Angelique - Part 4. The Doomed Man of Notre Dame Chapter 9 - Read online

WHEN SHE OPENED THEM AGAIN, she thought she was havirig a night¬mare : Friar Becher had appeared on the rostrum.
He took the oath on the crucifix which another monk held up to him. Then he began to tell, in a jerky, muffled voice, how he had been devilishly deceived by the great magician, Joffrey de Peyrac, who, before his eyes, had made real gold spurt from molten rock, by using a Philosopher’s Stone brought back no doubt from the country of Cimmerian Darkness which the Comte had, in any case, described to him complacently as an absolutely virgin, glacial region, where the thunder rumbles day and night, wind and hailstorms alternate, and where a mountain of fire permanendy spits molten lava which falls constantly on the eternal ice, which never melts despite the heat.
“This last detail is a visionary’s invention,” remarked the Comte de Peyrac.
“Do not interrupt the witness,” the President ordered.
The monk continued his preposterous tale. He confirmed that the Comte had manufactured in his presence an ingot of more than two pounds of pure gold which, when later assayed by specialists, had been found good and genuine.
“You haven’t mentioned diat I made a present of it to Monscigneur de Toulouse for his pious charities,” the accused again broke in.
“That is true,” the monk confirmed gloomily. “That gold even resisted thirty-three exorcisms. This does not prevent the magician from con¬serving the power to make it vanish, whenever he so desires, in a roll of thunder. Monseigneur de Toulouse was himself a witness to that frightful phenomenon, which greatly upset him. The magician boasted of it, referring to fulminant gold. He glories in his ability to transmute mercury in the same way. All these facts are reported in a written statement which is in your possession.”
Massenau tried to adopt a jocular tone:
“Listening to you, Father, one would expect the defendant to have the power of making this great Palace of Justice collapse, just as Samson made the columns of the Temple crumble.”
Angelique felt a wave of sympathy towards the parliamentarian from Toulouse. Becher rolled his eyes like marbles and quickly crossed himself.
“Oh! do not provoke the magician! He is certainly as strong as Sam¬son.”
The Comte’s mocking voice rose again:
“If I had the power with which this torturing friar credits me, rather than make him and his likes disappear by magic, I should first use a magic formula to abolish the greatest stronghold in the world: human stupidity and credulity. Descartes was wrong to say that the infinite is not humanly conceivable: for the stupidity of man provides a very good example.”
“Do not forget, accused, that you are not here to discourse on philo¬sophy, and you have nothing to gain by getting round us with mental acrobatics.”
“Let us continue to listen, then, to this worthy representative of the Middle Ages,” said Peyrac, ironically.
Judge Bourie asked:
“Father ВёсЬег, you who were present at those alchemical operations on gold and who are yourself a well-known scientist, what was, according to you, the purpose of the accused in delivering himself up to Satan? Wealth? Love? Or what?”
ВёсЬег pulled himself up to his unimpressive height, and to Angelique he looked like an angel of hell taking wing. She quickly crossed herself and was promptly imitated by the whole row of nuns, who were beginning to be positively fascinated by the atmospTiere of the scene.
ВёсЬег exclaimed in a toneless voice:
“I know his purpose. Wealth and love? No! . . . Power and con¬spiracy against the State or the King? Not that either. But he wants to become as strong as God Himself. I am certain that he knows how to create Life, that is to say, that he is trying to challenge the very Creator.”
“Father,” said Delmas, the Protestant, with deference, “have you proof to support these extraordinary allegations?”
“I have with my own eyes seen dwarfs leave his laboratory, as well as gnomes, chimeras, dragons. Numerous peasants, whose names I have, also saw them, on certain stormy nights, prowl and leave their lair, this famous laboratory which one day was almost completely destroyed by an explosion of what the Comte calls fulminant gold, and what I call unstable or Satanic gold.”
The entire audience sat panting, oppressed. A nun swooned and had to be carried outside.
The President turned to the witness with solemn insistence. He affirmed that he wished to know the whole truth, but that, called upon to judge of such unbelievable magic as that of breathing life into beings that he had hitherto considered as purely legendary, he asked the witness to recollect himself and weigh his words. He further asked him, as a man conversant with hermetic sciences and as the author of well-known books authorised by the Church, how such a thing could be possible and, above all, whether he knew of any precedents in such matters.
