The book of True Black Magic is known only by the edition of 1750. The Grand Grimoire reappeared at Nismes in 1823 and is, moreover, in all respects identical with the work entitled the Red Dragon or Le Dragon Rouge, of which there are several examples.
The Grimoire of Pope Honorius is exceedingly rare in the original, but is better known by the reprints of 1660 and 1670, though these also are scarce. There is an edition dated 1760, and this commands a high price among collectors (known as Le Serpent Rouge?).
Abbé d’Artigny was presented with an MS. copy of this grimoire, which was much more complete in all its keys than the printed editions. Possibly it represented the transition of the Sworn Book of the Theban Honorius into the Spurious Papal Constitution, which certainly reproduces the motive and moves in the atmosphere of its prototype.
But all are incomplete (the last key still missing).
Otto Rahn, Crusade Against the Grail, page 93 — a skeleton key —
*Abbé knows!
La Dame raised his brows. ‘So which one of these are you looking for, the Grimorium Verum, the Grimoire of Pope Honorius, or this Sworn Book? And look at the cover of this notebook, Rahn! Positively diabolical!’ He gave it back, appearing glad to be rid of it. ‘As Sancho would say, I have been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of these adventures that your worship seeks – in other words, I don’t see why you have to always find yourself mixed up in these things, but this time you’ve gone too far! Doesn’t it bother you at all that your name is in a book owned by a man who was murdered looking for the same thing that you’re hunting? If Sancho were here he’d suggest you follow your idea of finding a place to hide in the mountains!’
‘But as Don Quixote would say, it is requisite to roam the world, as it were, on probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name and fame may be acquired – until today I would have agreed with you, but you’ve managed to miss the most important point.’
‘What point? I didn’t know there was a point!’
‘There is always a point!’ Rahn observed. ‘When I mentioned a skeleton key in my book, it was in reference to the treasure of the Cathars.’
‘You mean the Apocalypse of Saint John, or the Grail?’
‘Both, but to be completely truthful, I was speaking metaphorically – it was a literary device. And now, because of it, Monti has linked Le Serpent Rouge to the Cathar treasure.’
‘And how would it be linked, do you have a clue?’
‘Not a one!’
‘Well, you’ve done it,’ La Dame said.
‘Done what?’
‘You’ve always wanted fame and grandeur! To have every man cry out the instant they saw you: “This is the Knight of the Serpent, who vanquished in single combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength!” You’ve become notorious.’
‘One mention in a notebook hardly makes one notorious. And anyway, I think you’re talking about yourself. Sancho Panza was the one who wanted material gain. Don Quixote didn’t go into battles and adventures for opportunities and fame but for a higher gain – something Sancho Panza never understood.’
‘That’s because he always bore the brunt of those ill-fated adventures, being the only sane one of the two,’ La Dame retorted.
‘At any rate,’ Rahn ignored him, ‘I think Deodat will shed more light on it, considering his library has practically every heretical text known to mankind.’ Rahn looked at his pocket watch. ‘Time to go.’
He wanted to be away and was glad when they found the appropriate platform and a porter to take his bags.
‘Give my regards to Deodat,’ La Dame said, following the train’s slow shuffle. ‘Keep me posted and if you need anything, just call . . . and remember: a clear escape is better than a good man’s prayers!’
Rahn watched his friend until he had disappeared from sight. A sense of freedom swept over him. Hopefully he had left the ordinary man behind, or for that matter anyone else who may have been following him. He nodded at this thought and went to find his carriage.
ISLAND OF THE DEAD
10
One Man’s Grave is Another Man’s Bed
‘You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?’said he.
‘Never.’
‘Aye, there’s the genius and the wonder of the thing!’ he cried.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ‘The Final Problem’
Venice, 2012
The Writer of Letters paused and I realised that it was late. He insisted that I stay the night and soon I was being led to a frugal but not uncomfortable guestroom. I didn’t sleep well and woke early, just before dawn, lying awake for some time thinking. It was quite ludicrous that I didn’t know anything about my host – a man with no name who lived in a cemetery in the middle of a lagoon. Moreover, I had no clue why he’d asked me here or what he wanted with me. I fancied that he was an admirer of Otto Rahn, perhaps even a distant relative, who needed a ghost writer to tell the adventurer’s side of the story – as a form of literary redemption. But all this didn’t explain the uncanny help he had given me over the years or the strange game he was playing with me now.