He took off his things and appeared in a black frock coat of square, boxlike cut. A fine gold chain, passed about his neck, lost itself in the bulging pocket of an old vest. Durtal gasped when Gévingey, as soon as he had seated himself, complacently put his hands on exhibition, resting them on his knees. Enormous, freckled with blotches of orange, and terminating in milk-white nails cut to the quick, the fingers were covered with huge rings, the sets of which formed a phalanx.
Seeing Durtal’s gaze fixed on his fingers, he smiled. “You examine my valuables, monsieur. They are of three metals, gold, platinum, and silver. This ring bears a scorpion, the sign under which I was born. That with its two accoupled triangles, one pointing downward and the other upward, reproduces the image of the macrocosm, the seal of Solomon, the grand pantacle. As for the little one you see here,” he went on, showing a lady’s ring set with a tiny sapphire between two roses, “that is a present from a person whose horoscope I was good enough to cast.”
“Ah!” said Durtal, somewhat surprised at the man’s self-satisfaction.
“Dinner is ready,” said the bell-ringer’s wife.
Des Hermies, doffing his apron, appeared in his tight cheviot garments. He was not so pale as usual, his cheeks being red from the heat of the stove. He set the chairs around.
Carhaix served the broth, and everyone was silent, taking spoonfuls of the cooler broth at the edge of the bowl. Then madame brought Des Hermies the famous leg of mutton to cut. It was a magnificent red, and large drops flowed beneath the knife. Everybody ecstasized when tasting this robust meat, aromatic with a purée of turnips sweetened with caper sauce.
Des Hermies bowed under a storm of compliments. Carhaix filled the glasses, and, somewhat confused in the presence of Gévingey, paid the astrologer effusive attention to make him forget their former ill-feeling. Des Hermies assisted in this good work, and wishing also to be useful to Durtal, brought the conversation around to the subject of horoscopes.
Then Gévingey mounted the rostrum. In a tone of satisfaction he spoke of his vast labours, of the six months a horoscope required, of the surprise of laymen when he declared that such work was not paid for by the price he asked, five hundred francs.
“But you see I cannot give my science for nothing,” he said. “And now people doubt astrology, which was revered in antiquity. Also in the Middle Ages, when it was almost sacred. For instance, messieurs, look at the portal of Notre Dame. The three doors which archeologists—not initiated into the symbolism of Christianity and the occult—designate by the names of the door of Judgment, the door of the Virgin, and the door of Saint Marcel or Saint Anne, really represent Mysticism, Astrology, and Alchemy, the three great sciences of the Middle Ages. Today you find people who say, ‘Are you quite sure that the stars have an influence on the destiny of man?’ But, messieurs, without entering here into details reserved for the adept, in what way is this spiritual influence stranger than that corporal influence which certain planets, the moon, for example, exercise on the organs of men and women?
“You are a physician, Monsieur Des Hermies, and you are not unaware that the doctors Gillespin, Jackson, and Balfour, of Jamaica, have established the influence of the constellations on human health in the West Indies. At every change of the moon the number of sick people augments. The acute crises of fever coincide with the phases of our satellite. Finally, there are lunatics. Go out in the country and ascertain at what periods madness becomes epidemic. But does this serve to convince the incredulous?” he asked sorrowfully, contemplating his rings.
“It seems to me, on the contrary, that astrology is picking up,” said Durtal. “There are now two astrologers casting horoscopes in the next column to the secret remedies on the fourth page of the newspapers.”
“And it’s a shame! Those people don’t even know the first thing about the science. They are simply tricksters who hope thus to pick up some money. What’s the use of speaking of them when they don’t even exist! Really it must be admitted that only in England and America is there anybody who knows how to establish the genethliac theme and construct a horoscope.”
“I am very much afraid,” said Des Hermies, “that not only these so-called astrologers, but also all the mages, theosophists, occultists, and cabalists of the present day, know absolutely nothing—those with whom I am acquainted are indubitably, incontestably, ignorant imbeciles. And that is the pure truth, messieurs. These people are, for the most part, down-and-out journalists or broken spendthrifts seeking to exploit the taste of a public weary of positivism. They plagiarize Eliphas Levi, steal from Fabre d’Olivet, and write treatises of which they themselves are incapable of making head or tail. It’s a real pity, when you come to think of it.”
“The more so as they discredit sciences which certainly contain verities omitted in their jumble,” said Durtal.
“Then another lamentable thing,” said Des Hermies, “is that in addition to the dupes and simpletons, these little sects harbour some frightful charlatans and windbags.”
“Péladan, among others. Who does not know that shoddy mage, commercialized to his fingertips?” cried Durtal.
“Oh,