Friar ВёсЬег again pulled himself up and seemed to stretch even higher. One almost expected to see him soar up in his wide, black gown, like a baleful raven. He cried in an inspired voice:
“There is no lack of famous writings on this subject. Paracelsus already affirmed, in his De Rerum Natura, that pygmies, fauns, nymphs and satyrs are engendered by chemistry! Other writings say that homunculi, or little men, often no bigger than a thumb, can be found in children’s urine. The homunculus is invisible at first, and he feeds on wine and rose-water: a little cry announces his true birth. Only magicians of the first order can produce such a diabolic birth, and the Comte de Peyrac was one of these supremely powerful magicians, for he himself asserted that he had no need of a Philosopher’s Stone to cause the transmutation of gold. Doubtless he had at his disposal that seed of life and noble metals which, according to his own words, he went to look for at the ends of the earth.”
Judge Bourie got up, much excited, and stammered with spiteful glee: “What have you to say in answer to this accusation?”
Peyrac shrugged with impatience and finally said, fatigued:
“How can you refute the ravings of a fellow who is obviously mad!” “You have no right to dodge a reply, accused,” calmly intervened Massenau. “Do you admit to have given life, as this priest says, to those monstrous creatures he referred to?”
“Of course not, and even if the thing had been possible, I don’t see how it could possibly have interested me.”
“You consider it possible, then, to engender life artificially?”
“How am I to know, Monsieur? Science hasn’t said its last word and doesn’t Nature offer disconcerting examples? When I was in the Orient, I saw the transformation of certain fish into newts. I even brought some specimens back to Toulouse, but this mutation never recurred.”
“In other words,” Massenau said with a dramatic tremolo in his voice, “you give no credit to the Lord in the creation of living beings?”
“I never said that, Monsieur,” the Comte replied quietly. “Not only do I know my credo, but I believe that God created everything. Only I don’t see why you should forbid him to have provided certain intermediate stages between vegetables and animals, or from tadpole to frog. However, I personally have never ‘manufactured’ those beings that you call homun¬culi.”
Conan Becher then pulled out of the vast folds of his gown a small bottle which he held out to the President. The botde passed through the hands of the jury. From where she was sitting, Angflique could not make out what it contained, but she saw that most of the robed men crossed themselves and she heard one of the judges call a little clerk and send him to fetch holy water from the chapel.
All the members of the court assumed a horrified air. Judge Bourie was rubbing his hands ceaselessly—there was no knowing whether with satisfaction or to wipe off the traces of sacrilegious pollution. Peyrac alone,
with averted head, did not seem to take any interest in this ceremony.
The bottle returned to President Massenau. To examine it, he put on his thick, horn-rimmed glasses, then finally broke the silence.
“This kind of monster looks rather like a shrivelled lizard,” he declared in a disappointed tone of voice.
“I discovered two of these wizened homunculi which probably served as charms, by creeping into the Comte’s alchemical laboratory at the risk of my life,” Friar Becher explained modestly.
Massenau turned to the accused:
“Do you recognise this . . . this thing? Guard, take the bottle to the accused!”
The colossus in uniform whom he had addressed was trembling like a leaf. He stammered, hesitated, at last gripped the bottle resolutely, then let it drop so clumsily that it broke.
An ‘Oh!’ of disappointment passed through the crowd, which there¬upon felt a desire to take a closer look and surged forward.
But the archers had formed a barrier before the first row and pushed back the curious. At last, a halberdier advanced and impaled on his weapon an indistinguishable little object which he poked under the nose of the Comte de Peyrac.
“It’s probably one of the newts I brought back from China,” the latter said calmly. “They must have slipped out of their aquarium, in which I used to dip my alembic in order to keep the water constantly lukewarm. Poor little things! . . .”
Angelique had the impression that of all these explanations about exotic lizards the audience had retained only the word ‘alembic*, and an anguished ‘Ah !* escaped from them again.
“Now this is one of the last questions in the examination,” Massenau went on. “Accused, do you recognise this sheet I am holding? On it is enumerated a list of heretical and alchemical works, and this is said to be a faithful copy of one of the shelves of your library which you most fre¬quently consulted. I see in this list, in particular, the De Rerum Natura by Paracelsus, where the passage concerning the satanic manufacture of monstrous beings such as the homunculus, whose existence the learned Father Becher has revealed to me, is underlined in red with a few words in your handwriting.”
The Comte replied in a voice that was becoming hoarse with fatigue.
“That is correct. I remember thus underlining a certain number of absurdities.” ^
“I also note in this list books which do not deal with alchemy but are none the less prohibited. I quote: Gallant France Has Turned Italian, Love
Intrigues at the Court of France, etc. These books were printed in The Hague or in Liege, where we know that the most dangerous pamphleteers and journalists driven out of the kingdom have taken refuge. TTiese writings are clandestinely introduced into France, and those who acquire them are gready guilty. I also draw attention in this list to names of authors such as Galileo and Copernicus, of whose scientific theories the Church dis¬approves.”
