The Devils Page #2

The chemist and the surgeon,

it's no good, Mother is dying!

A delicate dusting of pollen,

nature's most fragrant balm,

eucalyptus pollen.

From the Greek kaluptos,

covered flower protected by a cap.

A trap for the heroic hornet.

Hymenopterous healer.

A poison to exorcise poison.

Kill or cure!

Yesterday, powdered mistletoe.

Black cherry water.

It's a recognised cure!

Nobody ever complains!

Leeches! Dried vipers!

Sarsaparilla and poppy heads,

and now what?.

Hornets?.

Mother, please!

And what fresh lunacy is this?.

- A crocodile?.

- Schoolgirls walking two by two.

Simian reptile,

corpuscular circulation, invaluable aid.

Not the crocodile!

Turn your face towards God, my daughter.

Be glad. Be glad.

You stand on the threshold

of everlasting life. I envy you.

Bring out your dead!

- Bring out your dead!

- Bring out your dead!

- Bring out your dead!

- Bring out your dead!

Let us pray for her together.

We commend to thee, O Lord,

the soul of thy servant, Madame...

De Brou.

De Brou.

De Brou.

And although to this world she is dead,

to thee may she still live.

And the sins she has committed

in this life through...

through human frailty

do thou in thy merciful goodness

forgive.

- Amen.

- Amen.

Where are you?.

Hiding among the corpses, are you?.

Come out, you coward!

The dead shall not save you now.

- Where is he?.

- Who?.

The priest!

That desecrator of virtue, Grandier.

No woman in the entire town is safe

from the lust of that man. Not one!

- Neither mother nor daughter.

- Living or dead.

Necrophilia interruptus.

Virga distracta. Whores.

He stinks of sanctimonious whores.

Enough, sir. You slander my daughter.

- He's inside the house, Mr Magistrate.

- He's upstairs, inside the house.

There he is!

Despoiler of my child, my innocent lamb!

Even the most innocent lamb is destined

for the lustful ram, Monsieur Trincant.

Her lily-white purity is stained!

Except in sermons, or in Heaven.

Even lilies decay into rottenness, sir.

Catch!

I'll see you in Hell!

Walking on a living pavement

of aborted bastards, no doubt.

You foul, God-forsaken creature!

He ought to be reported to the Pope.

He ought to be prosecuted as well,

Mr Magistrate.

My cousin tells me

his daughter is pregnant.

Well, you have your whores.

Why do you have to meddle with her?.

- It seemed a way.

- A way to what?.

I begin to understand at last

that all worldly things

have a single purpose

for a man of my kind.

Power, politics, riches,

women, pride, ambition.

I choose them with the same care

that your cousin,

Monsieur Trincant,

might select a weapon.

My intention is different.

You see,

I need to turn them against myself.

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