, forgetting the problem of vampires, a word shall be said on the cartomancist, Edmond. He is the pet sorcerer of ladies in the Quartier de Notre Dame de Lorette and he occupies, in the Rue Fontaine St. Georges, No. 30, a dainty little room, where the vestibule is always full of clients, including those occasionally of the male sex. Edmond is a man of tall stature, somewhat stout, of pale complexion, open countenance and sympathetic voice. He appears to believe in his own art and carries on conscientiously the methods of people like Etteilla and Mdlle. Lenormand. We have questioned him as to his processes, and he has answered frankly and civilly that he has been passionately devoted to the occult sciences from childhood; that he began divination early; that he is unacquainted with the philosophical secrets of transcendental knowledge; and that the keys of the Kabalah of Solomon are not in his possession. He states, however, that he is highly sensitive and that the mere proximity of his clients impresses him so keenly that in a way he feels their destiny. “I seem to hear singular noises and clankings of chains about those who are doomed to the scaffold, cries and moans round those who will die violently. Supernatural odours assail and almost stifle me. One day, in the presence of a veiled lady, clothed in black, I began to tremble at an odour of straw and blood. ‘Madam,’ I cried, ‘pray leave here, for you are surrounded by an atmosphere of murder and prison.’ ‘You say truly,’ she answered, unveiling her pale face, ‘I have been accused of infanticide and have just come out of prison. Since you have seen the past, tell me also the future.’”

One of our friends and disciples in Kabalism, utterly unknown to Edmond, went on a day to consult him and having paid in advance he awaited the oracles, when Edmond, rising respectfully, begged him to take back his money. “I have nothing to tell you,” he explained; “your destiny is closed against me by the key of occultism; whatsoever I might say you would know already as well as myself.” He shewed him out with many bows.

Edmond is also occupied with judicial astrology; he erects horoscopes and judges nativities at very moderate prices. In a word he deals with everything belonging to his business, which is otherwise a wearisome and disenchanting thing. With how many disordered brains and diseased hearts must he be continually in relation, and the imbecile requirements of some, the unjust reproaches of others, the tiring confidences, the demands for philtres and spells, the obsessions of fools, all combine in making him gain his income hardly. To sum up, Edmond is a somnambulist like Alexis; he is self-magnetised by his cards and by the diabolical figures which adorn them; he wears black and gives his consultations in a black cabinet; in a word, he is the prophet of mystery.

##