The Club Dumas

There was a forty-two-page typed report giving the book’s historical background, both for the supposed original version, the Delomelanicon, or Invocation of Darkness, and for Torchia’s version, Book of the Nine Doors of the Kingdom of Shadows, printed in Venice in 1666. There were various appendices pro­viding a bibliography, photocopies of citations in classical texts, and information about the other two known copies—their owners, any restoration work, purchase dates, present locations. There was also a transcription of the records of Aristide Torchia’s trial, with the account of an eyewitness, one Gennaro Galeazzo, describing the unfortunate printer’s last moments:

He mounted the scaffold without agreeing to be reconciled with God and maintained an obstinate silence. When the fire was lit, smoke began to suffocate him. He opened his eyes wide and uttered a terrible cry, commending himself to the Father. Many of those present crossed themselves, for in death he requested God’s mercy. Others say that he shouted at the ground, in other words toward the depths of the earth.

A car drove past on the other side of the square and turned down one of the corner streets leading to the cathedral. The engine paused for a moment beyond the corner, as if the driver had stopped before continuing down the street. Corso paid little attention, engrossed as he was in the book. The first page was the title page and the second was blank. The third, which began with a handsome capital N, contained a cryptic introduction, which read:

Nos p.tens L.f.r, juv.te Stn. Blz.b, Lvtn, Elm, atq Astrot. allq, hdie hcuerns ace.t pet fo.de.is c.m t qui no.st; et h.ic poLicem amrem mid. flo.em virg.nu.rn de.us man. hon v.lup et op. for.icab tr.d.o,.os.ta int. nos ma.et eb.iet Lli c.ra er. No.is of.ret se.el in ano sag. sig. s.b ped. cocuLab sa Ecle et no.s r.gat isius er.t; p.ct v.v.t an v.q fe.ix in t.a horn, et ven D:

Fa.t in inf int co.s daem,

Satanas. Belzebub, Lcfr, Elimi, Leviathan, Astaroth

Siq pos mag. diab. et daem. prLcp dom.

After the introduction, whose “authorship” was obvious, came the text. Corso read the first lines:

D.mine mag.que L.fr, te D.um m. etpr ag.sco. et polc.or t ser.ire. a.ob.re quamd p. wre; et rn.io aLrum d, et js.ch.st et a.s sn.ts tq.e s.ctas e. ec.les. apstl. et rom. et om i sc.am. et o.nia ips. sxramen. et o.nes .ado et r.g. q.ibfid. pos.nt intrcd. p.o me; et t.bi po.lceor q. fac. qu.tqu,t mlum pot., et atra, ad mala p. omn, Et ab.rncio chrsm. et b.ptm et omn...

He looked up at the church portico. The arches were carved with images of the Last Judgment worn by the elements. Be­neath them, dividing the door in two, a niche sheltered an angry-looking Pantocrator. His raised right hand suggested punishment rather than mercy. In his left hand he held an open book, and Corso could not help drawing parallels. He looked around at the church tower and the surrounding build­ings. The facades still bore bishops’ coats of arms, and he reflected that this square too had once witnessed the bonfires of the Inquisition. After all, this was Toledo. A crucible for un­derground cults, initiation rites, false converts. And heretics.