“I presume that this list was communicated to you by a major-domo of the name of Clement, a spy in the pay of I know not which important person, and who stayed with me for some years. The list is correct. But I should like to point out, gendemen, that two motives may prompt an amateur to put such or such a book into his library. Either he wishes to possess a testimony to human intelligence, and that is the case when he has works by Copernicus and Galileo, or else he wishes to gauge by the scale of human foolishness the progress already accomplished by science since the Middle Ages as well as the progress which still remains to be made. That is the case when he skims through the lucubrations of Paracelsus or Conan Becher. Believe me, gentlemen, the reading of such works is in itself a great penance.”
“Do you disapprove of the lawful condemnation by the Church of Rome of the impious theories of Copernicus and Galileo?”
“I do, for the Church was obviously mistaken. Which does not mean that I accuse the Church on other counts. I would have much preferred to put my trust in her knowledge of exorcisms and witchcraft to finding myself involved in a trial which is straying into sophistical discus¬sions. . . .”
The President made a theatrical gesture as if to show that it was im-possible to make an accused of such bad faith see reason. He then con¬sulted his colleagues and announced that the examination was concluded and that they would now proceed to call upon some witnesses for the prosecution.
There now walked into the court-room two monks in white, followed by four nuns and finally two Franciscan friars in brown frocks. The group lined up in front of the jury’s box.
President Massenau rose.
“Gentlemen, we now come to the most awkward part of this trial. Called upon by the King, defender of the Church of God, to try a case of witchcraft, we had to seek testimonies which, according to the ritual of Rome, would prove conclusively that Monsieur Peyrac had dealings with the devil. Principally as regards the third point of the ritual, which says that ”
He bent forward to read the text.
“—which says that a person engaged in trafficking with the devil, and who is traditionally called a true demoniac, possesses ‘supernatural strength of body* and ‘power over the mind and body of others*, we have ascertained the following facts.’*
Despite the rather keen cold in the court-room, Massenau discreetly wiped his brow, then continued reading with an occasional stammer:
“. . . We have received complaints from the prioress of the women’s convent of Saint-Iiandre in Auvergne. The latter has declared that one of her novices, only recendy received into the community and who had hitherto given full satisfaction, has shown signs of demoniac possession, of which she accused the Comte de Peyrac. She did not conceal the fact that the Comte had formerly drawn her into guilty licentiousness and that the remorse that she had felt for her faults had led her to withdraw to a convent. But she found no peace there, for this man continued to tempt her from afar and had certainly bewitched her. Shordy after, she brought to the prioress a bunch of roses which she claimed had been flung to her over the convent wall by a stranger, whose figure resembled that of the Comte de Peyrac, but who must doubdess be a demon, for it was proved that at that time the gendeman in question was in Toulouse. That bouquet prompdy caused strange disturbances throughout the com¬munity. Other nuns were seized by extraordinary and obscene ravings. When they recovered their senses, they spoke of a lame devil, whose mere appearance filled them with a superhuman joy and kindled an inextinguish¬able fire in their flesh. Naturally, the novice who had caused all this disorder remained almost permanendy in a state of trance. Alarmed, the prioress of Saint-Leandre eventually appealed to her superiors. Just at that time the preliminary investigations started for the trial ot Monsieur Peyrac, so the Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris communicated the dossier to me. The witnesses we shall now hear are the nuns of that convent.”
Bending over his desk, Massenau respectfully addressed one of the lowered wimples.
“Sister Carmencita de Merecourt, do you recognise in this man the one who pursues you from afar and who has ‘cast a diabolic and pernicious spell’ over you?”
A pathetic contralto voice rang out:
“I recognise my one and only master!”
Dumbfounded, Angflique discovered beneath the austere veils the sensual, warm-tinted face of the beautiful Spaniard. Massenau'cleared his voice and pronounced with obvious difficulty:
“But, Sister, did you not take the veil to devote yourself exclusively to the Lord?”
“I wanted to escape from the face of my spellbinder. In vain. He pursues me even to divine service.”
“And you, Sister Louise de Rennefonds, do you recognise him who appeared to you during scenes of delirium to which you fell a prey?”
A young, tremulous voice answered feebly:
“Yes, I . . . I think so. But the one I saw had horns. . . .”
A roar of laughter shook the court-room and a clerk cried:
“Ay! he may well have grown some while he was in the Bastille!” Angllique was crimson with rage and humiliation. Her companion took her hand to remind her that she had to keep cool, and she checked herself.
Massenau continued, turning to the abbess of the convent:
“Madame, although this hearing is very painful for you, I am obliged to ask you to confirm your statements before this court.”
