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.
Catherine, veiled in black, entered, preceded by the priest.
“Prepare!”
The priests uncovered the victim. Catherine, white-faced, her eyes tightly shut, tottered. The priests supported her.
“Woman, rejoice, for the Lord of Light has chosen you to bring truth into the world!”
The priests began disrobing Catherine, exposing the delicate curves of her motherhood to the gaze of the Satanists. She recoiled.
“Woman, do not hinder us!”
Catherine looked at Gilles, her eyes dimmed with tears. Her chest heaved a little, as if stifling a sob. Her lips moved. I knew she endeavored to pronounce his name. But Gilles did not hear. His face looked like the ruin of some magnificent castle.
I made a sign to Kotikokura. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
Catherine bent her head upon her chest, as if to cover her lovely nakedness. She raised the corners of her eyes a little and looked at me. I was on the point of calling out: “Fear not! Cartaphilus will not allow him to mutilate your body and to slaughter your child!”
She was stretched out upon a bench. The priest brought a gold basin and a long knife whose edge was sharpened to the thinness of a hair.
“Bring in the Child of Reason!” Gilles ordered.
The priest pushed forcibly the wall on the left which opened like a door. Now I understood the true geography of the place. The temple was adjacent to the cellar where I had seen the corpses of the children.
Meanwhile, the person whose sex was difficult to determine and who had scattered the strange incense, helped the Maréchal cover his head with a tallith upon which were embroidered formulæ from the Kabala and wound seven times about his waist a red girdle.
Would help come too late? Even if the hoofbeats that I now distinctly heard were those of our horsemen, it was doubtful whether they could reach us in time.
The priest brought a large glass jar in which a strange creature lay huddled together—something that resembled a human fœtus or the embryo of a monkey.
Was this the Child of Reason? I had long discovered that reason could not rule the universe, but I had never suspected the misshapen form of her progeny!
The Maréchal raised the knife and made an inverted cross upon his chest. The reflection glittered upon Catherine’s face.
The hoofbeats approached. If I could only delay the madman a little longer!
“Gilles,” I whispered, “the cross must be made three times or the result is frustrated.”
He looked at me. His eyes were two coals aflame.
He made the cross three times and bent over the body.
I heard drums and sharp words of command at a distance.
“Gilles! From left to right, not from right to left!”
Gilles repeated the gesture as I had told him.
“Gilles!” I said.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Do not delay me now!”
It was no longer Gilles who spoke. His voice was raucous and strained.
He touched the body with the point of the knife. One moment more, and it would have been too late!
I grasped his hand and threw the knife to the floor. My fingers closed on the mechanism releasing the poisonous vapor, when suddenly trumpets resounded and doors were broken in from all sides.
A thousand fighting men flooded the Black Temple.
Gilles stared at me. “Judas!” he shouted.
He was surrounded by soldiers. Two soldiers grasped the Maréchal’s arm.
“I am Gilles de Retz, Maréchal of France.”
“You are the Devil! You shall burn in your own hell-fire!” one of the brothers shouted, hewing his way to the altar.
Catherine jumped up, covered herself with a black veil, and kneeling before her brother, she sobbed.
“Spare him. He knew not what he was doing.”
I motioned to Kotikokura. In the fracas that ensued, we made our escape.
“Whatever happens, must, Kotikokura. From all eternity to all eternity things are destined to happen, but however exciting these escapades may be, we cannot afford to wait and see their dénouement. A hundred years from now they shall all be dust,—the good and the wicked, the beautiful and the ugly, the true and the false, Bluebeard and Catherine—and Anne. At most, a legend may sprout out of the dung of Time.”