The aged nun, who did not seem much upset but merely indignant, did not need much pressing, and declared in a clear voice:
“What’s been going on, these last few months, in the convent whose prioress I have been for thirty years, is a real disgrace. One has to be cloistered, gentlemen, to realise to what grotesque pranks the devil stoops when he has a chance to manifest himself through a sorcerer. I won’t conceal that the duty which falls on me today is a very unpleasant one, for it pains me to have to disclose actions that are so injurious to the Church before a secular court, but His Excellency the Cardinal-Archbishop has ordered me to do so. I shall demand, however, to be heard in private.” The President granted her request, to the great satisfaction of the abbess and the disappointment of the audience. The Court retired, followed by the abbess and the other nuns, into a back room.
Carmencita alone remained, under the watch of two Swiss guards and of the four monks who had brought her. Angflique now had a look at her ex-rival. The Spanish woman had lost none of her beauty. Convent life had perhaps added refinement to her face, in which the big black eyes seemed to pursue some ecstatic dream. The public too seemed to revel in the sight of the beautiful possessed woman.
Angelique heard Maltre Gallemand’s mocking voice say:
“The Great Lame One is rising in my esteem!”
The young woman saw that her husband had not deigned even to glance at this spectacular scene. Now that the court had left, he was no doubt trying to rest a little. He sought to settle down as well as he could on the bench of infamy, which was the stool of penance. He managed it while contorting all his features. The standing position on his crutches and, above all, the torture of the needle that had been inflicted on him at the Bastille had turned every move into an ordeal.
Angelique’s heart ached with heaviness as if it had turned to stone. Her husband so far had shown superhuman courage. He had managed to speak calmly, though not always without restraining his customary irony, which, unfortunately, did not seem to have made a favourable impression on the court or even on the public. At present Joffrey was ostensibly turning his back on his former mistress. Had he even seen her?
Sister Carmcncita, after a moment’s apathy, suddenly took a few steps in the direction of the accused. The guards came between them and made her retreat. All of a sudden, the magnificent Spanish madonna-like face was transformed completely. In a moment it had turned into a vision of hell. Her mouth opened and closed, like that of a fish out of water. Then the nun suddenly raised her hand to her lips. Her teeth clenched, her eye¬balls rolled up, a white froth appeared at the corners of her lips.
Desgrez leapt up, livid.
“Look! There we are: the big soap-bubbles scene!”
But he was roughly seized and dragged out of the court-room. His solitary shout had produced no echo from the panting crowd who were craning towards the spectacle with spellbound faces.
A convulsive tremor shook the nun’s whole body. She tottered a few steps towards the accused. The monks once again blocked her way. She stopped, raised her hands to her wimple and began to tear it off with frantic gestures. And, in doing so, she spun around violently. The four monks threw themselves upon her and tried to control her. Either because they did not dare to apply strength or because they really could not manage to subdue her, she slipped out of their grip like an eel.
She threw herself on the ground and, crawling and contorting herself with snake-like ease, she managed several times to slide under the priests’ legs and robes, tripping them up. She then made obscene gestures, trying to lift the monks’ cassocks. Twice or three times, the poor friars rolled on the floor in as undignified postures as can be imagined. The archers, gaping at this spectacle of tangled robes and rosaries, did not dare to intervene. Finally the possessed woman, spinning and writhing in all directions, managed to undo her string of beads, then her dress, and suddenly stood up, magnificent and stark naked, in the sombre light of the court-room.
The pandemonium was indescribable. People screamed. Some wanted to rush out, others wanted only to stare. A respectable lawyer, seated in the front row, got up, tore off his own robe and, bounding on to the scene in singlet and hose, flung his gown over Carmencita’s head and managed to veil the shameless madwoman.
The nuns next to whom Angelique was sitting hastily rose under the guidance of their superior. Room was made for them, for they had been recognised as the nuns of the General Hospital. They surrounded Car- mencita and with cords, which they produced from one knew not where, they tied her up like a sausage. Then they walked out, almost in pro¬cession, carrying away their foaming captive.
Then a shrill shout rose from the frantic crowd:
“Look! The devil is laughing!”
Outstretched arms pointed towards the accused.
Indeed, Joffrey de Peyrac, only a few steps away from where the scene had taken place, was giving free vent to his hilarity. Angelique recognised in his ringing laughter the outburst of natural, spontaneous gaiety that had enchanted her life. But the frantic minds saw in it hell’s own provocation.
A wave of indignation and horror made the audience surge forward. The guards rushed up and crossed their halberds. Without them, the accused would certainly have been tom to pieces.
“Come with me,” Angelique’s companion whispered.
And as the young woman wavered, stupefied, she insisted:
“Anyhow, the court will be cleared. We must know what has become of Maitre Dcsgrez. He will tell us if the hearing will be continued this afternoon.”